If you will own a balcony
Set following the summit of spring 379, in which a certain monster cicisbeo had sent a blood-spattered letter to explain her absence at Anvil. Collaboratively written with luca_loves_you
If anyone has other requests (for something other than a mountain of slashfic, thankyouverymuch), feel free.
Dust and mud from the road was spattering his clothes. For the briefest moment Gabriel wondered if Virtue would object to his dishevelled appearance, then remembered the similar splashes on her letter, but those in blood. He quickened his pace and rapidly left the lumbering ox carts behind; they would have to catch up.
Each time tiredness threatened or he rested for a moment too long, the voice in his head grew louder, sometimes encouraging, sometimes taunting. “The hunt does not wait. Will you let her escape to the Labyrinth while you sit there?”
--------------
Arriving in Regario as the heat of the afternoon faded, he pushed through the stifling crowds. Pausing to get his bearings, he would have to suppress horror at the thought of what a trebuchet strike would do to such a packed mass, or how disease from the dead and injured would run mad. Then he remembered this was not Holberg, cursed and embattled.
--------------
Breaking free into less crowded streets, he was finally able to move and broke into a run. Passers-by stared, but he did not care- so close now, it was impossible not to move as fast as possible, hopefully not too late. The cooler air here should have been refreshing, but it signalled the day drawing to a close, time pressing in. The danger of not being there for her. Skidding around one final corner and it was in sight: the balcony from her letter, the one his agents had described.
A final rush and, not pausing to breathe, he slammed his fist against the door- a distant cousin of knocking who would not be invited to family gatherings for being too abrasive. Eons passed and eventually a hatch opened at eye level. “Gabriel Barossa. I am here to see Virtue di Tassato. Is she in?”
“I am afraid the mistress is not receiving visitors…”
A hiss of displeasure. “You will let these worms stand in your way?”
Upstairs, the sounds of raised voices became increasingly audible. Virtue gently put down her ink pen, and stood up carefully, clutching at the writing desk for balance. She walked over to the bed, once she was sure of her footing, and opened up one of the draws in her bedside cabinet, to reveal a plain, but well constructed dagger, which she took, before going to stand back by the writing desk, where she had a clear view of both sets of doors.
Predictably, it was the handle of the balcony door which turned a few minutes later, only to remain closed as the lock held. There was a pause, followed by a distinct creak as the door was pulled harder… then a crack as the wood splintered, subtlety having taken a break to somewhere far distant as the night closed in. Framed in the doorway, Gabriel still held the ruined metal of the door handle, looking slightly embarrassed as he glanced about for somewhere to put it.
Seeing Virtue, the madness of the last hours faded a little, appeased by seeing her alive. Memories rushed back of all the awkwardness he had felt when he first saw her, except on that occasion he had not just shouted at her servants, scaled her balcony or broken her door down. Even changeling confidence had limits.
On seeing him, Virtue slowly put the dagger down on the table. Relief flooded through her, and she tried to walk towards him, but found, to her annoyance, that she was shaking so much she could barely take a step, although whether that was through fear, or illness, she couldn't be sure. She faltered, and gripped at the writing desk, keeping herself upright by willpower alone. Seeing her stumble, all the worries of the last few days returned and Gabriel rushed inside, thoughts of preserving any shreds of propriety forgotten. Arms closed around her, it was obvious now how frail she had become. An injured bird who could be crushed as easily as saved, helpless and vulnerable.
“Yessss! Give her to me.”
For a moment, some...thing… else controlled his body, revelling in the feel of her, tightening its grip. But as fists clenched, metal and stone bit deep into his palm: a gold ring, gifted on the night of the Reaper and worn in Loyalty. The person who gave that was not prey, she was pack. Revolted at what he had nearly done, Gabriel loosened his hold and stepped to arms’ length, meeting her eyes.
Virtue gave a gentle smile. "Gabriel. It is lovely to see you. I was worried after your last letter.... Perhaps next time, you could knock?"
“I tried. They said some nonsense about a quarantine and I could not get through the door to… probably for the best.” A slight shake to his shoulders as he tried to put the anger and fear behind him, pretend that voice had never been heard. “But I am with you now, that is what… oh- sorry about the door.”
"Don't worry, I'm sure it can be fixed in the morning, hopefully before Doctor Roberto comes to visit, else he'll know you broke the quarantine and we'll all be in terrible trouble." Virtue tried to continue, but something caught on the back of her throat, and her sentence finished with a small fit of coughing, and she had to clutch Gabriel's arm for support. When it was over, there was blood on her lace handkerchief.
The voice sensed a new possibility, a crack of opportunity. “Who is this who has failed you, stood in your way? And now he fails your pack....”
“The morning? You need help now… not to wait for hours for some quack! I can go to the college, bring back the best they have. Half of Anvil was ill- anyone who went to Holberg, anyone who got too close to them... except me, apparently. Anyway, there is no time to waste.”
Virtue sighed. “Gabriel, please, it’s not as bad as it looks.” She gestured to the handkerchief, “This is just… a side effect. The dangerous thing is the fever and, thanks to Dr Roberto, mine has nearly passed.” She took his hands in hers, and held his gaze. “I’m going to be ok. Trust me.”
Blood and adrenaline still pumped around his body, demanding action, the voice whispering in time with their beat. The urge to act was strong, to do anything at all, but as she held his hands he became more conscious of the rings they both wore, pressed into their flesh, restraining and calming. The voice wheedled and complained, but slowly quieted to a grumbling background presence rather than a screaming command.
“I really cannot tell you how much I have missed you.”
If anyone has other requests (for something other than a mountain of slashfic, thankyouverymuch), feel free.
Dust and mud from the road was spattering his clothes. For the briefest moment Gabriel wondered if Virtue would object to his dishevelled appearance, then remembered the similar splashes on her letter, but those in blood. He quickened his pace and rapidly left the lumbering ox carts behind; they would have to catch up.
Each time tiredness threatened or he rested for a moment too long, the voice in his head grew louder, sometimes encouraging, sometimes taunting. “The hunt does not wait. Will you let her escape to the Labyrinth while you sit there?”
--------------
Arriving in Regario as the heat of the afternoon faded, he pushed through the stifling crowds. Pausing to get his bearings, he would have to suppress horror at the thought of what a trebuchet strike would do to such a packed mass, or how disease from the dead and injured would run mad. Then he remembered this was not Holberg, cursed and embattled.
--------------
Breaking free into less crowded streets, he was finally able to move and broke into a run. Passers-by stared, but he did not care- so close now, it was impossible not to move as fast as possible, hopefully not too late. The cooler air here should have been refreshing, but it signalled the day drawing to a close, time pressing in. The danger of not being there for her. Skidding around one final corner and it was in sight: the balcony from her letter, the one his agents had described.
A final rush and, not pausing to breathe, he slammed his fist against the door- a distant cousin of knocking who would not be invited to family gatherings for being too abrasive. Eons passed and eventually a hatch opened at eye level. “Gabriel Barossa. I am here to see Virtue di Tassato. Is she in?”
“I am afraid the mistress is not receiving visitors…”
A hiss of displeasure. “You will let these worms stand in your way?”
Upstairs, the sounds of raised voices became increasingly audible. Virtue gently put down her ink pen, and stood up carefully, clutching at the writing desk for balance. She walked over to the bed, once she was sure of her footing, and opened up one of the draws in her bedside cabinet, to reveal a plain, but well constructed dagger, which she took, before going to stand back by the writing desk, where she had a clear view of both sets of doors.
Predictably, it was the handle of the balcony door which turned a few minutes later, only to remain closed as the lock held. There was a pause, followed by a distinct creak as the door was pulled harder… then a crack as the wood splintered, subtlety having taken a break to somewhere far distant as the night closed in. Framed in the doorway, Gabriel still held the ruined metal of the door handle, looking slightly embarrassed as he glanced about for somewhere to put it.
Seeing Virtue, the madness of the last hours faded a little, appeased by seeing her alive. Memories rushed back of all the awkwardness he had felt when he first saw her, except on that occasion he had not just shouted at her servants, scaled her balcony or broken her door down. Even changeling confidence had limits.
On seeing him, Virtue slowly put the dagger down on the table. Relief flooded through her, and she tried to walk towards him, but found, to her annoyance, that she was shaking so much she could barely take a step, although whether that was through fear, or illness, she couldn't be sure. She faltered, and gripped at the writing desk, keeping herself upright by willpower alone. Seeing her stumble, all the worries of the last few days returned and Gabriel rushed inside, thoughts of preserving any shreds of propriety forgotten. Arms closed around her, it was obvious now how frail she had become. An injured bird who could be crushed as easily as saved, helpless and vulnerable.
“Yessss! Give her to me.”
For a moment, some...thing… else controlled his body, revelling in the feel of her, tightening its grip. But as fists clenched, metal and stone bit deep into his palm: a gold ring, gifted on the night of the Reaper and worn in Loyalty. The person who gave that was not prey, she was pack. Revolted at what he had nearly done, Gabriel loosened his hold and stepped to arms’ length, meeting her eyes.
Virtue gave a gentle smile. "Gabriel. It is lovely to see you. I was worried after your last letter.... Perhaps next time, you could knock?"
“I tried. They said some nonsense about a quarantine and I could not get through the door to… probably for the best.” A slight shake to his shoulders as he tried to put the anger and fear behind him, pretend that voice had never been heard. “But I am with you now, that is what… oh- sorry about the door.”
"Don't worry, I'm sure it can be fixed in the morning, hopefully before Doctor Roberto comes to visit, else he'll know you broke the quarantine and we'll all be in terrible trouble." Virtue tried to continue, but something caught on the back of her throat, and her sentence finished with a small fit of coughing, and she had to clutch Gabriel's arm for support. When it was over, there was blood on her lace handkerchief.
The voice sensed a new possibility, a crack of opportunity. “Who is this who has failed you, stood in your way? And now he fails your pack....”
“The morning? You need help now… not to wait for hours for some quack! I can go to the college, bring back the best they have. Half of Anvil was ill- anyone who went to Holberg, anyone who got too close to them... except me, apparently. Anyway, there is no time to waste.”
Virtue sighed. “Gabriel, please, it’s not as bad as it looks.” She gestured to the handkerchief, “This is just… a side effect. The dangerous thing is the fever and, thanks to Dr Roberto, mine has nearly passed.” She took his hands in hers, and held his gaze. “I’m going to be ok. Trust me.”
Blood and adrenaline still pumped around his body, demanding action, the voice whispering in time with their beat. The urge to act was strong, to do anything at all, but as she held his hands he became more conscious of the rings they both wore, pressed into their flesh, restraining and calming. The voice wheedled and complained, but slowly quieted to a grumbling background presence rather than a screaming command.
“I really cannot tell you how much I have missed you.”