[fic] Zhombies of London | 28
This will mean nothing to most of you I'm sure, but it should go down on record that campfuckudie has ruined me for writing smut to the extent that I typoed 'laying' as 'ladying'.
He had Mia's permision to call on her the following afternoon, and he'd take enough notes at the British library to satisfy even the most pernicious of professors. Kon mounted the steps to Drake's townhouse smartly, feeling himself the equal of anything that Drake or Bart could throw at him. Let Drake interrogate or yea, make sarcastic remarks -- Kon was ready for it. Bart could be as aggravating as he chose -- Kon was tonight the master of equamity. Zhombies and werewolves, even vampyres, could riot through the streets of London, and Conner Kent would not blink an eye. Tonight was his.
It was a pity he'd not thought to inform Anita of this fact.
"Back," Kon announced, hanging up his overcoat in the hallway. "I was detained on the road --" He paused.
Mrs Mac usually called out a greeting once she heard the door ... nothing. And was that smoke he smelt?
Alarmed, Kon opened the drawing room door. "What's going --"
He choked. The smoke was thick and worse -- underneath it the too familiar smell of burning flesh and blood. Kon managed a half step backwards before his vision clouded. Bart and Anita looked up at him startled and Kon had just enough time to recognise them and then everything went stark Kansas sun and the numbing scent of guilt.
Something wasn't right.
Kon blearily stared upwards. What in the b----- was Drake's drawing room ceiling doing there? And what was that smell?
"Nngh," he said. "Pickle?"
Anita bent over him. "Bart, he's coming to. You can put da condiments away, mon."
"Condiments?"
"I don' carry smelling salts," Anita said, kneeling over him to dab at his forehead. "So we had t' improvise. Oh Kon honey -- I am sorry."
"Can you sit?" Bart asked, his eyes round and worried.
"What happened?" Kon asked, groggily letting Anita help him sit. "Did I ... ?"
"Like a ton of bricks mon," Anita said and Bart added.
"I've never seen anyone go down so fast."
"Ha," said Kon. Now that he was regining cognisance of his surroundings, he was aware of the lingering smoke and felt sick to his stomach. There was still some blood visible on the newsprint Anita and Bart had spread on the floor and a few chicken feathers left no doubt what they'd been doing. "The smoke --"
"We opened a window. Will you be all right mon? You're white as a ghost --"
"Whiter," Bart said. "Greta has more colour than you do now."
"I'll be fine," Kon struggled to his feet. "Just need some air." He paused. "My shirt."
"Well, you were unconscious. We needed t' get you ventilated."
"None of this explains the arcane symbols painted on my chest."
"I figured dat since I was planning on casting protection on you for da ball, mon, dat I could just as well do it now while you were unconscious. You know, save wear and tear on da floor."
"I'm touched." Kon said.
"You don't look touched," Bart observed. "You look more ... nauseated."
"The two are often confused," Kon said retrieving his shirt. "I'm going to freshen up."
"Just one moment, mon." Anita dabbed her finger in a mix of what smelt like sulphur and blood and smeared it across his chest. "Dere," she said, making the final touch. "You're all done."
Kon gulped and made an ignominous dash for the bathroom.
By the time he emerged, skin scrubbed so hard that no one would be able to accuse him of being pale, Anita had left, taking all her acrouements with her, and Drake had arrived home.
"So let me see if I understand this," Drake said, nodding in acknowledgement of Kon's presence as he joined him and Bart in the drawing room. "You gave my servant a day's leave so you could use my drawing room for arcane arts."
"You know Mrs Mac doesn't like black magic," Bart said, idly lounging in the biggest of Drake's armchairs. "And her day off's tomorrow. What difference does it make?"
"It means that Mrs Mac hasn't left us dinner as she usually does. And we can't go out to eat, I'm expecting a phone call."
"So we'll improvise," Bart said. "It can't be that hard to cook. Anita even left us a chicken."
Kon swallowed, but it appeared that Drake wasn't having any of it. "And have you burn down the house in the process? I think not. You've already done enough damage -- look at this big dent in my floor. That wasn't there this morning."
"I'll just have a look in the cupboards," Kon said clearly, deciding the kitchen was the better place to be.
With the kitchen windows wide open and the discovery that Anita had already consigned the chicken to the ice box, Kon felt much better. The onion stung his eyes a little, but he remembered standing side by side with Ma in her kitchen, curtains pulled against the winter air and the kitchen warm and bright, and watching as she showed him how to cut them neatly. He should write her, Kon thought, adding carrots to the now bubbling soup.
"That doesn't smell half bad," Bart observed in tones of great surprise wandering into the kitchen to stare at the pot. "You never let on that you could cook."
"I can handle the basics," Kon explained, setting the kitchen table for the three of them. "Ma said every bachelor should know how to feed himself, and it's pretty hard to ruin chicken soup."
"Chicken?" Bart asked, studying the soup. "But aren't you vegetarian?"
"It'd be pretty dull without the chicken bones to give it flavor," Kon explained. "And boiled ... I can eat. It's just the cooking --"
"Is that why you passed out?" Bart asked.
Kon hesitated then realised he didn't have a lot left to lose. He nodded, ladling the soup into a bowl for Bart.
To his astonishment -- and indeed, quiet gratification -- Bart didn't say anything more on the subject. "Do we have toast to go with this?" He asked. "Ow, it's hot."
"You did see me take it off the stove right now -- Drake, soup for you?"
"Please," Drake said taking his gloves off as he joined them at the table. "That was the phonecall. All our current leads have come to nothing, so we're meeting again tomorow for a change of tack. As I have no pressing business to take care of, I was thinking we could use the evening to consolidate and review all our preparations for the Ball -- Conner, did you make this?"
"It's just soup," Kon said, pouring himself a bowl, and placing it on the table with Bart's toast. "Hardly an accomplishment."
"I have to hand it to you colonials. Your practicality really knows no bounds."
"In my opinion," Bart said, tone light and amused. "The American way of life has much to recommend it."
Kon shot him a suspicious glance, unsure what he was implying, but it was Drake who took Bart up on it.
"I knew I missed something. What happened this afternoon?"
"You'll find out tomorrow," Bart said. "After your fittings, Anita's going to lay a protection on you. She did the house and the rest of us today."
"Out of the question," Drake frowned. "I'm a foundation member, I can't go around dabbling in Voduin --"
"You're also the one of us that's the most at risk," Bart protested. "You must see --"
"Of course I'm aware of the danger," Drake said. "That doesn't change the fact that I just can't condone it."
"But --"
"Do these Voduin rituals have anything to do with the new addition to my floor? Were the three of you moving furniture or something?"
"It's a dent, Tim. Not an affront upon your personal dignity. Let it go."
Kon endured.
Eventually, the conversation returned to the real matter at hand -- Cobblepot's plot.
"All of Anita's magic fixes on his mansion as the source of the strange happenings," Bart reported. "But nothing more than that."
"Queen says that just looking at the man raises his hackles," Kon said. "But they haven't so much as caught the scent of the beast responsible for the attack."
"Neither has the Foundation," Drake said thoughtfully, resting his chin upon his index fingers as he thought. "Further interviews with eye-witnesses to the attack have confirmed that it smelt similar to the zhombies of our little outbreak, but we've little else to go on." He paused. "The Director," he admitted slowly as if it were a personal failure, "has been unable to secure entrance to the Ball for any of his agents. We're it."
"So where do we go from here?"
"We keep on as we've been doing," Drake decided. "Bart, you and Anita continue to try and find out as much as you can from the Voduin traces -- we still have no idea of the identity of the woman in the warehouse. I'll see if anything comes from the meeting tomorrow, and focus my attention on perfecting my costume for the Ball. Kent, as you're spending so much time in the British library anyway, why not see if you can find out if anyone else has been looking at the books on werewolves. Continue with your day-to-day life as much as you can -- keep any social engagements, don't alter your schedules. At this juncture, it is critical that we are not suspected of any duplicity."
"About that," Bart said regretfully. "My employer seems to have fled the country, so I'm once again a man of leisure."
"Fled the country?" Kon repeated.
"That is a blow," Drake consoled him. "Still, perhaps at this moment, employment would be an unnecessary complication. It might be for the best."
Drake's definition of the best might have been questionable, but the rest of the week progressed pretty much as he'd planned. Anita and Bart both broached the subject of his protection with him, but Drake was adamant against it. Kon broadened his research on werewolves to include walking with Mia on her charitable excursions, visiting the families of the factory workers and distributing food and medicines, and even making a survey or two of London pubs with Roy. His thesis acquired several more chapters and a bibliography and the clandestine dance lessons continued.
The final fittings were made and parcels began to be delivered to Drake's residence. Drake's boxes were whisked up to his room even before Kon and Bart could speculate on their contents, and finally, on the day of the Ball, the four of them met at Drake's residence to begin their preparations.
"Ah, Conner," Drake said, hailing Kon as he emerged from the bathroom. "Just the man I wanted."
It was the moment that Kon had been dreading. "No."
"No? But my good man, you don't even know--"
"You can't do the corset by yourself," Kon said. "You need help."
"Full marks for deduction," Drake said. "Look, you must help me. You're the only one in this household who wouldn't take advantage of this situation, and you know it."
"Mrs Mac --"
"Has the week off and is visiting her sister in Shrewsbury."
"Anita's a girl. She knows about corsets --"
"Miss Fite hates me and while I do admit she could do the job adequately, I prefer my ribs intact."
"Bart knows a lot more about this than I do --"
"Bart for all his advantages, is not above petty revenge."
"Some petty revenge might do you good," Kon muttered.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Kon sighed. "Fine, but only under duress."
"Naturally, Conner."
Drake's dressing gown concealed the fact that he was already clad in petticoat and a white undervest embroidered with lace and blue ribbon.
"There is such a thing as going to extremes," Kon observed.
"I like to think of it as attention to detail," Drake said. "It bothers you doesn't it."
"Let's just get on with this."
Drake tugged the corset on over his head. "If you insist. Although I have to say that avoiding the subject is not going to bring you any relief," he said, turning his back to Kon and bracing himself against the dresser.
"You needn't worry yourself on my part," Kon said, reluctantly taking up the corset's laces. He paused as he belatedly realised that this meant he would have to stand directly behind Drake.
"But then, who will?" Kon could just see Drake's smirk in the mirror. "You keep blinding yourself to it, you're never going to know what you need."
So, that was it. "And I suppose you know," Kon kept his voice even as he let his leg brush Drake's.
"I may have ... an inkling or two." Drake's voice hitched satisfyingly as Kon pressed him further against the dresser. "Conner --"
"Let me know when," Kon said and tugged.
"I'm beginning to see why Bart might ... have drawn comparisons between this ... and a medieval torture device."
"Too tight?"
"No ... I'll just need a moment to adjust." Drake took a long breath to steady himself. His body was taut, his fingers clutching the dresser edge. Although his voice was still calm, his reflection in the mirror was suspiciously flushed. Kon didn't think he'd even seen him less self-possessed.
It was --
"Ready?" Kon didn't wait for a reply, bracing himself against Drake and pulling.
"That's f-fine," Drake wavered. "Thank you, Conner."
"You're welcome." Kon tied the corset off. "Is that everything?"
"For now."
"Are you sure I can't open you a window or something? You seem a little out of breath."
"No, no ... I'm just --" Drake's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I ... stand corrected. It seems you are not above some petty revenge after all."
"I learned from the best," Kon affected modesty.
"Bravo, Conner. I was beginning ... to think you'd never come around."
This was not the reaction Kon had been expecting. "Excuse me?" he asked nonplussed.
"We've been open -- well, as much as one can be," Drake said reclining against the dresser in a way that was typically him and so incongruous given his attire, that Kon was almost certain he was sincere. "Laying bare our rules and motives -- not because we've tired of you, but as invitation. Do you see?"
It made sense in the same sort of way that nothing Drake or Bart did made sense.
"Invitation to what exactly?" Kon asked.
"That," Drake said clearly. "Depends on you."
He had Mia's permision to call on her the following afternoon, and he'd take enough notes at the British library to satisfy even the most pernicious of professors. Kon mounted the steps to Drake's townhouse smartly, feeling himself the equal of anything that Drake or Bart could throw at him. Let Drake interrogate or yea, make sarcastic remarks -- Kon was ready for it. Bart could be as aggravating as he chose -- Kon was tonight the master of equamity. Zhombies and werewolves, even vampyres, could riot through the streets of London, and Conner Kent would not blink an eye. Tonight was his.
It was a pity he'd not thought to inform Anita of this fact.
"Back," Kon announced, hanging up his overcoat in the hallway. "I was detained on the road --" He paused.
Mrs Mac usually called out a greeting once she heard the door ... nothing. And was that smoke he smelt?
Alarmed, Kon opened the drawing room door. "What's going --"
He choked. The smoke was thick and worse -- underneath it the too familiar smell of burning flesh and blood. Kon managed a half step backwards before his vision clouded. Bart and Anita looked up at him startled and Kon had just enough time to recognise them and then everything went stark Kansas sun and the numbing scent of guilt.
Something wasn't right.
Kon blearily stared upwards. What in the b----- was Drake's drawing room ceiling doing there? And what was that smell?
"Nngh," he said. "Pickle?"
Anita bent over him. "Bart, he's coming to. You can put da condiments away, mon."
"Condiments?"
"I don' carry smelling salts," Anita said, kneeling over him to dab at his forehead. "So we had t' improvise. Oh Kon honey -- I am sorry."
"Can you sit?" Bart asked, his eyes round and worried.
"What happened?" Kon asked, groggily letting Anita help him sit. "Did I ... ?"
"Like a ton of bricks mon," Anita said and Bart added.
"I've never seen anyone go down so fast."
"Ha," said Kon. Now that he was regining cognisance of his surroundings, he was aware of the lingering smoke and felt sick to his stomach. There was still some blood visible on the newsprint Anita and Bart had spread on the floor and a few chicken feathers left no doubt what they'd been doing. "The smoke --"
"We opened a window. Will you be all right mon? You're white as a ghost --"
"Whiter," Bart said. "Greta has more colour than you do now."
"I'll be fine," Kon struggled to his feet. "Just need some air." He paused. "My shirt."
"Well, you were unconscious. We needed t' get you ventilated."
"None of this explains the arcane symbols painted on my chest."
"I figured dat since I was planning on casting protection on you for da ball, mon, dat I could just as well do it now while you were unconscious. You know, save wear and tear on da floor."
"I'm touched." Kon said.
"You don't look touched," Bart observed. "You look more ... nauseated."
"The two are often confused," Kon said retrieving his shirt. "I'm going to freshen up."
"Just one moment, mon." Anita dabbed her finger in a mix of what smelt like sulphur and blood and smeared it across his chest. "Dere," she said, making the final touch. "You're all done."
Kon gulped and made an ignominous dash for the bathroom.
By the time he emerged, skin scrubbed so hard that no one would be able to accuse him of being pale, Anita had left, taking all her acrouements with her, and Drake had arrived home.
"So let me see if I understand this," Drake said, nodding in acknowledgement of Kon's presence as he joined him and Bart in the drawing room. "You gave my servant a day's leave so you could use my drawing room for arcane arts."
"You know Mrs Mac doesn't like black magic," Bart said, idly lounging in the biggest of Drake's armchairs. "And her day off's tomorrow. What difference does it make?"
"It means that Mrs Mac hasn't left us dinner as she usually does. And we can't go out to eat, I'm expecting a phone call."
"So we'll improvise," Bart said. "It can't be that hard to cook. Anita even left us a chicken."
Kon swallowed, but it appeared that Drake wasn't having any of it. "And have you burn down the house in the process? I think not. You've already done enough damage -- look at this big dent in my floor. That wasn't there this morning."
"I'll just have a look in the cupboards," Kon said clearly, deciding the kitchen was the better place to be.
With the kitchen windows wide open and the discovery that Anita had already consigned the chicken to the ice box, Kon felt much better. The onion stung his eyes a little, but he remembered standing side by side with Ma in her kitchen, curtains pulled against the winter air and the kitchen warm and bright, and watching as she showed him how to cut them neatly. He should write her, Kon thought, adding carrots to the now bubbling soup.
"That doesn't smell half bad," Bart observed in tones of great surprise wandering into the kitchen to stare at the pot. "You never let on that you could cook."
"I can handle the basics," Kon explained, setting the kitchen table for the three of them. "Ma said every bachelor should know how to feed himself, and it's pretty hard to ruin chicken soup."
"Chicken?" Bart asked, studying the soup. "But aren't you vegetarian?"
"It'd be pretty dull without the chicken bones to give it flavor," Kon explained. "And boiled ... I can eat. It's just the cooking --"
"Is that why you passed out?" Bart asked.
Kon hesitated then realised he didn't have a lot left to lose. He nodded, ladling the soup into a bowl for Bart.
To his astonishment -- and indeed, quiet gratification -- Bart didn't say anything more on the subject. "Do we have toast to go with this?" He asked. "Ow, it's hot."
"You did see me take it off the stove right now -- Drake, soup for you?"
"Please," Drake said taking his gloves off as he joined them at the table. "That was the phonecall. All our current leads have come to nothing, so we're meeting again tomorow for a change of tack. As I have no pressing business to take care of, I was thinking we could use the evening to consolidate and review all our preparations for the Ball -- Conner, did you make this?"
"It's just soup," Kon said, pouring himself a bowl, and placing it on the table with Bart's toast. "Hardly an accomplishment."
"I have to hand it to you colonials. Your practicality really knows no bounds."
"In my opinion," Bart said, tone light and amused. "The American way of life has much to recommend it."
Kon shot him a suspicious glance, unsure what he was implying, but it was Drake who took Bart up on it.
"I knew I missed something. What happened this afternoon?"
"You'll find out tomorrow," Bart said. "After your fittings, Anita's going to lay a protection on you. She did the house and the rest of us today."
"Out of the question," Drake frowned. "I'm a foundation member, I can't go around dabbling in Voduin --"
"You're also the one of us that's the most at risk," Bart protested. "You must see --"
"Of course I'm aware of the danger," Drake said. "That doesn't change the fact that I just can't condone it."
"But --"
"Do these Voduin rituals have anything to do with the new addition to my floor? Were the three of you moving furniture or something?"
"It's a dent, Tim. Not an affront upon your personal dignity. Let it go."
Kon endured.
Eventually, the conversation returned to the real matter at hand -- Cobblepot's plot.
"All of Anita's magic fixes on his mansion as the source of the strange happenings," Bart reported. "But nothing more than that."
"Queen says that just looking at the man raises his hackles," Kon said. "But they haven't so much as caught the scent of the beast responsible for the attack."
"Neither has the Foundation," Drake said thoughtfully, resting his chin upon his index fingers as he thought. "Further interviews with eye-witnesses to the attack have confirmed that it smelt similar to the zhombies of our little outbreak, but we've little else to go on." He paused. "The Director," he admitted slowly as if it were a personal failure, "has been unable to secure entrance to the Ball for any of his agents. We're it."
"So where do we go from here?"
"We keep on as we've been doing," Drake decided. "Bart, you and Anita continue to try and find out as much as you can from the Voduin traces -- we still have no idea of the identity of the woman in the warehouse. I'll see if anything comes from the meeting tomorrow, and focus my attention on perfecting my costume for the Ball. Kent, as you're spending so much time in the British library anyway, why not see if you can find out if anyone else has been looking at the books on werewolves. Continue with your day-to-day life as much as you can -- keep any social engagements, don't alter your schedules. At this juncture, it is critical that we are not suspected of any duplicity."
"About that," Bart said regretfully. "My employer seems to have fled the country, so I'm once again a man of leisure."
"Fled the country?" Kon repeated.
"That is a blow," Drake consoled him. "Still, perhaps at this moment, employment would be an unnecessary complication. It might be for the best."
Drake's definition of the best might have been questionable, but the rest of the week progressed pretty much as he'd planned. Anita and Bart both broached the subject of his protection with him, but Drake was adamant against it. Kon broadened his research on werewolves to include walking with Mia on her charitable excursions, visiting the families of the factory workers and distributing food and medicines, and even making a survey or two of London pubs with Roy. His thesis acquired several more chapters and a bibliography and the clandestine dance lessons continued.
The final fittings were made and parcels began to be delivered to Drake's residence. Drake's boxes were whisked up to his room even before Kon and Bart could speculate on their contents, and finally, on the day of the Ball, the four of them met at Drake's residence to begin their preparations.
"Ah, Conner," Drake said, hailing Kon as he emerged from the bathroom. "Just the man I wanted."
It was the moment that Kon had been dreading. "No."
"No? But my good man, you don't even know--"
"You can't do the corset by yourself," Kon said. "You need help."
"Full marks for deduction," Drake said. "Look, you must help me. You're the only one in this household who wouldn't take advantage of this situation, and you know it."
"Mrs Mac --"
"Has the week off and is visiting her sister in Shrewsbury."
"Anita's a girl. She knows about corsets --"
"Miss Fite hates me and while I do admit she could do the job adequately, I prefer my ribs intact."
"Bart knows a lot more about this than I do --"
"Bart for all his advantages, is not above petty revenge."
"Some petty revenge might do you good," Kon muttered.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Kon sighed. "Fine, but only under duress."
"Naturally, Conner."
Drake's dressing gown concealed the fact that he was already clad in petticoat and a white undervest embroidered with lace and blue ribbon.
"There is such a thing as going to extremes," Kon observed.
"I like to think of it as attention to detail," Drake said. "It bothers you doesn't it."
"Let's just get on with this."
Drake tugged the corset on over his head. "If you insist. Although I have to say that avoiding the subject is not going to bring you any relief," he said, turning his back to Kon and bracing himself against the dresser.
"You needn't worry yourself on my part," Kon said, reluctantly taking up the corset's laces. He paused as he belatedly realised that this meant he would have to stand directly behind Drake.
"But then, who will?" Kon could just see Drake's smirk in the mirror. "You keep blinding yourself to it, you're never going to know what you need."
So, that was it. "And I suppose you know," Kon kept his voice even as he let his leg brush Drake's.
"I may have ... an inkling or two." Drake's voice hitched satisfyingly as Kon pressed him further against the dresser. "Conner --"
"Let me know when," Kon said and tugged.
"I'm beginning to see why Bart might ... have drawn comparisons between this ... and a medieval torture device."
"Too tight?"
"No ... I'll just need a moment to adjust." Drake took a long breath to steady himself. His body was taut, his fingers clutching the dresser edge. Although his voice was still calm, his reflection in the mirror was suspiciously flushed. Kon didn't think he'd even seen him less self-possessed.
It was --
"Ready?" Kon didn't wait for a reply, bracing himself against Drake and pulling.
"That's f-fine," Drake wavered. "Thank you, Conner."
"You're welcome." Kon tied the corset off. "Is that everything?"
"For now."
"Are you sure I can't open you a window or something? You seem a little out of breath."
"No, no ... I'm just --" Drake's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I ... stand corrected. It seems you are not above some petty revenge after all."
"I learned from the best," Kon affected modesty.
"Bravo, Conner. I was beginning ... to think you'd never come around."
This was not the reaction Kon had been expecting. "Excuse me?" he asked nonplussed.
"We've been open -- well, as much as one can be," Drake said reclining against the dresser in a way that was typically him and so incongruous given his attire, that Kon was almost certain he was sincere. "Laying bare our rules and motives -- not because we've tired of you, but as invitation. Do you see?"
It made sense in the same sort of way that nothing Drake or Bart did made sense.
"Invitation to what exactly?" Kon asked.
"That," Drake said clearly. "Depends on you."