#alternative route

[ca-chuw]

thinking about c!sapnap leaving the smp and meeting, not team mafia, but instead first meeting blake

[jed-the-newspaperguy]

Part 2 part 1

Wrin looks after Roman. He doesn't seem to waste his time. But Wrin just shrug. He wasnt expecting a long conversation anyway, so he goes back to swimming. Diving under water and so on. Remembering things he would prefere to forget.

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Jed was just about to take the sandwiches out of the fridge when he heard Roman's voice. His inner self slighty flinch, yet didn't show it from outside. Ghostfaces are sure good at sneaking around. "Sandwiches. Don't know what is in them but I am about to find out." He follows Roman and sits down. "Want one?" He offers a sandwich.

@labcampkill

[seiyaryudreamer]

Fire Emblem three Houses -Halcyon Fields

Chapter 1: White Clouds –Shambhala

            It was that same dream again; the world was on fire and there was little he could do to stop it. The torrent of screams from the dying, lightning from the heavens raining down upon the land, and that demonic presence that loomed over all. He was sure it was going to come, and they were the ones that would unleash such a beast. The young man ran, ran as fast as his legs would carry him, through the mad rush of people that clawed at each other to get away. He was being called, and he pushed and shoved to make his way through the crowds that tried to shove him down. The further in he got, the more he could hear the voice. A child’s? No… and yes…, he wasn’t sure. Yet as he grew closer to the epicenter, he saw the beast, giant, evil, its eyes burning with anger, and its voice thundered over his head with rage as it unleashed fire from its mouth.

A dragon?! No, not quiet and yet not. It was hard to tell. The thing seemed to fill every crevice in the crater that it had made in the center of the city. But the young man’s eyes were not upon the monster that towered above him and everything else; no, he was watching the young man that stood before the beast, eyes at the creature.

He knew this young man, not well, but he knew him. He’d seen his face before he had killed him. The purple hair tied back loosely, the noble clothing of the Fraldarius house hold, it was all the same from that day four years ago. The man in the black robe panted as he caught his breath and called out to the stranger that he knew of only in death.

“Who… Who are you… Why are you in my dream? What’s happening here?!”

The purple-haired man turned and looked over his shoulder at him, blue eyes staring with contempt, annoyance, but something else, not anger, nor hostility, something different that he couldn’t put his finger on. A nobility that didn’t ooze naturally from the man, something almost child-like. And, when the man of Fraldarius spoke, his voice wasn’t that of a man’s at all. It was of a young girl.

            “I should like to ask you the same question of who you are and how you can see this. But I assume it has something to do with your bloodline.” The Fraldarian man turned to face him, almost lazily. “If this is a dream of yours, then it is one of mine too, which means we’re both seeing the same thing. How odd.”

            “So you can’t give me a name?” the man in the black robe called out to the other man in the blue cloak. The young man shook his head. “And you know not why you are in my dream?” again a head shake. “Then what can you make of this scene?”

            “Oh, you can already tell what this is…” the man with the purple hair opened his arms wide. “This is what your leaders wanted, is it not?”

            “No… No, it can’t be. This… this isn’t….” the man in the black robe muttered as the other walked towards him. “This isn’t what I want. I… No…”

            “No… it’s not what you want, it’s what he wants, they want. It’s what they’ve wanted for a long time and it’s what will happen if things don’t change. You know things… you feel them.” The other man stooped down some to catch the man in black’s cheeks in his hand and turn his face up. “Look upon what your master’s will wrought. The time is coming, you know it. You know what is true in that heart of yours and you know what you have to do. So… are you willing to do what you can to change things, or will you let it play out again and again until it becomes right?”

            The man with the black robe watched as the figure of the man before him shifted into that of a child with long green hair. Her green eyes stared back at him as if expecting something.

            “Well, then….? What do you say…? The choice is yours. You can see what’s coming, and they can’t. Will you stand by and do nothing? Or…”

            He tried to speak, tried to get the words out, but something pulled him from his slumber and he thrashed as he felt hands around his shoulders and a different voice calling out to him.

            “Wakey Wakey Doctor Sleep. Time to get your ass out of bed.” The new voice seemed to yank him sideways and pull him from the green-haired girl’s grip. Suddenly, he was tumbling head over heels and crashing to the ground with a groan as he hit a hard floor.

            Looking up, the man adjusted his eyes to the dim green neon light that surrounded him. He blinked a few times as he stared up into the eyes of the orange-haired girl who was leaning over him. A gleefully, dangerously amused smile had slipped on her face as she stared back at him. The man sighed. “Kronya, what are you doing in my room yet again?”

            “Waking you up, stupid. Thales would be rather upset if you didn’t come and join us on time.” The pale young woman giggled as she cupped his face. “And you know how he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

            “What are you going on about? I know all this.” Her flirtations were getting on his nerves. Not that she wasn’t an attractive woman, she was. Most of those in Shambala thought so, but he knew her too well and her attitude never made her anything more than an annoyance to him.

            The man reached up and gripped her hands, then pulled them away from his face. “You can tell him I’ll be there on time if he’s worried. Now, would you move for me? I have no intention of brushing against your chest on the way up.”

            Kronya pouted and huffed as she got up from her crouched position over his head. “Oh, you are no fun, Anacharsis.”

            “Just like my father,” he muttered as he sat up. Anacharsis cracked his neck and glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. She didn’t move and again he let out a long sigh. “Are you going to sit there while I dress?”

            “Why not?” She smirked and played with a strand of her orange hair. “Not like I wouldn’t like the view.”

            He stood and stretched. “Yes, well, you may, but I would rather not be your view. So leave.”

            Kronya moved closer and put a hand on his chest as she leaned up to him. “And if I don’t?”

            Anacharis grabbed her wrist again, “Then I will remind you of why I am considered to be as dangerous as my father.”

            She backed off then as he stared her down with contempt, and there was a flicker of fear in her eyes. He knew he was using a card he didn’t like to, but if she thought for a moment he could be as cruel as his father had been, if it would get her to leave him alone for a moment, then using his father’s name was worth it. Kronya stared for a moment as she moved back to the door with a ‘Fine, whatever, be that way’ and left without looking back.

            Alone, Anacharsis let out a sigh as he sat down on his bed and ran his hand through his hair. He reached over to his bedside table and pulled open a drawer, then pressed a button on the underside revealing a hidden drawer with a book inside. Good, still there, he thought before he shut it. All his notes, all his thoughts, all his research was tucked away in that simple tome, and, should Thales find out about it, it could be the death of him.

            Once standing, he went to his washing closet, quickly cleaned and dried off. No reason to feel disgusting, even if he was soon to be surrounded by disgusting people. He thought as he pulled on his black warlock robes and fixed his collar. Unlike the men and women under him, he sported blue colors and a blue vest that made him stand out as a leader. His blue-green eyes stared back at him under a mop of blue hair, which he pinned up as best he could to keep off his neck and out of his eyes. The bangs on the right still never could stay up and he sighed deeply, pulling out the pins on that side, letting his hair hang loose, and then fixed his circlet around his head. The brand of their cult upon his forehead.

            What does it matter anyway? It’s not like I care what he thinks. Anacharsis thought as he moved away from his mirror and collected his items for the meeting. Thoughts swirled though as he pulled out books to carry to at least look like he’d come prepared to contribute to the matter at hand, though in truth, his mind was already racing on the dream he’d had.

            The boy. The place. The beast. The voice, the four things that kept repeating in his thoughts. He needed to figure them out. The place… he couldn’t quite place it, even after the extensive travels he had undergone for his leader, and that was more likely because of the nature of the dreams in the first place and the situation he saw. He’d worry about the location later, once the others had been sorted.

The beast, it looked familiar, a dragon of some sort, yet not a dragon. Large, imposing, a monster that seemed to have lost all of its senses, and yet not going on instinct. No, it knew what it was doing, knew in his dream what it was destroying, who it was killing. But it seemed lost, and not reveling in the blood and death and destruction. It was angry, in pain, the roar it sounded let him know that. But trying to remember the look of the beast, a white giant of a creature, he just couldn’t. The only thing that stood out were the eyes. He felt that there were many of them, but that only two could truly see. His face pulled into a concerned thoughtful scowl. What did the dragon mean in this case? A warning or a real threat for the future.

Anacharsis shook his head. This dream was bothersome and vexing. The voice, a child, or merely sounding as one? Who owned it, not the boy that was before him in the dream? No he remembered that voice. How could he forget it, it haunted his thoughts when he tried to be alone? Placing a hand to his forehead as he sat on his bed, he forced himself to think about the voice. Young, yet old in tone and way of speaking. She–he was sure it was a 'she'–seemed to want something from him. He knew, deep down he knew, but he was scared.

“If…” He muttered as he held his head and rested his elbow on his knee, “If Thales finds out what I’m thinking… he would kill me in an instant. Yet… yet this child was… was she encouraging me to do what she thinks I must?” He pressed his thumb to the silver sigil upon his brow, feeling the shape of the eye in the center. “Will I stand by and let it happen, or do what I must? What I have to.”

Again, a deep sigh rose from his lips. He’d always done what they expected of him, since he was young, since… since… Mother died. Since then, Anacharsis had simply done as told by Thales, or his late father. It was easier than rejecting them and being tortured. Give them what they wanted to hear from his visions and then let them do what they desired. But it was after her death that he realized she had been shielding him from the worst of it. He’d always known that Thales and his ilk were planning things she didn’t agree with, seeing as she was from the surface, but being a foreigner as well saved her from some of their more duplicitous acts against her. His mother had been gifted, as his father had told him ages ago, that he had been blessed with her gift.

With her gone, they had matured him, trained him, and taught him to focus on his powers and skills. He became their weapon and their oracle. The eye of the snake and he played the part well, at least till he was twelve and he found the book from his mother. It was the same book he had hidden in the drawer. He’d rebound it to give it more pages over time, but it held knowledge of outside Fódlan, outside Shambhala. Knowledge that he read, knowledge that lead him away from Those Who Slither in the Dark’s teachings, and knowledge that allowed him to understand more of what he saw when he had his visions.

It was because of that book that he wanted to learn more, needed to know the truth, and sought it out under the guise of trying to find information about their enemies. Any merchant who he passed by who was selling traveler books, or letters, from anywhere outside of their country, he would buy and consume. That was how he learned of the goddess that landed on the world of blue water, of how she created a single race that later became the Beorec and the Laguz, and of the strange world of Archanea that was blessed under the watchful eye of a divine dragon, whatever that was. So much of this world was far larger than he had ever figured, and his mother had led him to it with her writings.

He shook his head. Thinking of her would not work here. That girl in his dream wanted an answer, and he would have to make a choice. As he stood, he fixed his cloak and gathered his items. He would contemplate on the boy as he walked to the meeting. Being late would not be the wisest of choices.

The halls of the dorm where he slept were dark and only lit by the thin lines of glowing green energy that pulsed down the walls. He was used to the dim lights and the cold feeling of the world he belonged to. Even glancing at his pale skin on his hand, he knew exactly what he looked like, some ungodly demonic monster from the grave.

That’s probably what the Frauldarian man saw in me on that day. A demon come to destroy everything he loved. Anacharsis thought, moving down the halls. It was four years ago; he was not yet fifteen, and his father was still alive. The plan had been simple and put into motion. Cleobulus had taken the place of the mage Cornelia, and set herself into the role of keeping the second wife of King Lambert, Patricia, from her husband’s side and slowly poisoning her to make her a more willing accomplice to his assassination. Her daughter, Edelgard, was taken by Thales, who had inserted himself into the role of her uncle, whom he easily dispatched. The two, along with his father, Periander, who was acting as a noble to instill feelings of anger towards the king of Faerghus and his political motions, caused the need for the death of the man who was the holy king. Everything seemed to go according to plan.

They had sent him to help assist in the attack, to kill any noble left standing that needed to die, should the fools, as Thales called them, fail in their assassination attack. The sight of the flames and the screams were enough to make him disgusted by their actions. How was this to help revive their god? How was any of this going to make others see the faults in the Goddess Sothis? He’d moved down closer as the fighting went on, hoping to understand why Thales was so determined in these deaths. Yet nothing he saw that day had ever made him feel anything but empathy, pain, and suffering for those on the surface.

“There is no need of this,” he muttered as he moved among the wreckages. “No need at all.” He could see it in the faces of the men that lay dead on the ground, and ducked behind a standing carriage. He blinked when he saw his father take a woman from the carriage and spirited her away. A frown had crossed his lips. He did not remember this being part of the plan he had heard, but then again, they had kept much from him. Observation; that was his role here. Observe and record, was Thales’s orders on that day.

Anacharsis, though, didn’t just want to observe. He wanted to understand, and what he saw made him understand that this was not what he wanted for the surface. He wanted to live with the people here, to pray to whom he choose. Why then was this happening? What reason was there for all this bloodshed from a kingdom whose king had not sinned against them?

There was a strange ache in his heart that day, one it took four years to fully understand. Guilt. Guilt for the suffering that befell those at the tragedy that he witnessed. Guilt because it was his people's actions that had led to this, and guilt because he could have stopped it had he lied to Thales and told him a vision of failure of this plan. He’d seen it pan out the way the man wanted, but there was something in the distance, a light, a woman who appeared sleeping in that vison, but glowing with a light so powerful that he had to look away. This… person, this being, whomever she was, was going to be their downfall, he was sure of it. And it would start with this attack.

Anacharsis heard the sounds of a man muttering nearby, and turned away from his father, only to glance back and see the man was gone. Figuring he’d just wandered off with the woman some place, Anacharsis made his way to where the muttering man’s voice came from, and saw an older blonde man hovering over a young blonde boy. Both dressed in Faerghus garb and, while bloody, the two were clearly of noble birth. He moved closer, curious how the two could have escaped the attack, and listened as they spoke, staying low.

“Father, father, please get up!” the boy was saying. He was younger than Anacharsis, of that the young man was sure, but his voice showed he was no small child, though he looked younger. The boy was shaking his father, as if in disbelief at the whole thing. The Agarthan warlock bit his lip. The scene was depressing, and he wanted to turn away from it and leave them to their mourning. But something about the older man bothered him. Maybe it was the way he was standing, or the twitchy nature of his person, or just the way he held himself that bothered Anacharsis. Regardless, it gave him pause, and the young man stayed to watch.

“Uncle, he’s hurt, but he’s not getting up.” The boy was saying as he shook the body harder, probably not realizing that the man in the carriage was dead. Or if he did, he didn’t want to see it.

“No, he’s not…” the man the boy called his uncle said and Anacharsis watched as he drew a dagger from his back scabbard. “And soon you’ll be with him…”

He didn’t realize he had reached down and picked up the rock until he felt it firmly in his hand and had heard the sick crack of the stone upon the meat and bone of the skull of the blonde older man. Anacharsis watched as he fell forward, unconscious, but breathing. The boy cried out and turned to see the pale-looking teen behind him.

Anacharsis stood there for a moment, rock in hand, blood on it, along with blood on the man’s head. He tossed it aside, sure that the other cries of the dead would mask the screams of the boy or dying. He put his hand to the boy’s mouth and stared at him, his blue-green eyes meeting the bright blue of the boy’s.

“Hush. Not a sound. I’m going to get you out of here. You did not see me, do you hear?” The boy gave a nod and the young warlock nodded as he gripped the boy by the wrist. “Good. Now come. We haven’t much time.”

That was the moment things had changed for him. That was the moment he had rejected the will of Thales and Those who slithered in the Dark. He pulled at the boy firmly. He would get him away from the field. Find out who he was, where his home was, and get him to a safe town from where the boy could be brought back home to. He wouldn’t engage with the boy, he didn’t want to. But the safety of this child was now in his hands.

He knew there were those among the boy’s people who were dangerous, so he wasn’t about to take any chances. He’d locate someone outside the battlefield, a merchant, or farmer, or someone, anyone who could take the boy. He’d guide him safely from this mess. This was his goal, to lead him to safety and then vanish. He would not return to those who slithered. He would not allow for them to use him again. No more blood would be on his hands! That was his vow to himself.

They ran carefully, but quickly, through the battlefield. The boy holding his hand and stumbling a few times. The blue-haired warlock looked back at him only in these moments. “Try not to fall. The faster we go, the safer you will be.”

“But… Father… and my step mother… I…” the boy was confused, scared, and haunted by what he saw. “Why am I alive?”

“I don’t know, but bury those memories in your mind. Keep them tight and locked up. Then, when you’re older, and a man, revisit them and avenge them. Take those who killed them to task and never forget their faces, their voices. Kill every last one of them and make them pay for this tragedy.” Anacharsis told him as he lifted him over a fallen man and set him down. “Such is the will of the dead.”

The boy stared at him and was about to say something when he held up his finger to his lips. “The less we converse, the better for you. You need not know who I am. Only that my goal is to leave you alive.”

He grabbed the boy’s hand again, as he recalled, and dragged him farther from the main area of combat. Slowing down only when he was sure they were away from the fires that were set. He wiped his face and looked at the boy as he caught some breath. Good as his word, the boy said nothing to him, nor did the boy look back behind him. A small smile slipped on Anacharsis’s lips, a better choice to make for his own sanity.

As they walked, the older teen looked around. There had to be a path to lead them from most of the chaos, but it was growing darker and hard to see. “We may have to hide till morning and then, once the light of dawn comes, we can make our way to a village and you’ll be safe….”

Fast running footfalls caught his attention, and Anacharsis turned behind to see a young man about his age running for them. Sweat matted his purple hair to his forehead, and the lower tail he wore in his hair was loose. He was dressed as a Frauldarian noble, and one of the knights that had been part of the group that had been attacked. His eyes were filled with anger as he rushed them, and he was wounded. This was not good. He would not be thinking straight, Anacharsis thought at the time as the man neared.

“Let him go, you bastard. Let his highness go now!” The shout carried intimidation in its tone as the purple haired noble stopped. The blue-haired warlock stared at him. He couldn’t trust any of them. Anyone of them could be a danger to the boy he was with. Anacharsis’s grip on the boy tightened. He didn’t want to take any chances. If this boy was the prince, if the dead man was the king, then this boy was the heir and needed to make it out alive, no matter the cost.

The purple-haired knight saw this action and drew his sword. “I warn you…”

“You are in no condition to fight. The boy is safe in my care. I will not release him to you.”

Anger twitched in the young man’s face. “How dare you! Trying to kidnap the prince and daring to think that I’m a threat to him, or that I can’t fight you! I’m not so weak that I can’t stand on my own, wound or not! I’m the heir to House Fraldarius! You should remember that name, bastard.”

“An heir to a house, well that makes all the difference in the world.” Anacharsis rolled his eyes. “I say to you once more, oh heir of Fraldarius. Leave me to pass. If you are truly an ally to this boy, then you will understand I offer no harm to him. I simply intend to get him away from this battle.”

“Lies! Like I would believe a monster like you! What are you even! A demon? A ghost? Some wrath from below?” the young knight shook his head and held his sword out to Anacharsis. “No matter, I will defeat you and protect the prince!”

“Protect him from one not wanting to harm him. Bravo, such bravery,” Anacharsis’s voice dripped with contempt, “but I suppose I can’t talk any sense into that thick skull of yours. Your arrogance will not keep you safe here. So I say this to you one more time; Stand down!” His blue-green eyes were bright with annoyance as he let go of the boy’s hand and prepared to fight.

“So be it.” The knight with the purple tail said and attacked, rushing at the warlock who, as he neared, waved his hand in a fast slashing motion, cutting the air and the young man before him. A spell he had made himself and one he only used when he was in danger. The knight stumbled back, blood coming from the wound on his chest. His eyes were wide in shock, and he stared at the boy. “Why…?”

Then he fell, his face twisted in a look of pain, and one of regret, clearly thinking of something in his last moments. Anacharsis saw the boy move closer to the body and tears ran down his face. “G… Glenn!”

Sorrow came over the young warlock’s face as he saw the boy looking at the body. He moved to grab at him. They couldn’t stay here. Even if this was his friend, he didn’t know if others were coming. His hand trembled as he moved to touch the boy. Had he made a mistake? The look on the young man’s face in death haunted him. He’d come to protect the boy. But distrust was part of their way of life, or more accurately, part of his.

“I… I am…” he said when the boy got up and turned away from him. He ran, and Anacharsis rushed after. “Wait. Don’t run please! You’ll be killed back there.”

He only stopped when he saw a tall, older knight with orange hair come around the corner with other men. Something about the man’s face, his gait, his look, told Anacharsis that this man was someone whom the boy would be safe with. This prince of Faerghaus, this boy, at such a young age, had seen such tragedy. And for what, he had wondered. The young prince had run to the knight and hugged onto him. He was sobbing, shaking. Anacharsis had wondered at the time if his actions had only added to that trauma.

When the man looked up at his way, they exchanged a glance. The young warlock wasn’t sure what it was, or what it meant, but he knew the man was going to let him leave. Whatever the young prince had said, it had allowed him a moment to flee. So he took it and ran and ran. He ran hard and fast deep into the forest and slept under a tree for three days, only getting up to find some small amounts of food and water to sustain himself. He didn’t like the feelings he had. The guilt, the frustration, the fear from the boy’s eyes after he killed the purple-haired boy. And the haunting feeling of knowing he’d taken a life, something his mother had begged him not to do. It was why he’d stayed away from combat. Now, his hands were stained with the blood of that young knight, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

As he thought back on that day, Anacharsis recalled how he had been found by some of the lower rank-and-file Agarthans. How they had brought him back and Thales informed him that his father had not returned from the battle. He’d held in the truth then, about what he saw when his father took the woman from the Carriage, denying he knew where the man was. They believed him, after all his visions had brought them good fortune. His father never returned, and they promoted Anacharsis to Periander’s leadership position among the Elites in their cult.

The young warlock rubbed his temples. How was this dead knight, this man who haunted his dreams, connected to the girl? Or had she used him to get his attention and enter his mind? He was confused, but he was sure that he needed to leave, and soon. Or else his mind would break from the guilt and anger and seething hate he felt for the likes of Thales.

In the four years that had followed, he’d learned more about the surface world, about the people that dwelled there, and about the creatures that were so much more powerful than them. The one thing that he had connected to was the goddess Naga, a being that reminded him so much of his mother. He wanted to escape from here and find what he could about her. He wanted to travel away, to be free of this wretched group and bring his people above the surface to let them learn the truth of what happened with the Nabatans and the goddess Sothis.

Approaching the door to the main room, Anacharsis paused and looked at the handle. He thought of turning and walking away, but they would send Kronya to find him again. Scowling, he sighed and pulled open the door. Inside, the others were waiting, except for two. Solon, whom he didn’t know where he was at, and Cleobulus, whom was still playing the role of Cornelia in the holy kingdom. He kept his face natural as he came in.

“See, I told you he would make it in time.” Commented Bias as he stood across from her. Thales nodded and turned his white eyes upon the younger man in the room.

“A few moments more, and I would wonder if you were trying to run away again.”

“Perish the thought. Why run away when I can spend time with all of you lovely people?” He commented simply in a cool tone. “You bade us come, and I came. So,” he bowed to Thales, “What do you need of me?”

“We’re pulling together a plan to gather what we need, and we need your sight for knowing about the chances.” Thales motioned for him to raise his head. “Specifically, the day of the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth…”

Anacharsis bowed and allowed himself a vision. He stayed in his mind as the others talked. They debated and discussed and slowly, a thought came to his mind, a way to get out and free himself from the chains that bound him to them. Raising his eyes to the group, bright and full of light, Anacharsis spoke, confirming what Thales wanted to hear. After all, it was easier to tell half-truths to keep himself safe. Hearing his words, Thales seemed pleased only to explain who would go.

“If I may…” Anacharsis bowed to his leader. “I should like to accompany the men of the western church on this. It would be a wise idea to monitor them lest they try to conceal anything they find from us.”

Chilon nodded fully. “On this, I can agree. We can’t just trust these surface dwellers, nor our Flame Emperor. It would be a wise choice to have Anacharsis go with them... as a way to protect our interests, of course.”

Pittacus stared at the younger man, “Are you certain you want to venture out? Your gift is something we cannot do without.”

“I assure you, I will be safe, and will simply observe what is happening, as I always do.” Anacharsis waved off the worry and looked at Thales. “You’ve seen my work and my reports. And you can’t move the others, lest suspicious airs come upon them.” He smiled at the leader, holding in the bile he wanted to spew onto the man. “Then it is only a wise choice to send one who has given you the blessing of sight. Do you not think so?”

Thales snorted. “Don’t use such flowery words with me. I understand what you mean to do. Spying on them is a good idea though, so I’ll give you leave… this time. Don’t think you can deceive me, Anacharsis.”

“Oh, I would never dream of doing such a thing, Lord Thales.” He bowed again, his blue bangs drooping over his eyes, covering the look of loathing that echoed in them. It wasn’t long before the group was dismissed and Anacharsis hurried back to his room. He’d settled on it now. He would leave them and use this as a means out.

My answer to your question, girl, is yes. I’ll stop what’s coming and stop them from whatever their plans are. He thought as he marched down the hall with determination and a prayer to never look back.  

[antarestyl]

A thing I noticed

Spoiler for the alternative route

when you seal the dark fountain there is a sound. In chapter one and in the normal route of chapter 2 you get the “I am with you in the dark” riff/leitmotif. But if you seal the fountain in the Snowgrave route, you only get the “woosh”.

idk yet if it has any meaning but still...

I think it’s more significant to Kris’s mental state? “I am with you in the dark” could be seen as us, the soul, being with Kris. But also as a symbol for Kris’s friendship with Ralsei and Susie.

Chapter 1 was all about getting to know them and forming a team. It didn’t matter much if you killed everybody, all enemies ran away when you hurt them enough and the story was all about Kris befriending Ralsei and Susie and all three of them coming together as a team.

Chapter 2′s normal route is a wacky tale of friendship again, no matter if you hurt the enemies, you never really kill them.

But if you go the snowgrave route? You do actually change the setting and message and intent of the story. A wacky tale of friendship suddenly becomes... kinda a creepypasta about how you seriously mess Noelle up.

And as I see it: you mess up KRIS too. Noelle states in the epilogue that the voice she heard telling her what to do wasn’t Kris. Also that Kris never acted like this (and she knew Kris since they were little children).

So maybe the lack of the “I am with you in the Dark” theme signifies that either there isn’t Kris anymore (only we, the corrupting influence on them and whatever takes hold of them when they rip out our soul) or that we messed Kris up so much that their friendship to Ralsei, Lancer and Susie (and Noelle) stops mattering.

Also tied to that could be that Ralsei and Susie didn’t react to us calling them while Noelle came when we whispered her name.

Hmmm...

Food for thought.

[ravenadottir]

I don't really like how cmm treated Priya. I have wanted her to be a li so bad but I didn't like how they made her so ooc. What would you change to make Priya's route seem more in character?

oh oh oh!! this is the ask i wanted to see here!

i know this is gonna sound really wrong, but the idea of priya coming on to a guy in this reunion would be absolute drama and chef's kiss, on top of a fun mustard murder.

even more if she was flirting with noah, now that he's single.

if he's married to you, then no, because you can program it that way, but otherwise, why wouldn't she go for it?? what's stopping her? he's still her type...

having priya going for noah and realizing she's trying to ignore her feelings for the only person she's truly interested is far better than just throwing her, legs open, on my face.

not complaining, but like... if she hadn't had the time to experiment and go for other girls, i understand why she's so confused. but if she's confused she definitely would be flirting with someone else right??

but she makes an observation of how she played around with mc, back in the villa, and openly flirted, even though that never had a closure.

the way they made her act in the afterparty, and wedding episodes, just reinforced her heterosexuality. she can't just come out of nowhere and say "i'm into you and you only." as if she's pan and aware of it!

no!

give me some "i've been thinking about things and how i could've made them happen back then..." something that makes me forget about her very consistent straightness.

and let's face it, this is priya we're talking about. the only course of action i would expect to succeed is a slowburn. angsty and sexy pining. almost getting to kiss her, but being interrupted. her being really into us and not necessarily trying to rationalize those feelings because it doesn't make sense to do it so, in this scenario.

having her flirting with noah or another guy, like lucas (never understood why she wasn't into him in the villa), it wouls make her realize she can't hide her feelings for us anymore.

i understand she says "i'm not sure if i'm gay, or even bi, it's just you." i get it, i had straight girls telling me that before, and later on, they found themselves in their own sexuality.

but i want her to be DEVELOPED along with our romance. don't make it look that simple, because it's NOT!

she has to be confused, pining, wishing, wanting, trying to let it go, screwing up, before coming out and saying "i want you."

priya is a mess in the villa, and i don't think that would change so drastically once she sees us again, as much as she's into us. it hasn't been that long since we left.

prolonging that suffering would be way more satisfying than just straight up coming strong on us.

pining!priya would taste different.

[unshakenprettyboah]

If you have not finished the game do not read!!

Okay but think about it...what if Arthur never got TB and found out Micah was the Rat.

I think it would go like this

He'd find out after Hosea got shot and try to tell Dutch but Dutch wouldn't believe him once again and Arthur would have to yet again fight to stay alive with his battle against Micah. However, he would survive better because hey, no TB. I feel he'd go up with John, Sadie and Charles to hunt Micah down, thus reuniting with Dutch ... talking, almost pleading with him to come with the Four of them, for old times sake, and for the older man's sake. His main argument would bring up Hosea and that Hosea wouldn't want him to be alone to suffer the mental state he was in..

[xathia-89]

“Please, don’t go.”

This contains major spoilers as an alternative route to Luca’s romantic ending. Also highly NSFW though it’s all very floofy too. Please enjoy. 

@cyikemen

My mind was reeling. Luca had pushed me away, stating that I couldn’t possibly feel what I had confessed towards him. A bulging suitcase in hand, he made a final request. To forget him. I couldn’t stop the tears as the crashing weight of his words hit me. He’d lost all faith in me and everyone around us. He had lost the will to keep fighting just because he was the mayor’s son as I dropped to the floor and pulled my knees to my chest, hiding my face in my skirt as I couldn’t hold back anymore. His footsteps swiftly disappeared, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the growing darkness of the world.

The glimmer of my glass ring caught my eye. It sparkled so prettily, it looked so captivating. But it was just as false as his feelings it appeared. I tore it off my finger and threw it across the room, screaming at the clattering costume jewelry as it bounced off the wall and hit the floor. The glass was cracked, I had used all of my anger to fling it and now I was left with an empty feeling inside my chest.

I managed to drag myself back to Cromwell manor at some point, avoiding Harry and Ryan as I was still processing that the night before had apparently now meant nothing to Luca. The night had been fitful at best, drifting in and out of light sleep and my pillow was soaked with my tears.

The morning sun broke the unfortunate news that it hadn’t all just been a dream. And then Harry storming my room was the most out of character thing yet, especially since he was just in a shirt and trousers. I had never seen him so emotionally undone or in such a state of ‘undress’ for the man.

“Saskia,” his voice was hitched, making my eyes wide. “You have to come with me right now.”

There was no room for any kind of argument as I immediately threw my dressing gown around my nightwear before swiftly following Harry back to his room. Any staff who saw us would have raised eyebrows and start gossiping, but that was the least of my worries right now.

Maria was hopping about inside her cage. The little canary chirping away happily at the attention as the realisation hit us both in the gut. Luca was leaving Laurelia for good. He had no intentions of staying if he left Maria with Harry.

Harry had spent most of the night looking for the jack of all trades, and on his return to the manor a maid had delivered the message that Luca had left Maria for Harry to look after. My stomach was sinking faster than a rock in water.

“He’s really left the city,” I murmured, trying to keep my knees steady to hold my weight before realising that Harry was helping me to sit down on the sofa in his room. Maria’s chirp reminded me of the night after visiting the casino, when Luca had sung in such a clear voice and it was making my tears threaten to fall again. I was biting my lip as Harry placed both his hands on my shoulders, bringing him to my attention. I must have looked a sight with so little sleep and puffy, red eyes brimming with tears.

“Are you going to give up on him?” Harry’s words brought a shock to me. I couldn’t ignore what he had told me, the way he had reacted to me the previous night. He hated the way that people targeted him because of who he was rather than anything he fought or worked for. He believed that no one liked him at all for who he was.

I couldn’t just not try one last time as I shook my head.

“There’s no way that Luca left this city because he wanted to,” Harry smiled. It caught me off guard, he had stout beliefs that his friend wouldn’t do this and it made me want to try just one more time. “We will get him back.” His promise was innocent and resolut. Luca hadn’t said those things because he believed them, he said them so I would move on instead of being hurt by everything going on.

I wiped my tears away, trying to find a smile as my breathing calmed down from the near hysterics I had managed to work myself up to. I wasn’t the only person hurt here, Harry had lost his best friend just as I had lost my boyfriend. Harry was explaining that there hadn’t been any trace at Luca’s apartment of his intended whereabouts, which left us with little to go on. We must have just missed each other if Harry had gone, and then with Luca dropping Maria off as well. It was so chaotic even in my head. We could have all crossed paths so many times over, but somehow we didn’t.

I managed to stop crying finally, and Harry passed me some tissues to wipe up the excess before giving me a soft smile.

“Let’s get going now.”

“Going? Going where? You just said we have no leads,” I asked, confusion painted all over my face.

“We’re going to use our secret weapon.”

***

The day had dragged. Our secret weapon had turned out to be going to see Pastor Chris in his church. He wore a kind and warm front, then Harry had stepped in and said it was a job for him and the facade was immediately dropped.  Then he finished with a joke about selling me in marriage to the highest bidder before saying he’d have an answer on Luca’s whereabouts by evening.

I was pacing impatiently in my room. I had been on edge all day, and I wasn’t sure what I was running on exactly. I had barely slept or ate, and I only drank enough to stop my mouth from going dry. My suitcase was ready to go, I had packed the essentials so I could leave the second we knew of Luca’s whereabouts.

Then Harry burst through the door.

“Saskia! We know where Luca is!”

A telegram was thrust into my hand with just two words on it. East Howardstown. My hometown more importantly. I frowned, Luca had never mentioned knowing anyone from there but before I could ask Harry any questions, he already had an answer for me. “You can ask him yourself,” he said gently. “But you must remember that Luca has been exiled, so being reunited with him won’t mean that he can return to this city, and if you follow him then the same can be said for yourself.”

It was a heavy thought. What if Luca meant every word he said about not believing me? And that he didn’t love me? I wouldn’t be able to return until Luca had been proven innocent regardless of his feelings.

“I will obviously stay here and work to overturn his sentence,” Harry nodded as I was hesitant in my resolution. My doubts were starting to plague me but I merely smiled and nodded at the blond male. If nothing else I would just have to try.

I should be able to catch the last train if I hurry.

A familiar voice stopped me in the hallway as I was rushing to leave.

“Saskia!”

Ryan was waiting for me in front of the door, a smile cracking across my face to see him as we gravitated naturally towards each other.

“Harry told me everything. You’re going to find Luca?”

There was a hitch in his voice, a tinge to his features as we faced each other. His eyes momentarily dipped to my suitcase before looking into me. He’d always been here, he’d sheltered me and made me an unofficial family member whilst I was working at the Blue Bell. It made my heart twinge to see him look so desperate.

“You realise that you’ll be labelled as an outcast by going after him?” He asked me again, there was something pulling at me. His fingers stroked at my cheek softly, my eyes still puffy from all the tears I had spilled. “I can’t forgive a man who makes you cry. No matter what the reason,” his voice was set in stone as I tilted my head in confusion at him. He had spent so much time working to prove Luca’s innocence, and now he was saying that he would never forgive him because he made me cry. His touch was making my skin burn in a way that I hadn’t felt better, even through the gloves he was wearing. His gaze was intense, and I could feel my heart threatening to break free of my ribs under it. “It’s not just that either…” There was a heavy pause before I was pulled into his arms, my suitcase clunking against the floor loudly. I was feeling hot at any point of bodily contact and his gaze was making me flustered in such close quarters. My breath was hitched in my throat as his green eyes were sucking me in completely. I was going to drown in them. “Do you think Luca is the only one who thinks you’re special?” His voice was a murmur, there was no need for him to be any louder for me to hear him. “Don’t go, Saskia. Please.” His tone was turning my legs to jelly. I could barely think as our lips were millimeters apart, and he was desperate. I knew that much. I could feel his pounding heart against my chest.

His lips were as smooth as his smile, one hand sliding up my back to cradle me against him as we couldn’t seem to stop. We staggered back into the wall, my suitcase forgotten and discarded as I was clinging onto his jacket for some kind of grounding. I couldn’t get enough as my arms ended up around his neck, while we were constantly pulling each other back in for another kiss.

“Please, don’t go,” his voice was heavy before I could kiss him again. I needed to let him know, as his tongue slipped back into my mouth, coaxing all of the emotion that I had kept repressed out. The noises I was making were sinful before Ryan could stop himself for long enough to see if anyone had heard me.

“I’m not going,” I whispered.

It was the first time I’d seen the head of the Cromwell house caught off guard. His eyes widened with shock, and then I swore my lips were going to be burnt off. How he had managed to keep a lid on these sorts of feelings was insane.

“I’m about to do everything against the etiquette book,” Ryan could barely keep his lips off me. “I need you. Can you stay with me tonight, please?” His voice was raspy, a new low of desperation before capturing my lips again.

“Yes,” it was the word that broke the aristocrat. I was picked up in his arms, I could feel his heart pounding in his chest and I already knew that sleep was the last thing on our agenda for the evening.

***

The mid-morning sun was peeking through a gap in the curtain as I lifted my head off the pillow, confused about the change of scenery. Then a flush burned through my cheeks as the memories of the previous night began to filter through my sleep addled brain. I ran my fingers through my hair whilst keeping the sheets against me and shielding my naked body from the world.

“Saskia?” Ryan stuck his head in at the sound of the bed creaking while I was rubbing the sleep from my eyes and going to get some form of clothing on.

“Oh, Ryan,” I blushed much to his enjoyment as he shut the door behind him, and kissed me on the forehead after crossing to the bed. “I didn’t cause too many problems with work, did I?” I frowned, realising this was the first time I had seen him still at the manor this late in the day.

“Nothing that can’t be sorted later,” he soothed, before tilting my jaw up to slowly kiss me. His hands starting to tangle in my hair as we couldn’t stop. Each kiss was heating me up, I was craving his touch already and just having the sheet between us was too much.

“Ryan,” I moaned as his lips began to trail down my neck. “Please,” was all I was able to whimper out as I started to undo his waistcoat.

“You’re impossible to resist,” his voice was low. “I’m going to show you how dear you are to me,” he was already helping me undress him, carelessly tossing his tie and shirt to the floor before I was pinned back to the bed.

His kiss was all consuming, the sheet flung aside as though it was offensive to us before his arms were under my back and arching my chest into him.

His fingers were nimble, sliding up my back and then down again as though to memorise how I felt. My moans were being swallowed eagerly, clearly any noise that I made was for him to hear alone this morning. I didn’t want to think of who heard us last night, but my mind was already beginning to lose the focus outside of how Ryan was making me feel.

Two fingers teased at my slit and pussy, before I felt the ghosting touch of his thumb over my clit. His mouth swallowed my gasp, demanding my attention as his tongue slid against mine, my head tilting back to allow him more access as the briefest slip in and outs of his fingers made me whine.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you wanting princess,” Ryan’s whisper was lilted with a chuckle as I felt his cock press slowly into my core. “I’m just going to take my time this morning, and show you how much I love you,” he promised, his breath hot on my ear before I wrapped my legs around his hips, eagerly sinking all of his length into me. “You feel so good,” he breathed, slowly working his hips.

He was in no hurry, he was more interested in changing the angle and the length of his thrusts to see what was more pleasurable for me. His fingers were always teasing, my nipples and clit were the obvious targets, but he liked to touch me all over. Pulling on my ear lobes, and then tracing over my lips. It had caught him off guard when I wrapped my tongue around the tip of his digit, and it made him glaze over. The hunger in his eyes set a new pace, his other hand digging into my hip enough that I knew would add to the sets from last night before his teeth were grazing the crook of my neck. There was going to be another red mark I would never be able to hide, mostly likely completely intentional as I threw my head back. My hand slipped between us, pushing and grinding down on my clit as my climax was suddenly looming.

My whole body was plunged into bliss. Pleasure was ringing throughout me as I vaguely heard my name sharply called. It was nothing like I could remember feeling before I slowly came back.

Ryan’s head was resting on my chest, getting his breath back as I realised that my legs were still locked around his hips and largely preventing him from moving.

He looked startled and threw the sheets over us in time before the door was opened by Harry. Who then proceeded to stare at us both before the faintest of blushes appeared over his cheeks, and muttered something before promptly leaving again.

My giggling was instant.

“You know when he’s going to open the door?” I asked as we finally disentangled ourselves.

“I recognise his footsteps when I’m doing something I’m not meant to be,” he replied, kissing me on the forehead before standing up to get dressed again. “Take your time and get sorted, I’ll take you out for lunch so the maids can have their gossiping time out of our hearing range.”

[concussed-to-pieces]

Throw Your Love Away

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure

Pairing: Robert E. O. Speedwagon/OFC

Rating: Holy shit M

AN: I don't know what even happened here. This AU (or maybe just a prelude to his run-in with Jonathan Joestar?) burst into life yesterday morning and now, dare I say, it's finished. I don't know whether I've ever written that much that quickly, and it's all for the Speedwagon. Also! If anyone feels the urge to look at the most beautiful Speedwagon that I've ever seen, I will invite you to take a gander at suzannart's Tumblr. Because holy moly. Holy Moly. Enjoy!

[!WARNING!: For my abysmal attempt at writing a Cockney accent and 'historical' things in general. I'm so, so sorry.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For brief attempted sexual assault and canon-typical violence. Stay safe!]

Speedwagon couldn't have told a soul why he lingered where he did on that particular evening. He still couldn't quite parse it out to himself, so he had precious little hope explaining it to anyone else.

Ogre Street was relatively quiet that night. Things tended to get pinched and shallow during the winter, folks conserving their energy by huddling up to the nearest heat source and biding their time until Lady Spring graced them with her presence once again. But Speedwagon had never paid much mind to the cold, just flipping the lapels of his coat up against the chill wind while he made his rounds.

He had stopped for shelter in a small alcove midway through his jaunt, the wind threatening to sweep the hat clean off his head. Speedwagon heard some muffled grunting in the pitch black of the alley to his left, but he paid it no mind. Probably some drunk fumbling around in the dark.

“Please don't touch me-!”

Speedwagon's shoulders shot up around his ears. That was a woman's voice, high and cracking like she wanted to scream but couldn't draw the breath. The women of Ogre Street were just as ornery as the men, if not more so, so she couldn't be a resident.

“C'mon sweeting, let me see what's under that fancy party dress of yours…” came the slurring reply. “It’ll only hurt a little, I promise.”

“Get away from me!”

Speedwagon had heard more than enough, his jaw set in a grim line as he stormed further into the sheltered alcove. “Oi! What're you playing at there lad?” He shouted, probably louder than he needed to.

As his eyes adjusted to the significantly dimmer light, he could barely make out a lighter-colored mass on the ground. Something brushed past his arm and on instinct he grabbed, snatching a handful of homespun wool. The man squealed in surprise at being caught, twisting wildly this way and that to try and get out of Speedwagon's grip. “Mercy, Speedwagon! I-I didn't know she was yours! I wouldn't have-”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have your guts for garters right here an’ now.” Speedwagon snarled, his face inches away from the other man's.

“Ah, I might have...er, my hand slipped a bit…” The man hemmed and hawed, holding up his hands and a bloodied knife as if to appease Speedwagon. “Honest, it were an accident!”

“Get out of my sight.” Speedwagon tossed the man a good three feet, not turning until he had bolted back out into the street. “Oi, girl! You alright then?” He asked sharply, getting no reply.

She was lying limp on the ground in the snow, blood slowly pooling at her side. Speedwagon swore a blue streak and clapped a hand over her hip, feeling the frayed material of her flimsy party dress beneath his fingers and the slick heat of injured flesh.

“Easy now love, Speedwagon's got you.” He muttered mainly for his own benefit, taking the worn scarf off his neck and folding it to press onto the wound. “Easy, easy.”

She seemed to have lost consciousness and Speedwagon thanked his stars for that. Hopefully she wouldn't feel him jostling her as he picked her up.

“You are a proper lady. Wonder how you ended up here.” Speedwagon mused once he got a good look at her in the guttering light of the street lamps, perplexed. “No matter, ol’ Rob will have you right as rain in no time.”

She still hadn't roused herself after Robert had bound her wounds and wrapped her in the meager blankets he could scrounge up. He sat beside the pallet on the floor and took her hand. He wasn't sure why, but he'd seen doctors do it a few times so it invited imitating. Speedwagon realized after a minute that he could feel her pulse under his thumb, and he started absently counting the beats in time with his breathing. It was fast, almost made him lightheaded. That can't be good. Speedwagon frowned, brushing the hair off her forehead. He was no doctor, was Speedwagon, and they were hard to come by without the coin.

So he sighed and resigned himself to a sleepless night of watching her like a hawk.

…

He awoke to screaming and, still half asleep, Robert had his gun drawn and cocked before he realized what was happening. She was cowering on the pallet, blankets still wrapped around her as she flailed her leg out at--

A mouse, questing curiously up the worn bedding with little regard for her. Speedwagon didn't mean to chuckle, holstering his pistol and carefully shooing the vermin off the bed. “Go on lad, go on.” He murmured.

“Where am I?” She demanded after a momentary stunned silence.

“My sleeping quarters.”

“I mean where! I can see that I'm in some flea-ridden excuse for a bed!” She snapped at his glibness, clutching the blankets even tighter.

“Lord, you're lively compared to the gel that was all aswoon last night.” Speedwagon couldn't resist teasing a bit. “I'm glad that your side's not painin’ you overmuch, love.”

“My side? My…” She trailed off, her eyes half-lidding. “What happened?”

“One of the guttersnipes was tryin’ to...get to know ya’ a bit better. I warned him off, but not before he made to see the color of your insides.” Speedwagon winced inwardly, knowing that his language was rough.

She paled immediately, one hand vanishing beneath the blanket. “What am I wearing?”

“One of my shirts. I had to...you were bleeding.” Robert didn't know why he was fumbling. “Why weren't you wearing a corset? Whalebone or metal ribs might have stopped that blade before it did harm.”

“It's none of your business what undergarments I do or do not wear.” She replied primly.

“Fair enough and true that may be. Would you at least tell me what you were doing down in my slums then? I doubt you were here on purpose, out and about dressed like that.” Speedwagon tipped his hat back on his head, tugging thoughtfully at his forelock. “Though you rich folks seem awful poor when it comes to common sense.”

“I was...at a party.”

Speedwagon waited a moment, expecting more and huffing, “Well? That's it then?” when it didn't come.

“Why would I tell you more? I don't even know who you are!”

“Look here love, I'm of a right mind to stove in a head or two. If someone dropped you down here for a laugh, I'll march to his doorstep and give him a good drubbing. If someone made you leave your home in the dead of night dressed like that, I'll thrash him. I'm in no mood for japes that put young ladies in harm's way.” Speedwagon announced firmly, “The name's Robert E. O. Speedwagon, my lady.”

“Well. That was a lot of information.” She said weakly. “I'm afraid you'll have to drub me though, since I'm the one who put myself in that alley. I-I'm not familiar with this city. I came out to visit my fiance, you see, and…” She paused and Speedwagon spotted the sheen of tears before she blinked them away. “Pardon, I suppose I should not refer to him as such anymore.”

“Did he die then?” Speedwagon wished he could take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, cringing.

“Oh it's a terrible thing to say, Mr. Speedwagon, but I almost wish he had!” She cried. “That wretch has been stringing me along, stringing along my whole family! All his heartfelt platitudes and lovely poetic letters, just a means to an end! I caught him in such a compromising position with another woman and I couldn't bear to be in his presence one more second, I simply ran out of the house.”

“No doubt the side lover that a good married woman wouldn't know about.” Robert said darkly. “Well my lady, you're wrong on one account. Sounds like this betrothed of yours is the one what needs a straightening out.”

“He didn't force me to leave, Mr. Speedwagon. I was a coward and fled.” She wrung her hands in obvious distress. “A stronger woman would have confronted him.”

“Aye, and withstood the hellfire that was sure to come. I mean no disrespect love, but your frame doesn't strike much fear.” Speedwagon got to his feet, donning his coat and tossing her flimsy dress to her. He gestured at the battered washstand in the corner. “Scrub yourself in the basin, loving. Then, old Speedwagon will be your bloodhound.”

Her face hardened and she wiped away her tears, nodding jerkily.

Speedwagon leaned against the wall outside the door, doing his best to give her the privacy of a good cry and wash. Though she may be full up on weeping, judging from her resolved expression. He sighed and tugged at his lapels. A fine mess you're getting into, Speedwagon. You know these rich folks love to have pissing matches with one another.

…

She clung to his arm, shivering even under the extra layers of his shirt and jacket over her dress. “M-M-M-Mr. Speedwagon, are you not chilled?” She stuttered through her chattering teeth.

“When you been sleepin’ rough as long as me, loving, you tend to get used to the cold.” Speedwagon tossed her a grin. “Besides, if your description an’ memory is correct, we’re almost there! How's the side?”

“It stings a bit, but I'll manage. It was barely a graze.” She replied bravely. “Still, I'm glad you found me. In such a state, I don't know how long I would have lasted.”

“Think nothing of it, my lady. I come across helpless damsels in the gutter all the time. A regular Prince Charming am I, you might say!” Speedwagon said cockily, chuckling when she elbowed him in the ribs.

“You say such silly things, Mr. Speedwagon.”

“Darling?”

Speedwagon felt her jerk at the sound of the male voice, her grip on his arm threatening to bruise. And he was no small man! “Mr. Speedwagon, I'd like to introduce you to my former fiance, Lambert Coverdale.” Her tone was as cold as the weather and Speedwagon glared down at the well-dressed man who had called her ‘darling’.

“Darling, your family has been worried sick! You ran out so quickly last night, you didn't even give me the chance to explain!” The man was dressed like he was headed for a ride, tall boots on and riding crop at his side. “I was about to go and search for you again!”

“As you can see, darling, I'm quite fine. A little chilled, but none the worse for the wear. Don't let me stop you from going a-calling.”

“And who is this...er…” Speedwagon got an insane surge of glee from watching the Coverdale heir try and come up with a non-offensive term to use when addressing him, a man so clearly below his caste that he may as well be subterranean.

“Speedwagon.” Robert intoned, not offering his hand in a plain show of disdain. The man snapped the riding crop down into his palm, obviously agitated by Speedwagon's rudeness. “I've come to bring this gel safely back to her parents. Lead the way, love.” Robert made certain to keep his body between her and her former fiance as they brushed past him, his shoulder bumping the other man's a bit harder than necessary. “I'd advise you and your lot to leave as soon as things are sorted. That man is not to be trusted.” He whispered to her once they were safely out of earshot. “I'll wager he means to lay claim to you since he's gone this far. He may have even spent the night weaving a story for your parents.”

She had gone pale again. “You think he would try to force himself on me?”

“I can't tell for certain, love. All I know is that animals are dangerous when cornered, and that man's as slippery as a viper.” Speedwagon growled.

The door to the large townhouse burst open before they could reach the steps, and an older gentleman came storming down to greet them. Speedwagon was reaching for the brim of his hat before he could think about it, hastily turning it into a doffing gesture. That was close.

“Emma! You've returned to us!” The older man (Speedwagon could only assume her father) said gladly, entirely ignoring Robert and catching his daughter up in his arms like she was a wee child. She had started sniffling at the sight of him and simply nodded against his shoulder, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging tight. “When Lambert told us about your quarrel, we had feared the worst. Thank heavens you're safe.”

“Our quarrel?” Emma asked in confusion, raising her face.

“Oh yes my dear, he said you two had a terrible argument and that you left in tears! You were so distraught you even ignored his pleas to stay.”

“He said all that, did he.” Emma's eyes had gone hard again. “Papa, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Robert Speedwagon. He is a true gentleman and he saved my life last night.”

Speedwagon went bright red at the praise, stammering awkwardly and adjusting the collar of his shirt. Emma's father grabbed Robert's hand and pumped it vigorously. “I don't know whether we can ever repay you. Won't you come inside, Mr. Speedwagon?”

He hadn't actually stopped shaking his hand. Robert was afraid his shoulder would drop off at this rate. Damn these rich folk and their gratitude! He thought ruefully. “Oh no, uh, I wouldn't want to impose on your hospitality.” Next to the older man's cultured tones, his rough Cockney accent seemed all the thicker.

“Emma's mother was just getting ready to have tea. Please Mr. Speedwagon, I insist!”

And so Robert E. O. Speedwagon found himself seated on a filigree chair that he fairly dwarfed, fumbling his way through the niceties of tea. Emma kept shooting him grateful looks and he wasn't entirely sure if it made up for the trouble he had been put through, but it was a start.

“Listen.” The blond man said finally, his saucer clattering too loudly on the slender side table for the umpteenth time. Christ, if he ever lost his temper surrounded by furniture like this it would be reduced to naught but matchsticks! “I don't care much for beatin’ round the bush. Lo-er, Lady Emma, you ought to explain the situation.”

“Situation?” Emma's mother appeared to be a little more grounded than her father, the older woman sipping her tea and giving Robert an inquisitive look over the cup.

“I did not leave last night because of a quarrel.” Emma had been put into a different dress, still free of corset, Robert noted. It would be difficult for her to wear one with the wound on her side, he theorized, and he had to admit he hardly minded the view her lack of corset provided. She dug into the ruffles of her skirt, her fingers picking at unseen seams. “It would seem that I am not Lambert’s first choice.”

“Not his first…” Her father trailed off, stunned. Her mother just looked pained. Clearly the other woman had suspected as much. “Emma, have you any proof?”

“I found him in his study last night, wrapped around another woman. I...I'm afraid I lost my senses.”

Aye, and more besides I'll wager! Speedwagon thought wryly.

“I demanded an explanation and when none was forthcoming, I simply...walked out the door. I don't recall much, I ran for what seemed an eternity. I didn't feel the cold at all.” Emma tilted her chin towards Robert, indicating that it was his time to butt in.

“My residence is Ogre Street, sir. I make my rounds as usual on cold nights or warm. I had stopped for a moment in a small alley to wait out the wind, wherein I stumbled across Lady Emma and another miscreant. I regret to say I am a bit on the slower side, I didn't manage to keep him from slittin’ her. You'll want a doctor to have a look at the wound, I'd imagine.” He had gotten to his feet, beginning to pace. “I wrapped it as best as I could, she slept through the night. On waking and hearing the sad tale of her exodus, I decided that someone so churlish as that man's shown himself to be ought to get his jaw knocked.” Robert realized he'd gone on a bit of a tirade and he grimaced, tugging at his forelock. “Ah, I mean no disrespect, of course. And if it's all a misunderstanding, I'll be on my way without so much as a sneeze in the cur's direction.”

“Mr. Speedwagon, please sit back down.” Emma's mother said firmly. “There'll be no jaw knocking until we have a proper idea of the situation.”

“What exactly did you see Lambert doing, Emma?” Her father asked gently.

Emma flinched. “Father, I…” She trailed off, flushing. Robert felt a weird protective squeeze in his chest and he cleared his throat. “It's not something that I would care to repeat in polite company.” She said faintly.

“Lucky for you, Lady Emma, I weren't exactly raised a choir boy.” Speedwagon joked, trying to give her the courage to continue.

“True enough, Mr. Speedwagon. Father, Mother, Lambert was in his study very busily ravishing another woman who I know lives nearby.” Emma said all in a rush, her face wholly crimson. “I was so shocked, I couldn't even move for a moment. I stood there in the doorway and so complete was his focus on her, he didn't even notice me until I was beside him.”

Emma's father sputtered wildly. In a moment of fancy Speedwagon would have sworn the older man's mustache bristled with rage.

“I asked him to explain himself. He said he didn't have to, that this was the way things were.” Emma twisted her fingers. “I didn't understand, I was just so startled and hurt that I...I simply left.” She looked up at her father and oddly enough, at Speedwagon as well. “Am I wrong to be upset? Is this how things are?” She asked, her voice tremulous. “Am I simply naive, thinking that I would be enough?”

“Lady Emma…” Robert was at a loss for words, the blatant pain in her eyes catching him off-guard.

“Emma, my dear sweet Emma.” Her father held open his arms again and Emma all but collapsed into them, crying softly while he stroked her hair. “You are worth so much more love than that man's fickle heart could have ever given you.”

“Mr. Speedwagon, might I speak with you privately for a moment?” Emma's mother asked. Despite it being phrased as a question, Robert knew there was no refusing.

“‘Course, my lady.” He was relatively certain he was about to get his ears boxed by this prim and proper old woman, following her out of the sitting room and into the hallway.

“I will need your assistance in this matter, Mr. Speedwagon.” Robert blinked down at her. “Don’t look at me like you're some sort of buffoon! You brought our daughter home safe and from what I can gather unmolested, but I must ask more of you.”

“Me? But what could I possibly do for y'ladyship?” Speedwagon queried, more than a little startled. “I'm just a thug from Ogre Street.”

“True. Yet you obviously hold yourself to a higher standard than the ruffians you're surrounded by. Clearly higher than the scoundrel we promised our only daughter to. My husband, God bless him, is not getting any younger. If Lambert sees fit to lash out, I doubt the authorities would arrive in time to stop a tragic incident from occurring.” She raised an eyebrow at Speedwagon. “We are on Coverdale familial grounds and can do very little while we are here. I would be much obliged if you could maintain a presence here for a few more hours. If you would be so kind.”

“I...ma'am, what you're askin’ of me is a bit of a strange tint, make no mistake. I am...I will, then. Until you lot are safe back on your way, consider Mr. Speedwagon part of your merry band!” She seemed amused by the way he extended a hand to shake, humoring him by doing so.

“We need to get everything packed back up. This was to be the first trip of many, and these things take time. If you would just settle back in the drawing room, I'm certain we can be on our way in a few hours.”

Six hours later, Speedwagon was so bored he was considering trying to filch the entire tea set, tray and all. The fancy gold scrollwork on the ceramic would fetch a fair price, he was certain of that, and the spoons and tray could be melted down to a silversmith’s liking. As he pondered, he was vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps coming ever closer.

The far door to the sitting room flew open and in strode Lambert, looking like he had just fucked the handsiest whore in London. His clothes were askew, his hair was thoroughly mussed, and overall he radiated a smug air that made Speedwagon want to drag him back outside by his collar and introduce his face to the cobblestones. It seemed Lambert didn't notice him in the now dim room, as the man took a moment to preen at himself in the looking glass by the door before turning on his heel and heading across the room.

“Got anything stronger than tea for your courage, Coverdale?” Speedwagon drawled, making Lambert squeak. “I'm about full up of this weak pekoe brew.”

The other man whirled, eyes narrowing when they landed on Speedwagon. Robert simply looked up at him, deliberately keeping his face neutral. “You're still here then?” Lambert finally asked rudely.

“Why, where else would I have gone? What with my betrothed on her way back to me, all's well in the world.” Lambert visibly stiffened and Robert prayed he hadn't played his hand too early.

“Your betrothed? Certainly, there must be a misunderstanding.”

“Oh aye, she came tumbling into the rough streets late last night, sobbing her eyes out over some chap that done her wrong. I couldn't let that go on, so I told her I'd marry her instead of that jackanapes.” The large blond offered Lambert an infuriating grin. “She's enthusiastically accepted my gracious offer, so you're free to do as you wish with your other woman. I'd say I've done you quite the favor by taking the gel off your hands.”

“You...you cannot be serious.”

“On the contrary, lordship, I'm very serious.” Robert's grin didn't waver. He took sadistic delight in calling the gentry by the wrong titles, whether too high or too low was anyone's guess.

“Stop this ridiculous farce at once!” Lambert yelled, the butt of his riding crop nervously slapping at his thigh. “I'll have you brought before the assizes, you miserable wretch!”

“Why, whatever for?” Speedwagon rose to his full height, straightening his threadbare waistcoat. “And here I thought you'd be thrilled! Rich folk are so odd, you've got everything you could ever want and yet you bluster at me like a spring storm! I've half a mind to drub you anyway, no man ought to be breaking his vows ‘fore they're even spoken!” Robert growled.

He was a full head and shoulders taller than Lambert and he made that abundantly clear, glaring down at the fop until Lambert looked away with a huff of, “Where is Emma, you brute?”

“Ah, none of that. You can guess well enough where she is, but I won't be letting someone like you get anywhere near Lady Emma.”

Lambert scoffed loudly. “Lady Emma, she's a common-”

“I'll offer you the courtesy of shutting your mouth for you if I don't care for the words that come out it, Lam my lad.” Robert snarled. “I don't give a toss what comes of you after Lady Emma departs this house, but I expect you to behave as the gentleman you pretended to be during your courtship while she's still here. If you can't muster up that level of propriety, I'm not afraid to get into a dustup with the likes of you.”

“You will not threaten me in my own house!”

“I threaten you no more than the average schoolmarm, sirrah.” Speedwagon knew it was probably mean of him to take joy in this, but he recalled the fact that an innocent girl, barely a woman, could have very well died due to this man's indiscretion and his guilt withered away. “You seem as though someone ought to have given you stricter teaching. Not much one for catechism then?”

“You're one to talk, street trash!” Lambert seemed to be on the verge of losing his temper and Robert dropped a heavy arm around his shoulders.

“I meant no disrespect, y'lordship. I merely say as I see fit. You must understand, I'm just a thug from Ogre Street.” Speedwagon sighed mournfully. “Hopefully with this marriage, my fortunes will improve a bit.”

Coverdale appeared to have been struck dumb by Speedwagon's bold assumption, the young man sputtering while Robert gently steered him towards a chair. “You overreach your place, gutter vermin.” Lambert finally seethed once he was seated.

Robert shrugged, digging in his ear and then uncouthly flicking his findings onto the no-doubt costly rug. “I've not much an issue with that, sirrah. When your place has always been under the heel of someone else's boot, you get to longin’ for the sunlight.” He folded his arms across his chest and leveled the man in the chair with a stern look. It had quelled the rowdiest of his compatriots and it appeared to work quite well on the Coverdale heir. “I'll not lay a hand on you with ill intent if you behave agreeable toward the gel and her family. You and I will sit right here and wait until they're all packed, you'll see them off and that'll be the end of it.”

“I will not be ordered around by some-”

“I've been awful lenient with you, lordship. I'd hate to damage that winning smile you use to tup the ladies.” Speedwagon clenched his fists. “I would ask what your plan was with Lady Emma, but I'll wager a guess it had something to do with family land or money.” He fought the urge to spit on the rug.

“Oh very good, I'm incredibly impressed by your display of logic.” Lambert replied sarcastically.

Speedwagon leaned forward and was gratified when Coverdale shrank back from him. “If you would just stay in that bloody chair and keep your trap shut, I'd be much obliged.”

“Unbelievable.” Lambert sneered, folding his arms and hoisting his nose into the air. “Very well, you churl.”

“You honor me, your grace.”

Robert didn't take his eyes off the man sulking across from him for the next half hour, toying absently with the brim of his hat. A sudden bang! from the stairwell and a loud series of thuds heralded the approach of Emma and her parents, each one dragging a trunk. Speedwagon rushed forward, easily hefting the one Emma's mother had been saddled with.

“Are they all this light, my lady?” He jibed, making the older woman hide a smile behind her hand. “If you just leave those two on the landing, ol’ Speedwagon can take care of the rest. Strapping fella’ that I am!”

“Uncultured oaf.” Lambert muttered from his chair.

“You offerin’ to help, Coverdale?” Speedwagon asked, his smile wide with false cheer.

“I am not some manservant.” Lambert snorted.

“Well that's plain enough to see.” Speedwagon snarked back, strolling down the ridiculously wide staircase without so much as a glance backwards. Rich folk are impossible! He thought with a huff after he settled the first trunk onto Emma's family carriage. The second and third followed suit with little incident, Emma's father ensuring they were safely lashed to the rack of the carriage.

As Robert strode back into the townhouse for what he hoped was the final time, he heard a ruckus from upstairs. He sighed heavily and started up the stairs, rolling his sleeves to the elbow as he did.

Throwing open the drawing room door, he found himself faced with a sight he didn't care for in the slightest.

Lambert had Emma by the arm, his face purpling magnificently as he raised his riding crop with a self-righteous, “I'll teach you respect!”

“You spoilt, pampered ponce!” Speedwagon shouted, “Harm that woman and I'll separate the hand from your body with nothin’ but a tip of the hat!” He gestured to his chapeaux and the color left Coverdale's cheeks when he caught the glint of steel in the brim. “I didn't survive as long as I have on Ogre Street without pickin’ up a few tricks.” Speedwagon continued, easing forward to help Emma off the floor and usher the shocked young woman into her mother's waiting arms. “I'll be down to see you off in a minute, Lady Emma. Just as soon as I finish my conversation with this fine gentleman.”

Again, Robert felt a twinge of guilt at the way he was enjoying himself. And again, his mind reminded him of the abuse that surely would have taken place had he not been present.

Lambert brandished the riding crop at him, holding it like a fencer's rapier. “Do your worst, you baseborn scum!” He hissed.

Speedwagon simply knocked the crop aside with his free hand and then stepped into reach, his right fist lashing out for a furious blow to the chin that landed Lambert prone. “You couldn't handle my worst, sirrah, and that's an ironclad truth it is. You'd best keep your nose clean. If I hear of you sniffing about from any of my lads, I'll have to show off my parlor tricks. And I assure you, it'll be far less enjoyable than that love tap I gave you a moment ago.” Robert straightened his waistcoat, turned on his heel and left Lambert in a pile on the landing.

…

Emma wrote to him after spring had come, inviting him to call at their estate in the country. How she had gotten hold of his address, Speedwagon would never know. He debated on writing back. Ink and parchment were a bit more precious than he would care for, so Robert ended up returning her missive via the back of some receipts picked up at the local butcher. His handwriting was untidy at best, but he tried to even out his scrawl to the point of vague legibility.

Course I'll visit. Have to find a work crew headed your way though. Travel by train is murder on the pocket.

Speedwagon expected that to be the end of it, so when the damn woman herself showed up at his door he was a tad perplexed. He actually ended up rubbing his eyes a few times, not believing that she was standing on the worn stairs next to his humble abode. “Lady Emma! Is that you? My stars, a better sight for sore eyes I haven't seen!” He greeted her in his usual enthusiastic fashion, a little startled to find that the words were entirely true. “You're just as lovely as the first time I laid eyes on you!” She had grown worryingly pale, if memory served him proper.

“Ah yes, bleeding in an alley as I recall.” She quipped, smiling up at him.

Robert coughed awkwardly, toying with his forelock. “Well, er, perhaps a bit more lovely than that. I meant no disrespect, my lady.”

“Not at all! Are you ready?”

“Ready?” Speedwagon asked in confusion.

“I'm here to fetch you, Mr. Speedwagon.” She actually pulled at his arm like he was a small boy. “Hurry and get your things, otherwise we'll be late for the train!”

“Train?! Stars, you shouldn't tease a man so!” He scolded her, bewildered when she frowned fiercely. “You...surely you haven't.”

“Hurry!” Emma repeated.

Robert grabbed his hat and jacket, wet his thick hair down and hurriedly rinsed the dried blood off his wounded knuckles (he had been taking care of business directly before receiving word that a young lady was on his stoop). He dashed back out of his lodgings, twirling his hat before placing it on his head at a jaunty angle. Speedwagon then offered Emma his arm and a rakish grin, feeling like a mischievous boy once more. “How am I to repay you and yours for such a luxury, Lady Emma?” He bemoaned as they walked. “I'm none too influential, but I've a few favors I can call in.”

“Nonsense! Your company is more than sufficient.” Emma waved off his offer, going so far as to rest her free hand on top of his elbow.

Speedwagon flushed and found himself a bit teary at her offhanded admission of affection. Damn rich folk, their glibness will be the death of me for certain!

…

The Halford estate was modest in size by estate standards (so enormous by Speedwagon's standards), set on sprawling lands and bordered by thick copses of silver birch.

It was like a dream, being surrounded by greenery in its natural and uncultivated state. Robert took a deep breath in of the bracing air, dawdling as Emma pointed out the vinca that grew in the underbrush alongside the road. She bent down and picked one of the purple blossoms, then reached up to put it in the band of his hat.

Speedwagon blushed and obligingly removed his hat so she could place the bloom, laughing self-consciously when she worriedly pointed out how red his cheeks were. “It's just the fresh air turnin’ me ruddy, Lady Emma! No need for concern.” She could never be happy with the likes of you, and you're a damn fool for entertaining the notion. Speedwagon scolded himself.

“What's got you so pensive, Mr. Speedwagon? Surely you can't be worried about seeing my parents again? After all your heroics last time!” Emma chided him, misinterpreting his gloomy expression.

“Heroics?! Now love, I don't know what you recall me doing,” Robert began to protest, “Ol’ Speedwagon was simply doing the gentlemanly thing is all, nothing heroic about it, and you can't say the lad didn't have it coming what with his infidelity and brazen behavior, I was-”

“Mama will surely call a doctor for your hands.” Emma interrupted his ramble, frowning down at the scabbing skin on his knuckles. “Maybe I can say you had a tussle with the rose bush.”

“Unless your rose bush is over six foot tall and answers to the name Eurich, I'm not sure if your story will hold water.” Speedwagon smiled once more, a bit on the rueful side. He was caught off guard by her laughter and he relished the happy sound (coupled with the way her hold on his arm tightened). “You've got a lovely laugh, Lady Emma!” He complimented her, “Ought to do it more often.”

“I am certain I sound like a gaggle of hungry geese, but it's very kind of you to preserve my vanity.”

Speedwagon's reply was an over-loud honk! and that set her off again, the two of them laughing their way up the front steps of the Halford estate.

…

Speedwagon bedded down for the night in a guest room that was three times the size of his lodgings on Ogre Street. The bed felt gargantuan and too soft, like it was fit to swallow him whole. He stared up at the ceiling, raising a bandaged hand and wriggling his fingers.

“What are you playing at, Speedwagon?” He sighed. “These folk have no business harboring a gutter rat like you at their country estate. Especially with their lovely daughter around! Rich folk and their gratitude will be the death of me, sure as the sunrise.” Robert muttered. A knock on the door startled him and Speedwagon hurriedly fumbled to right himself in the too-giving bed, awkwardly asking who it was.

“It's just Emma, Mr. Speedwagon.”

“Ah.” Panic flooded him, certainly this was some sort of breach in propriety?! She couldn't possibly be this dense. Unsure of what to actually do, he did the only thing he could think of. “Uh, c-come in!”

She was wearing a simple nightgown that buttoned at the throat (Speedwagon was struck with the sudden urge to run his fingers over the smooth column of her neck), and she wasted no time clambering up onto the huge bed like that was where she belonged. Robert clutched the coverlet to his bare chest, feeling oddly exposed.

She had a thick book with her, he noticed dimly, the spine of it emblazoned with some incomprehensible gibberish of branded letters. “Look here, Mr. Speedwagon! Tomorrow, if it's alright with you, I'd love to show you some of my favorite flora on our estate!”

Speedwagon blinked at her owlishly. He had thought for certain that when she crawled into his bed…

Relief and disappointment settled over him in equal measure while she flipped through the pages of sketched plant life and pointed out the ones they would be seeing on the morrow. She really was just this sweet, this lovely. What an angel! Emotion tugged at his heart and Robert found himself leaning closer, blond hair falling into his eyes as he listened intently without hearing a damn word.

A gentle rap on the ajar door interrupted her excited tangent and Robert looked up guiltily, seeing her mother in the doorway. “Emma love, it's time for bed.”

“But Mama, I was…” Emma trailed off and sighed, almost pouting.

“Mr. Speedwagon will be here for you to bend his ear in the morning, I'm fairly certain. Come along now.” Her mother's tone was full of fond steel. Clearly she knew her daughter well, and loved her despite it all.

Robert fidgeted with the covers, flushing scarlet when Emma hugged him and then bounded off the bed with her book in tow. “I-I look forward to the stroll tomorrow, Lady Emma!” He said belatedly, tugging at his forelock in that nervous gesture.

Emma's mother lingered in the doorway after the younger woman had left, her expression thoughtful. “Mr. Speedwagon, Robert, if I may be frank with you for a moment?” She asked finally.

Robert's heart sank and he nodded mutely, certain that this was where he would be given a stern warning against familiarity with the gentry.

“My daughter is...she's a bit simple, Robert.” The older woman sighed. “She doesn't understand what suitors are actually interested in hearing about. All she cares for is her plants. And ever since what happened with Lambert, it's as though she's given up entirely on even feigning interest in polite conversation.”

“I'm not certain I grasp what y’ mean, my lady.”

The confusion must have been plain on his face because the older woman’s expression softened a bit. “Robert, my daughter has displayed an enthusiasm around you that I haven't seen from her in months. I had feared she would fall into poor health and entirely withdraw from society. But with you here, it's almost as if she's come back to life again, so to speak. I...thank you, Robert. Be delicate with her.”

Speedwagon barely slept that night. Be delicate with her. Was the mother giving her approval?! Surely not. That couldn't be it. Maybe she just assumed that their friendship might be beneficial in keeping her daughter's spirits up. That must be it. The rich folk certainly did seem to love having a token lower class in their midst, if only for the rough accent or entertaining idioms. The court jester to their kings and queens.

Robert groaned and buried his face in the pillow. That was all he was, so he may as well get used to it.

…

He didn't count on falling in love with his Lady Emma. Rather, he hadn't intended on it. But as spring turned to summer and summer to fall, he found himself a semi-frequent caller at the Halford estate. Emma was always delighted to meet him at the train station and he knew people must gossip about them. They made quite the pair after all, the rough-talking plug ugly from Ogre Street and the jilted Halford daughter who had nearly faded away like her beloved flowers at the first frost.

“What could she possibly see in him?”

“I bet this is some kind of gamble to trick her into signing the estate over to him! He's a con man through and through!”

“They just don't understand. And they don't care to.” Emma replied simply after Robert had voiced his concerns about the terrible things people said. It was less for his own comfort and more for hers, of course, he didn't give a damn what anyone called him. “You, Mr. Speedwagon, are my dear friend. If they cannot accept that, then I cannot accept them.”

With the chill of fall in the air, Ogre Street grew more frenzied. Winter was around the corner and Speedwagon found himself in the middle of more brouhahas than he would like as tempers thinned.

He stopped replying to Emma's letters, his focus wholly on survival, so it should come as no surprise to him that she popped up on his doorstep once again.

Speedwagon had been involved in a thunderous row with another upstart gang on Ogre Street and he could feel regret in his bones as he slowly dragged himself up the stairs to his lodgings shortly after sunrise. When he raised his eyes and spotted a lacy hemline, he stopped where he was. His brain sluggishly reminded him that it was rude to stare at a woman's ankles and so he tilted his head back. “Ah.” He rasped.

“Robert E. O. Speedwagon, what on earth has happened to you?!” Emma sounded distressed and Robert cursed himself roundly for concerning her. “You haven't replied to any of my letters, I feared the absolute worst!”

“I apologize for that, Lady Emma, I've been a bit...preoccupied.” Robert tried for a smile. “Had a run-in with a few boys from across the way. Am I to come a-callin’ to the Halford estate then?”

She stomped down the steps and threw her arms around him, startling him into silence. “You stupid man.” She muttered against his waistcoat, her voice thick. The feeling of her body against his sent shudders down his spine and Speedwagon was ashamed to admit that his greed got the better of him for a few moments. His arm wrapped around her and he cradled her head to his chest, murmuring nonsense into those thick raven curls. “Absolutely stupid.” She repeated shakily. “I have been worried sick, Mr. Speedwagon.”

“You were afeared for me, Lady Emma? Your kindness knows no bounds.” Speedwagon attempted to joke, his poor heart taking more of a beating than his body had. She had no business saying things like that to him, no business at all. “It's been a hard time of it here, I'm about ready to be whisked away to the country I'd say.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we, my dear Lady Emma?”

She stared up at him for a moment and Robert was instantly self conscious, mind running from the scar on the left side of his face to the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his somewhat-crooked nose. Truly he had a wide variety of unflattering features to peruse!

“What?” He asked finally.

“There's…” Emma fumbled with her sleeve for a moment, retrieving her handkerchief and daubing gingerly at his mouth. “You've got a little...something.” She said faintly. Robert licked the corner of his mouth on instinct and she flinched the tiniest bit, as if the sight of his tongue had startled her, before returning to her task of patting over his bottom lip.

“Easy Lady Emma, you'll take it clean off!” Speedwagon teased, trying to hide the tremor in his voice from the tender attentions she was paying to his split lip. His heart was being crushed to powder in his chest, ash that scattered to the wind every time he sternly reminded himself of their differences. “Much as I would like to sit here and have you doctor me, love, I'm certain we'll miss your train if we linger.”

…

Speedwagon cursed his infernal bad luck for the tenth time that morning, a violent sneeze rattling his whole body. It would seem that getting into tussles in the brisk fall weather had landed him in bed with a fever. He couldn't even recall the last time he had been ill! What damnable timing it was, to be bedridden while at the Halford's!

Though…

He cast his gaze upon the young woman who had firmly declared she was his nurse, watching the way her lips curved around words as she read aloud to him from yet another one of her favorite books. Perhaps it wasn't such a terrible thing to be nursed back to health by his dear Lady Emma, he admitted to himself. Though it pained his heart, at least for this pitifully short time he could play at being the one she gave her affections to.

And such affections! She alternated between fond exasperation and gut-wrenching tenderness, the combination often enough to have Robert pressing his reddened face to the pillow after she would depart. At least that he could blame on the ague, thank his stars for small favors.

It was havoc on his body, so starved for gentleness that he found himself helplessly coloring at every careful touch on his forehead. It didn't make matters easier that he was already so fair, a flush rising at the slightest change in his temperature.

The way his bones ached from the fever had him curled up in a miserable ball, still shivering under the heavy blankets. “Thank you, Lady Emma.” He managed to say when she brought him some water. “Afraid I'm none too formidable at the moment. Imagine what your town folk would say if they saw me lyin’ here, the meddlesome and dangerous thug from Ogre Street.” He grinned weakly and she gave him a light bop on the head.

“You're so much more than that, Mr. Speedwagon.” Emma huffed. “Don't forget, you fought for the honor of a woman you barely knew.”

“And I'd do it again in a flash! Let that bastard come!” Speedwagon boasted, his heart speeding up a bit when she fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Er, once I'm well, of course. But with your doctoring I'm sure I'll be back to the old Speedwagon in no time!”

“Mm, more’s the pity. I've rather enjoyed having you at my mercy.” Emma actually perched on the edge of the bed and leaned in, as if to kiss him. Robert was frozen stiff in disbelief, unsure if he should push her away or simply pull back or--

She brushed her nose against the tip of his own with a childish giggle and Robert couldn't help his startled laughter, a little overwhelmed by the panic that had flooded his body. “You shouldn't tease your poor Speedwagon, Lady Emma!” He protested after a moment, probably sounding just a touch hysterical. “A gel like you with a man such as myself, it’s unthinkable!”

“Is it though?” Emma asked flippantly before she flounced from the room.

Is it though?

Speedwagon's heart plummeted to the floorboards. “It absolutely is.” He muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap.

…

“I haven't got anything to give her, Master Halford. I can't offer her safety or wealth or anything but a hard life. This is what I'm...this is why I'm leaving. I don't intend to hurt the gel like that other cur and as such, it's for the best that I leave immediately.” Robert focused on the mantle, the young man unable to meet the eyes of Emma's father.

“You think that leaving without saying a word won't harm her, Robert?” The older man asked quietly.

“I know it will and damn my eyes for it, I just don't know what else to do!” Speedwagon cried, covering his face with his hands. The idea of leaving her filled his stomach with lead, but what other choice did he have? He could provide so little! She would probably say it didn't matter. It did matter though!

“You're avoiding another possibility, Robert. Stop wallowing in self-loathing and listen to me.” Speedwagon looked up through a haze of tears and found that Mr. Halford had moved to stand beside him, the mustachioed man's expression thoughtful. “My daughter cares deeply for you. I daresay, far more than she cared for Lambert. The union of Coverdale and Halford was one of convenience for both families, but my wife and I had also believed Lambert's intentions much more honorable than they were. Maybe we were blinded by pedigree.” He sighed. “You are...a strange exception, Robert.”

“Saints preserve me Master Halford, my heart is all a-pieces from her.” Speedwagon admitted. “Leaving her would be like tearing off my arm, but I've got no choice in the matter. She's a finely-bred lady and deserves a man that can improve her status, not one what makes the neighbors count their silverware after every time he comes callin’.” He continued with a dejected air, raking the hair back from his face in a fierce bid to regain his composure.

“Robert, do you really think that matters to her?” The elder Halford gave him a rueful smile. “All she seems to care for in life is her flowers and a certain rapscallion from Ogre Street.”

“Master Halford, I-”

Speedwagon's reply was cut short by the door of the study flying open and hitting the wall. Emma stood there, her skirts gathered up in one hand while she caught her breath. Robert was struck dumb by the magnificent picture she painted, all flushed from whatever mad dash she'd taken to arrive at that spot. “You cannot leave.” She ordered sharply. “Not until I have said my piece.”

“Lady Emma,” Robert began to protest, nervously glancing at her father.

“Just! Let me talk, Mr. Speedwagon.” Emma strode into the study, stalking back and forth in front of the two men like a caged tiger. “Mr. Speedwagon, did you not save my life in that alley?” Robert sputtered in confusion. “I could have very well died that evening and yet you stepped in and prevented such a tragedy from occurring.”

“Lady Emma, that's not-”

“You also handled young Coverdale for me, a feat that would not have been nearly so simple for anyone else in my family.” She talked over him, waving a finger. “You have been gracious and kind to me at every turn. You suffer from the admirable and woefully stupid condition of not reaching beyond your so-called place, convincing yourself that we should be nothing more than dear friends.” Emma placed her hands on her hips and glared up at the speechless blond. “I will have you know that I've been courting you for months, Mr. Speedwagon, and I refuse to let all the time we've spent strolling in my gardens go to waste!” She announced with authority. “That is why you cannot leave!”

“L…” The words died in his throat. She had been courting...so she wanted…? “Are you absolutely certain of this, Lady Emma?” He questioned her finally. “I am no fine gentleman. I won't be able to shower you with gifts for a good while. You would take me, even as low as I am now?”

“How can you say such things about yourself, Robert?” His name from her mouth had his body aflame. He had waited so long to hear her say it. “I would rather someone honest and kind than someone who can throw trinkets at me. I've had more than my fill of empty words and pointless flirtations. I want you, Robert.”

“Oh Lady Emma, you...stars, I could just about burst with joy right now!” Speedwagon sniffled, doing his best to dash the tears away. “This must be a dream. I've still got that damn ague, no doubt.” She hugged him tight enough to steal his breath and Speedwagon covered the crown of her head in kisses, too overwhelmed to think of doing anything else. “The best dream I've ever had.”

…

Their wedding was in the spring, to Robert's panic-stricken delight. And certainly, members of nearby estates could mewl and huff over the impropriety of it all, but Speedwagon tossed his care to the wind. His Lady Emma had chosen him, found him worthy instead of wanting. The sensation was so unfamiliar he could scarcely fathom it and he took every chance he got to display the affection he held for her.

She was no Ogre Street woman for all her ferocity and many were the times that Speedwagon reined himself in for her, terrified of accidentally going too far or making her uncomfortable.

Indeed, he was more of a blushing bride than she was on their wedding night, covering his red face with his hands while she straddled his hips. “Stars, I love you so much.” He sighed as she undid his suspenders and fought with the buttons on his placket. “You're an angel, you know that?”

His hands found their way to her hair after she settled into an age-old rhythm, carefully removing every pin that he could find. Robert stroked his fingers through her tangled tresses, luxuriating in the exquisite greed of being able to touch his wife, his wife. To think a man like him had a wife!

“I'm a husband now.” He murmured to her after they had finished and she had collapsed in his arms.

“That you are, Robert. My husband.” She mumbled against his chest.

“And you are my precious wife, Lady Emma.”

“You don't have to call me Lady-”

“Hush, I want to and I will.” Robert clenched his fist over his heart. “My dearest Lady Emma, I pledged myself to you before the clergy and all our guests earlier, swore that I would be the best husband a gel could ask for. But now...I swear to you, Lady Emma, you alone, that I will work as hard as I must and then some to become a husband you can be proud of! If...if it makes it easier for the time being, you can continue to be a Halford! I understand that the Speedwagon name is not exactly brag worthy and I-!” A messy kiss silenced his post-coitus rambling and Robert tensed.

“I am happy to be Mrs. Speedwagon, Robert.” She whispered when they parted, her eyes searching his own. “Truthfully, nothing would make me happier.” Robert’s eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away, smiling at him. “The news can't be that repulsive, can it?”

“No! ‘Course not, Lady Emma! I am quite...I am just a bit...er, flummoxed is all!” He floundered, cradling her to his chest once more and stroking her hair. “You're such an angel to me, my love.” He breathed when he was certain she was asleep, fondness making his voice catch. “An honest-to-stars angel.”

Live every moment, love every day, because if you don't, you might just throw your love away...