(no subject)
Title: Ephemeral Extirpation
Author: Icarus
Characters: Beckett, Alastor
Synopsis: Alastors last actions against Mercer were considered 'the final straw.' In between the last short and this one, Alastor was captured and imprisoned. He now faces execution.
Editors Notes: Yet another of my short stories. Not much to report about this one, but hope you enjoy.
"You must realize you won't be escaping this one, Alastor." Cutler spoke with an air of certainty as he paced around the gallows with a pleased smirk painted across his face. The masked man simply watched him as he strode, feeling the noose draped around his neck. "Your execution will be struck from the record as it is the will of the East India Company, and I, shall be the only witness."
The dark figure standing upon the wooden platform simply watched Beckett, only his heavy breathing heard through the mask.
"I must admit, you've provided... a rather intense headache to our fine Port Royal, but no more. Now that I have the warrant for your death and clean hands, I will merely sit back and watch the fireworks." That mildly pleased smile remained upon his face, arms folded and clasped in one another behind his back, portraying a dignified, stately gentleman. Looking up into the hangman's eyes, his demeanor quickly froze.
"Have you any last words, assassin? Or shall you go forth into the grave with quiet pride?"
Again, the dark figure said nothing in return, breathing as heavily as if he'd just stopped running for a day's time.
"Fine then. It seems the cure to this plague is at hand..." Turning his back for an instant, he sighed and turned around, holding up the mirror Alastor had given him over a fortnight ago. Pointing it at the hang man, he looked to the executioner. "Hang him now. I wish for him to watch his own struggle."
The hooded, ghoul of a human being executioner's hand had been resting upon the lever, awaiting the order to pull it down. His weight landed in the wrist area as the lever was yanked and the man fell, kicking and struggling. The fight to live was strong, nearly as strong as the leash that death had about his neck, but it was not strong enough. Kicks became twitches, gasps for air became long, agonizing sighs and finally, there was nothing. All movement had stopped and Lord Beckett walked over and proceeded to inspect the body. Upon confirmation that he was officially dead, he began to laugh, quietly at first but growing in volume until it was a wicked cackle unto the heavens themselves. Finally! He had killed the mysterious onlooker that had been shadowing him for the past few days! There was nothing to stop him from doing as he pleased now!
In the fit of laughter, he had lost his composure and messed up his hair, cravat and collar. His linens were easily fixed, a flick of the wrist here, an adjustment there... Lifting up the mirror, he began to straighten his wig and regain his appearance when something caught his attention. A brief reflection in the mirror was the catalyst, but he saw something, someone in the corner of his eye. The man approached, his face veiled in the shadows of the dark city square as he approached the hang man. His inky black attire were darker then the will of the East India Trading Company and there was a certain air about the mans stride. Languid in his step, yet strangely graceful. Reaching up, he removed the mask from the hanging corpses face and placed it upon his own face. A raven cawed in the distance. Turning around, he looked to Cutler, the masks half smirk, half grimace staring him directly in the eyes. One could sense a smirk was predominant over the grimace at this moment.
"...You missed."
Beckett remained composed, although he was shaken inside himself. Staring back at Alastor, his eyes narrowed and a grimace to match the masks cracked across his face.
"How did you manage to escape that one, Alastor...? I caught you. I locked you up. I kept watch on your cell."
"Well, we think rather highly of ourselves, don't we? I warned that arrogance would be your downfall... I gave you the mirror. I left you enough clues to know perfectly well what I was capable of. However, you chose to ignore the most obvious. Nothing is what it seems..."
The look on Cutler's face was stoic, at best. His arms crossed behind his back, one hand ready to wrap itself around a rather sharp dagger and carve the words out of the mans throat.
"I suppose you think you've won, Mr.Crowe?"
"I thought you'd realize this as well, Cutler. This game is not meant to be won..." Alastor paced around Cutler in a wide radius, one arm swaying with each step, the other bent to place a palm upon the masks forehead. "Are you familiar with a sleight of hand, your lordship?"
"If you mean a cheap parlor trick..." Scoffing, he chuckled at the thought.
"My escape. Was that a cheap parlor trick? Allow me to demonstrate." Whipping a dagger out of it's sheath in a very noticeable way, he feinted a slice at the man's torso. Quickly, the blade was parried with Cutler's saber, holding it at arms length.
"A failed attempt at best. You should brush up on the basics, Alastor. You're quite bad when it comes to a target who's not drunk or asleep." Looking down, he saw Alastors pistol pressed into his abdomen, right near where his kidney was.
"Of course, Cutler... but explain, who is a master but an expert at the basics? While you were watching this hand, I could already have killed you. This, is the sleight. I switched clothes with a fellow prisoner not merely an hour before he was hung in my place. All that was left for me to do was escape with little resistance.... You should be fortunate that I'm attached to my affects. Otherwise I would have gotten what I came for and left." Sheathing his blade and holstering the pistol, he moved back a step.
"So what exactly would that be, Mr.Crowe? If it is money, I have enough, if not more to compensate what was stolen and we can call this horrid affair over."
"I seek not fortune, but absolution. Had you not been essential in providing it for me, I would have left without a word."
"And what is it you require of me?"
"Many a thing, your lordship. Some a deep crimson, others a dark, dark black." His masks smirk became embellished by the moonlight striking it, the white half illuminating and reflecting the half of his mask. Withdrawing an hourglass from the small pack behind his back, he handed it to Cutler. The hour glass was filled with black and crimson sand, slowly falling into the lower chamber.
"Ah yes, another useless trinket from a person whom I've the unpleasant misfortune of knowing. Thank you, Alastor." Another scoff was given as he accepted the odd gift, sarcasm painfully apparent in his voice. "What does this do, tell me when you'll return next? Have you gone so far as to give me something to aid in planning for our next awful meeting?"
"You may doubt it's worth all you wish, Cutler. But this sand runs for far longer then the extent of time between my appearances and your frustration. Just make sure it doesn't break.... we wouldn't want anything tragic to happen, now would we?" Alastor turned around and walked away from Beckett, slowly beginning to fade into the night.
"May you always walk in the pale light of the Moon, Cutler."
Author: Icarus
Characters: Beckett, Alastor
Synopsis: Alastors last actions against Mercer were considered 'the final straw.' In between the last short and this one, Alastor was captured and imprisoned. He now faces execution.
Editors Notes: Yet another of my short stories. Not much to report about this one, but hope you enjoy.
"You must realize you won't be escaping this one, Alastor." Cutler spoke with an air of certainty as he paced around the gallows with a pleased smirk painted across his face. The masked man simply watched him as he strode, feeling the noose draped around his neck. "Your execution will be struck from the record as it is the will of the East India Company, and I, shall be the only witness."
The dark figure standing upon the wooden platform simply watched Beckett, only his heavy breathing heard through the mask.
"I must admit, you've provided... a rather intense headache to our fine Port Royal, but no more. Now that I have the warrant for your death and clean hands, I will merely sit back and watch the fireworks." That mildly pleased smile remained upon his face, arms folded and clasped in one another behind his back, portraying a dignified, stately gentleman. Looking up into the hangman's eyes, his demeanor quickly froze.
"Have you any last words, assassin? Or shall you go forth into the grave with quiet pride?"
Again, the dark figure said nothing in return, breathing as heavily as if he'd just stopped running for a day's time.
"Fine then. It seems the cure to this plague is at hand..." Turning his back for an instant, he sighed and turned around, holding up the mirror Alastor had given him over a fortnight ago. Pointing it at the hang man, he looked to the executioner. "Hang him now. I wish for him to watch his own struggle."
The hooded, ghoul of a human being executioner's hand had been resting upon the lever, awaiting the order to pull it down. His weight landed in the wrist area as the lever was yanked and the man fell, kicking and struggling. The fight to live was strong, nearly as strong as the leash that death had about his neck, but it was not strong enough. Kicks became twitches, gasps for air became long, agonizing sighs and finally, there was nothing. All movement had stopped and Lord Beckett walked over and proceeded to inspect the body. Upon confirmation that he was officially dead, he began to laugh, quietly at first but growing in volume until it was a wicked cackle unto the heavens themselves. Finally! He had killed the mysterious onlooker that had been shadowing him for the past few days! There was nothing to stop him from doing as he pleased now!
In the fit of laughter, he had lost his composure and messed up his hair, cravat and collar. His linens were easily fixed, a flick of the wrist here, an adjustment there... Lifting up the mirror, he began to straighten his wig and regain his appearance when something caught his attention. A brief reflection in the mirror was the catalyst, but he saw something, someone in the corner of his eye. The man approached, his face veiled in the shadows of the dark city square as he approached the hang man. His inky black attire were darker then the will of the East India Trading Company and there was a certain air about the mans stride. Languid in his step, yet strangely graceful. Reaching up, he removed the mask from the hanging corpses face and placed it upon his own face. A raven cawed in the distance. Turning around, he looked to Cutler, the masks half smirk, half grimace staring him directly in the eyes. One could sense a smirk was predominant over the grimace at this moment.
"...You missed."
Beckett remained composed, although he was shaken inside himself. Staring back at Alastor, his eyes narrowed and a grimace to match the masks cracked across his face.
"How did you manage to escape that one, Alastor...? I caught you. I locked you up. I kept watch on your cell."
"Well, we think rather highly of ourselves, don't we? I warned that arrogance would be your downfall... I gave you the mirror. I left you enough clues to know perfectly well what I was capable of. However, you chose to ignore the most obvious. Nothing is what it seems..."
The look on Cutler's face was stoic, at best. His arms crossed behind his back, one hand ready to wrap itself around a rather sharp dagger and carve the words out of the mans throat.
"I suppose you think you've won, Mr.Crowe?"
"I thought you'd realize this as well, Cutler. This game is not meant to be won..." Alastor paced around Cutler in a wide radius, one arm swaying with each step, the other bent to place a palm upon the masks forehead. "Are you familiar with a sleight of hand, your lordship?"
"If you mean a cheap parlor trick..." Scoffing, he chuckled at the thought.
"My escape. Was that a cheap parlor trick? Allow me to demonstrate." Whipping a dagger out of it's sheath in a very noticeable way, he feinted a slice at the man's torso. Quickly, the blade was parried with Cutler's saber, holding it at arms length.
"A failed attempt at best. You should brush up on the basics, Alastor. You're quite bad when it comes to a target who's not drunk or asleep." Looking down, he saw Alastors pistol pressed into his abdomen, right near where his kidney was.
"Of course, Cutler... but explain, who is a master but an expert at the basics? While you were watching this hand, I could already have killed you. This, is the sleight. I switched clothes with a fellow prisoner not merely an hour before he was hung in my place. All that was left for me to do was escape with little resistance.... You should be fortunate that I'm attached to my affects. Otherwise I would have gotten what I came for and left." Sheathing his blade and holstering the pistol, he moved back a step.
"So what exactly would that be, Mr.Crowe? If it is money, I have enough, if not more to compensate what was stolen and we can call this horrid affair over."
"I seek not fortune, but absolution. Had you not been essential in providing it for me, I would have left without a word."
"And what is it you require of me?"
"Many a thing, your lordship. Some a deep crimson, others a dark, dark black." His masks smirk became embellished by the moonlight striking it, the white half illuminating and reflecting the half of his mask. Withdrawing an hourglass from the small pack behind his back, he handed it to Cutler. The hour glass was filled with black and crimson sand, slowly falling into the lower chamber.
"Ah yes, another useless trinket from a person whom I've the unpleasant misfortune of knowing. Thank you, Alastor." Another scoff was given as he accepted the odd gift, sarcasm painfully apparent in his voice. "What does this do, tell me when you'll return next? Have you gone so far as to give me something to aid in planning for our next awful meeting?"
"You may doubt it's worth all you wish, Cutler. But this sand runs for far longer then the extent of time between my appearances and your frustration. Just make sure it doesn't break.... we wouldn't want anything tragic to happen, now would we?" Alastor turned around and walked away from Beckett, slowly beginning to fade into the night.
"May you always walk in the pale light of the Moon, Cutler."