The Witching Hour, Part 3

[the_inkslinger]

Ahhhhhh.. I'm feeling intensely stressed out. I just want to stick my head in the sand and forget about it. I'm all fluttery-feeling. But anyway:

The Witching Hour

Newt scowled and squashed an uncharacteristic flare of irritation. King was up to something, he knew it. It irked him when the man skulked about in secrecy and behind his back. Usually… usually he was rather adept at apprehending King, but foiling the pirate’s scheming proved more difficult when he’d spent the last five days sleeping. It was plain inconsiderate of King to connive when Newt was insensible to the world and therefore incapable of defending himself.

One thing was for certain: King had found himself a new toy with which to be enamored. And enamored he must be, for Newt hadn’t been able to find a hint of the pirate all morning. As soon as he’d woken, Newt had discovered that they were docked in Flesh City, which meant King had already dropped off the diamond, collected their money, and followed through on his vacation idea. But where the rogue had flitted off to afterwards, Newt hadn’t the faintest notion.

He had headed for the kitchen. Newt hadn’t been hungry but King frequently was, and so he went in search of him there only to find it empty save for Kully. Which had been a slight nuisance because the chef was still skittish and he always managed to fumble, break, or otherwise destroy something (most often his own cooking) when Newt encountered him.

True enough, Kully had been kneading what looked to be the beginning of fruit bread, but upon spotting Newt he jerked, ripped the dough in half, and his cutting board toppled off the table only to land on the floor amidst much clattering and general noisiness. Newt had just stared at him, neither speaking nor blinking, until Kully, obviously intensely uncomfortable, decided to break the silence he no doubt found suffocating.

“Um… King went out early this morning. I think he was meeting someone.” It looked like Kully wanted to pick up the cutting board but he seemed afraid to tear his gaze from Newt’s. “I don’t know who, but, er-he’s been… meeting… with him for the past three days.”

Meeting with a him? That was suspect in itself. Unless King had found a potential employer of some kind? Or an informant? Possibly a new fence? Newt narrowed his eyes at Kully and the cook paled further.

“I don’t think it’s business,” Kully added in a very small voice.

“Hmmm,” Newt allowed, very noncommittal, though it chafed at him that Kully knew more than he did. This was not how things were supposed to work in the King and Newt Universe. King was his domain. Not some bumbling nervous chef turned interloper’s.

Leaving the kitchen without another word, Newt returned to his room, swapped his plain black overcoat for a snug-fitting royal blue tunic, secured it with three belts, his bandolier, and a pouch heavy with coins, and was on his way.

Lucy was docked in an airship port so very creatively named ‘High Reach.’ They’d used it often, and weren’t the only unsavory types to frequent the place. It was cheap and out-of-the-way and law enforcement generally leant it a blind eye. Likely it would have been entirely too much of a hassle to round up all the scoundrels nested there. This meant it was perfectly fitted to King’s liking. As for Newt’s, well… it wasn’t his favourite place.

Striding out from Lucy’s main entranceway, Newt slowed and then stopped altogether, his cold gazed fixed on the two figures who really ought not to be in King’s hanger, standing next to and scrutinizing King’s beloved ship.

The two men weren’t unknown to Newt. He couldn’t remember their names, had never really bother to before and wasn’t about to start now. But that mattered little. King never called them by their actual titles, anyhow.

The first man, nearest Newt, was the brains of the operation. And as it always went, he was scarcely five feet tall, square and repulsively ugly, and not to disappoint, was sporting his perpetual sneer. The second man, a true henchman, was so tall and lean his near-skeletal frame had an elastic, noodlish quality that always intrigued Newt. It was almost amusing to watch the man walk, as his knobby, impossibly long legs seemed to wobble beneath him.

King had affectionately named them Stumpy and Stretch. King also never failed to refer to them as such when in their presence.

Newt smirked at the thought, one corner of his lips curving slightly.

Noting the change in expression, Stumpy took an abrupt step back, bumping into Stretch, who whined in protest and gave his companion a protesting look which was ignored.

Newt let the smirk drop. His features blank, he continued to gaze levelly at the two intruders. He didn’t have to guess at what they were doing, skulking about near Lucy, though it was rather fortunate he’d encountered them before any harm could be done. Fortunate for who, however, probably remained to be seen.

Stumpy and Stretch were smugglers, and had been for some time. In the past few years they’d experienced several tangles with King over conflicting interests. Conflicting interests being stolen or about-to-be stolen goods of some type or another. Naturally, King always won these encounters. Mostly because he was smarter and more skilled at his trade. But also because he had Newt.

Like he did most people, Newt scared the two smugglers. Tough as they liked to imagine themselves, they rarely tried anything with King. Possibly because Newt was the infamous pirate’s dangerous and powerful shadow. Everyone knew not to mess with King; it wasn’t worth the backlash. Even if Newt had never actually done anything to them, they were still wary of him. In that regard they weren’t completely off the mark, either.

“We’re looking for King. We don’t want any trouble.” It was Stumpy who said it, of course. Stretch rarely did anything but gape.

Newt wondered that they dared speak to him. Slightly displeased at this lack of proper respect, Newt opted to say nothing and continued staring. And these two were even easier to unnerve than Kully- probably because they knew that, given the chance, Newt would like nothing better than to scalp them.

Stumpy edged further away, small eyes darting from the hanger’s entrance, to Newt, to Lucy, then back to Newt, and once again to the door, which was probably seeming very far away at this point. Stretch hadn’t moved; he was still gaping.

Footsteps sounded behind Newt, interrupting the standstill as they clanged down the metal ramp which led to Lucy’s main hatch, only to be followed by an exasperated, “Newt, have you seen-”

But with the rest of the hanger now fully in view, along with all of its occupants, Rusty fell silent and stopped. A suspicious grimace darkening her features, she then stalked several steps closer, directing at the two scoundrels, “What are you doing here?” Without waiting for an answer, Rusty’s hand drifted to the pistol buckled to her left thigh, which was rather unnecessary, really, considering she was standing next to Newt.

“They’re looking for King. They don’t want any trouble,” Newt repeated Stumpy’s earlier statement slyly, his voice, devoid of all inflection, an eerie echo of the smuggler’s words as he treated the men in question to a cold smirk once more.

Rusty wasn’t impressed. She was almost as protective of King as she was of Lucy, her self-professed soul mate. Therefore, Newt seriously doubted she appreciated having vengeful, unscrupulous smugglers loitering around her ship.

“Get lost before I put a fucking hole through your forehead,” Rusty threatened Stumpy, her thumb now resting against the hammer of her pistol. Yes, Rusty was rather unappreciative, indeed.

But it wasn’t Rusty that the two were focused on. Which was probably a mistake on their part. Newt wasn’t feeling particularly murderous at the moment. Maybe a bit sleepy still, if anything. Rusty, however…

Stumpy came to the right decision rather quickly, “We’re leaving.”

“But-” Stretch almost protested, but was hastily silenced by the only one of them who possessed any sense whatsoever.

“We’re leaving,” Stumpy reinforced, dragging Stretch after him, and then they were gone, disappearing past the hanger door. Newt and Rusty watched them go in silence, Newt masking a small sliver of slightly perverse amusement while Rusty did a very poor job of controlling her fury.

“I hate those morons. If they touched Lucy…” Rusty swept a critical eye over the ship, frowning all the while. Finding nothing incriminating, her gaze shifted to the hanger’s door, and Rusty scrutinized it for several seconds, wondering more to herself than to Newt, “How did they get in?” Newt didn’t answer, knowing Rusty didn’t expect him to.

With a disgruntled sigh, Rusty returned to her original question, “Have you seen King?”

“No.”

“He probably left the door wide-freaking-open. He’s such an idiot. Next time he might as well invite his various enemies to come and vandalize Lucy.” Rusty stewed for a moment longer, her brow creased with exasperated anger, before she turned to Newt. “Are you going out? If you see King, please strangle him for me?”

“I will.” Newt had already been a touch displeased with King. He knew the idiot captain was up to something and he intended to find out what. He was even more displeased, however, that the halfwit smugglers had already slowed him down by a good five minutes. What a waste of time.

“Though I doubt strangling would even hurt him. It’s not like his brain uses any oxygen. Idiot.” Rusty was still incensed and, as usual, not afraid to hide it.

Newt paused, studying the fat black gem coiled around his thumb, the newest addition to his rings, then requested of Rusty, “He’s been meeting with someone?”

“Yes. He won’t say anything about it, though.”

Newt’s glance met her dark one. If he wasn’t telling Rusty… then King was definitely immersed in something he wanted to keep secret.

Interesting.

Rusty sighed and headed back towards the ship. “Well, I’ll see you later then? And I’m serious. If you see King…”

Newt nodded and Rusty raised one hand in a wave before she vanished completely from view, her footsteps once again clanging against the ramp even as Newt turned and left the corridor, making certain to not only shut but lock the door behind himself before he headed into the city.

Flesh City was a dirty place. It was full of harlots and thieves and lowlife scum. King loved it, of course. Much for those reasons. He loved the lawlessness, loved the freedom and the madness. And of course, loved the women. Something was always going on. There were always parties, always gambling, always fighting.

The city made Newt’s skin itch. The inhabitants and their lechery disgusted him. Just breathing the air made him feel grimy; it was polluted and it was too busy and no self-respecting person ever stayed longer than they had to.

That said, because greed and lawlessness and immorality were so rampant, it had some of the best shops and venders black magic wise that Newt had ever come across. And though he was intent on finding King, Newt wasn’t about to waste the opportunity to pick up several useful magic-related items he was currently lacking.

Newt was nearly halfway through his list of required materials when he caught sight of a familiar green-garbed form strolling across the opposite end of the street. Having just stepped out of a tiny shop squeezed amongst a row of equally seedy-looking others, Newt paused to peer at King, his presence unnoticed by the pirate as far too many people were bustling between them.

Then again, even if the street had been empty (which it was far from being), King probably still would have failed to notice Newt, he was so singularly focused on his companion.

Newt scowled and several people who’d been about to step past him wisely gave the sorcerer a wider berth as they scuttled by. So this was the him King had been meeting with.

They were currently deep in discussion, walking closely, their heads tilted towards each other, and neither of them were paying any attention to their surroundings. A fact which was proven when Newt cut across the crowd and stepped in front of them.

King still didn’t notice him for delayed second. In fact it took his companion’s sudden, startled stiffness and wide-eyed gaze to distract the pirate.

“Yes, certainly, and I- What are you doing here?” King’s expressive features flashed with a suspicious mixture of surprise, alarm, and guilt, Newt noted, before recovering himself and remarking with his usual suave confidence, “Oh, ingredient shopping, I see? Run out of virgin toenail clippings did you?”

“I suppose, seeing as that’s not something you-or your company, I imagine-could assist me with.” The pretty blonde next to King flushed pink and a faint hint of purple shadowed the ivory skin about his eyes before fading a moment later. He was Indurian, then, though Newt ought to have realized that, had he given him a second’s more attention.

Shifting his stare from King to the pirate’s newest pet, Newt’s scowl darkened. He really was very pretty, with bright turquoise eyes and pleasantly mussed flaxen hair, half obscured by the ochre scarf currently draped over his ears.  King didn’t normally go for men, but it wasn’t unheard of, and this one was a particularly tempting specimen, even Newt could see that. In an abstract, distant, very disinterested sort of way. Besides, the blonde twit was almost as tall as he was and that only riled Newt more.

But King chuckled at his snide comment, too accustomed with Newt’s barbed nature to find offense, and hastily excused himself, “Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I’m sure you’re busy and rather unappreciative of company so soon after-”

King caught himself, mostly due to Newt’s venomous glowering, and amended, “How you’re always rather unappreciative of company, that is. And we’d probably best be going as well. I’ll catch you later-maybe not tonight, but tomorrow for certain. Have fun shopping, hm?” Then he was gone, ushering the blonde in front of him, the two of them slipping past only to vanish into the hoards of people milling down the crowded market alleyway.

Newt stayed where he was, rooted in place and stiff with disbelief. He blinked once, twice, three times, and had he been any less cold blooded, his cheeks probably would have suffered from an infuriated red flush.

Had he… just been… slighted?

By King? By his partner King? By King who he’d known and shared all manner of escapades with for the past six years, King?

Slighted over some nobody, some vapid, vacant, blushing blonde twit.

Newt’s fingers curled into fists, long nails pressing against his palms, and he released a very slow, very controlled breath. Darkness stirred within his chest, roused from its slumbering, and Newt almost answered it. But he had more discipline than that, and so he lulled the bubbling blackness back to sleep. It took him a good five minutes to do, however, and when he returned to his surroundings, he found the street a great deal more empty than it had been. Which suited him just fine. He wasn’t in a mood to tolerate people, one in particular.

Curse King! And if he thought he could hide and deceive him, then he had another thing coming. Oh, did he have it coming… Newt was not someone who suffered to be slighted.

King smoothed the front of his vest, working the last remnants of nervousness out of his fingers as he veered around another corner, officially having escaped Newt, and managed not to start when his companion inquired, “Is that him?”

“Yes, but- God, don’t stare at him,” King protested just a little bit shrilly as Wesa made to dart beyond their protective street corner and take another look. “And what do you mean, is that him?”

Wesa smiled so sweetly his eyes almost glowed with it as he obliged, “The Zilant.”

“Yes, it-” Pausing and only slightly off balance from that blinding smile, King objected, “Hey, how did you-”

“Who doesn’t know?” Wesa laughed, “The two of you carry something of a reputation, and his aura was very dark.” Tucking blonde hair back from his face and behind his scarf, Wesa murmured thoughtfully, “He’s prettier than I thought.”

“He- pretty?!”

“You don’t think so?”

“Well of course I-” King interrupted himself, flabbergasted. “He’s Newt,” he sputtered, as if that ought to clarify everything. “And you’re being very forward.”

Wesa’s pale brows arched upwards at that. “Shouldn’t I have a right to be? You’ve been hounding me for almost a week. Despite my repeated protests. My answer is still, with my most profuse apologies, no.”

“Why?” King demanded, petulant and with none of his usual patience or good humour.

“Because, and I wish you would respect this, I have no desire to become involved with an outlaw.”

“That’s not fair. Some of my work is legitimate.” Giving Wesa a truly beseeching look, King pushed, “I’m desperate. I’ve heard you’re very good-the best, in fact. There must be something I can do to convince you?”

“No, and quite frankly, if there was I wouldn’t tell you.”

“You mean you want to stay here?” King scoffed, incredulous.

Frowning and rather perplexed, Wesa replied, “I- what’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a cesspool.”

“That’s an interesting conjecture coming from a pirate,” Wesa informed him dryly. “Now I really have to be on my way, and you are not going to follow me this time. I have work to do, you’re rather alarming to my clients, and I…you must promise not to keep following me. I can’t get anything done. Do you hear me?”

Undeterred, King grinned, “I hear you, but be warned, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The skin around Wesa’s eyes purpled slightly again and King grinned at having evoked yet another exasperated blush. Sage have never been this easy to rile. It was almost too easy.

Leveling King with a very severe look, Wesa sighed, “Captain-”

“No, no, don’t mind me,” King deflected, waving Wesa’s reprimand aside, and with a final wink, made off with a promised, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then! Don’t wait up, I’ll find you.”

***

“Is it serious?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Are you serious about having him aboard this ship?”

King was in his study, a spacious room at the forefront of the ship, and lined with yawning, arched windows, warm sunlight basked its interior while the greater portion of Flesh City remained visible below. Maps and measurements decorated the walls and spilled over his desk, accompanied by more compasses and charmed clocks than one could count. Several globes, paper cranes, artifacts (stolen, of course), and model-sized airships hung from the high ceiling, low enough to be visible but not so low as to prove hazardous for people as tall as, say, King or Newt.

Books and scrolls and the lost journals of more than one adventurer found their home in this room. Meticulously categorized and cared for, the chronicles, atlases, encyclopedias, fairytales, and folklores encircled the room, neatly tucked within broad, redwood bookshelves which spanned every wall from floor to ceiling.

King was reclined in a leather chair, his feet propped up on a gold-embellished chest from a tomb they’d raided some years ago as he peered at Newt, who was across from him, leaning against one of the immense bookcases.

“Yes I am,” King obliged Newt. “I’d like him to become a permanent member of our crew. If he agrees, then all shall be settled.”

King had been meeting with Wesa for nearly two weeks now, relentlessly wheedling away at the Indurian’s resistance. He was confident it would only be a matter of time, and a short time at that, before Wesa relented and Lucy gained another crewmember. After all, who could resist an outlaw as dashing and charming as himself?

King liked Wesa. Really, genuinely liked him. He was intelligent and soft-spoken and his very presence had a … peculiar soothing effect. King wanted him aboard. And what King wanted, he generally got.

Newt stared at him. Or perhaps glowered was more accurate.

“What?” King protested.

“It doesn’t seem at all hasty to you?”

With a mock-indignant frown, King opposed, “Why is it hasty? I’ve thought this through. Besides, there’s no sense taking more time on something I am entirely certain about, otherwise the opportunity might slip me by. Nab things while you can, right? That’s pretty much my philosophy and you know it.”

Newt paused, his features masked before exasperation (or perhaps it was disgust, rueful disgust) pulled his lips downward. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’ve been saying that for years,” King smirked, bemused. “And yet you’re still haunting this ship, and me, I might add. I wonder why that is?”

Newt was quiet for a moment. His stare was not quite as malevolent as it had been before. In fact, if King didn’t know better, he might have said it was almost… disconcerted.

“Do I look dead to you?”

King blinked at the question. He hadn’t been expecting that reaction. But no matter how startled he might be, he was not going to gape in slack-jawed bafflement. That would give him away as much as a choked ‘what the hell?’

Regaining some control, King debated as to how he should answer that. Which was his next dilemma.

One, he could be honest and therefore likely end up in the land of the deceased himself. Two, he could be dishonest, which he was rather skilled at, and smooth Newt’s ruffled feathers. Then again, Newt could usually spot his dishonesty, no matter how masterful, before he even opened his mouth. Three, he could avoid replying at all, and actually, that was looking like the most favourable option.

As it was, Newt saved him from both indecision and certain peril by speaking first.

“You just said I haunt the ship. Haunt, King.” Newt was not impressed. Not even remotely.

“I suppose I did,” King reflected, thoughtful. Newt chose the strangest things to be finicky over. “What I meant was that you sort of cling, er… perhaps not cling, but lurk? Stalk? Didn’t you say a was like a leech a few days ago? I’m not the only you, you kno-”

King stopped talking because Newt was still staring at him, and his expression had shifted again, this time looking as if he was attempting to decide whether he should be incredulous or offended.

King had his fingers crossed, hoping for incredulity to win over offense, but he needn’t have bothered. In the two seconds that had elapsed, Newt’s expression had changed once more and was now clouded.

Shifting his posture, Newt swept several unruly tendrils of hair away from his eyes and gazed steadily at King, who frowned back. There was something… off. However, just because King couldn’t decipher the look on his Newt’s face, it didn’t mean he couldn’t read his partner’s admittedly stiff body language.

Troubled, King straightened in his chair and was about to rise when Newt sighed.

“King, enough.”

King blinked, and his mouth had hardly even formed the what? before Newt pushed away from the bookshelf, pacing further into the room.

“Don’t try that with me,” Newt warned King, who’s mouth was still slightly agape. “Two weeks and I’m the one who stalks?” Seeing the beginning signs of a smile dancing about the corners of King’s lips, Newt cut him off, “Don’t laugh, this isn’t a joke. You’re the one who’s been following that- that blonde around for two weeks.”

King wasn’t smiling anymore, and not just because Newt had ordered him to swallow his humour. His partner’s words had efficiently killed all mirth. Leaning forward, his elbows resting against bent knees, King considered Newt.

So this was what Newt’s anger was about? His chasing after Wesa? Still… in his own defense, it hadn’t been quite two weeks. More like one and a half, if that. Though King doubted pointing that out to Newt would be a terribly wise course of action.

He supposed he had been rather absent. King wondered if Newt was feeling ignored. Or possibly neglected? He’d best not voice that thought to the Zilant, however. Newt would gut him for it, especially in this mood.

If Newt was displeased with him… he probably deserved it. He had been avoiding him. Of course he had his reasons, very valid ones, but King would only be willing to discuss them when the situation fostered such revelations and no sooner. Now in particular was not the opportune moment. “Newt-”

“Why the secrecy? You haven’t said a word about this- this… person. Not to anyone, not to me.” There was accusation in the glare Newt leveled at him. “And now you’re inviting him join our crew?” King winced at the wording, accepting that Newt had a right to be miffed with him. It was, after all, their crew. Not just King’s. “Please tell me you’re not surprised that-”

“That you’re angry?”

Newt snapped back, almost raising his voice, “Of course I’m angry!”

“Why? Newt- you didn’t have a problem when I recruited Kully and that wasn’t even a month ago,” King defended, not bothering to hide his bewilderment.

“This is not the same as Kully,” Newt countered, his voice a dark hiss. “Don’t insult my intelligence, King.”

Standing, King cautiously approached Newt, as if nearing a wild animal, and both his hands were raised as if to either to prove his harmlessness or deflect his partner’s anger. His own hands fisted, black rings glittering malignantly in the sunlight, Newt watched King warily, suspicion clear in his narrowed glower.

Only an arm’s distance from Newt, King requested softly, placating, “Why are you angry?”

“You should have asked me!”

“I’m the captain!” As soon as King said it he wanted to take it back. It was childish and just… stupid. But as taking it back was impossible, and they’d never actually been able to track that time-traveling medallion down, King tried to amend, “Am I not allowed to assemble my own crew?”

A derisive sneer wormed at Newt’s lips. “As you so often remind me, I’m your partner. That means you consult me.”

“Newt,” King sighed, “Three weeks ago you woke up to find a strange man in our kitchen. You didn’t have a problem then. What’s the problem now- what’s changed?”

“Kully is a cook,” Newt reminded scathingly. And King knew he was in trouble when Newt turned to sarcasm, “Was I supposed to be upset to find a cook in a kitchen?” Prodding a sharp finger into King’s chest, Newt continued, “What skill, exactly, does this blonde tart of yours offer that would be an asset to our ship?”

King paled so fast it left him light-headed. He couldn’t tell Newt. Absolutely could not tell him. If Newt was furious now… King didn’t even want to think about how murderous he’d be if the truth was to surface. It was for a selfish and conniving and very underhanded reason that King wanted Wesa aboard Lucy. And if Newt found out now, King could probably kiss their friendship goodbye.

“That’s what I thought,” Newt remarked of the pirate’s silence. His finger then trailed upwards, traveling past the gold buckles and the embroidered stitching that lined King’s jacket.

King blinked, frowned, and nearly swallowed his tongue when he glanced downwards, following Newt’s roaming finger. Which hadn’t been roaming at all, really.

Newt had plucked a single strand of long blonde hair from King’s shoulder. He didn’t look happy. But he didn’t look angry anymore, either. Controlled. Very, very controlled was how King would describe him.

Of course at the moment King was rather distracted wondering how in the nine hells that had gotten there.

Newt inspected the wheat-coloured strand, his face still so very controlled. The offending  object was pinched between thumb and forefinger, sunlight shimmering along its length and this was not good. This was very, very bad.

Newt’s eyes lifted from the rather incriminating little bit of evidence long enough for them to settle on King. And even if his features showed nothing, there was such heat and intensity in his colorless stare that King wanted to squirm.

He wondered if this was the point where Newt placed a curse upon him and his children and his children’s children, only to be absolved when his great grandchildren (or his children’s children’s children) saved the life of a sour-tempered, hexed sorcerer. But Newt did nothing of the sort. He simply whirled and stalked across the room, completely ignoring King’s cry of protest, “Newt, it’s not-Newt!”

Newt slammed the door behind him without a backward glance. In fact he slammed it so forcefully one of the toy airships, a striped yellow and black model coined ‘the flutterbee,’ was knocked loose from its chain and crashed to the floor. One of its pebble sized levi-stones broke free and skidded across gleaming tile, pinging softly against the hardened leather of King’s boot as it struck his foot.

King swore, both because Newt had just stormed out on him like a teenaged princess throwing a tantrum, and because that particular model airship had been given to him six years ago (a birthday present) and it was still one of his favourites.

“Well,” King huffed, “Dammit!”

( Part 4 )

I had a ton of fun with this. I feel bad for procrastinating on Rotd. But this is just... so low pressure. (Plus, I got this GREAT idea for a smut piece that involves Newt/King yesterday). Hehhhhh.