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Date Posted: 14:01:31 06/08/02 Sat
Author: voodoodolly
Subject: Part FIVE Casualty
In reply to: VoodooDolly 's message, "Casualty" on 20:20:15 06/02/02 Sun

Part Five
Several days later she kneeled, leaning forward, flirting with the shadows. Skillfully keeping her breath measured, mastering pliancy. Peeping over the edge of the precipice overlooking his livingroom. Her ears were attentive to the drama playing out below.

“You overstepped your authority. . .” Irons was lecturing, talking about the man’s carelessness. The man, seated, was behind him. Irons was angry, yet the man to whom he spoke seemed cocky, unconcerned, like an adolescent being chastised by a parent. He seemed completely disinterested in what was being said to him.

His disrespect angered her, and she thought him vile.

Irons turned towards his guest, wrapping up his speech, “It is frightening to think that society is protected by such incompetence.”

The man responded with edginess and insolence. “Sara Pezzini is the one who overstepped her bounds.”

Eeva felt herself tense, furious. How dare this fool come into this home and speak so to his host?

Irons held his rational tone, “That isn’t for you to decide.”

The other man spoke with less restraint, his growing anger showing in how he used his hands to complement his words. “The hell it isn’t! Listen, any previous deals you and I had regarding her are off. I want her dead.” He stood, pointing his finger at Irons as he spoke. “In fact, if you want to keep her alive, you’re going to have to kill me instead.” The confidence with which he stood only served to demonstrate how little he actually knew.

She could not see his expression as he spoke, but a feigned sympathy was clear in the tone of his final words. “Have it your way, Captain.” Walking past him, Irons left the room.

The man just stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking toward the exit Irons had just taken.

What trash, she thought. Her hands clenched and unclenched, her fingers curling into fists. Slowly, she rose, her hate burning within her as money would burn in a fireplace. Gracefully, she eased down the stairs, a slight smirk on her face.

The man looked towards, not really seeing her.

“I will show you out, Captain.” She smiled, half sided and the expression was warring in her tone.

“ I know the way. It isn’t necessary.”

“I believe sir, you’ve made it necessary.” She turned, leading him towards the main door, all the while she felt his stare traveling over her back, her hips, her legs. As they entered the hallway, she heard him smack his lips obscenely, his breath coming through his teeth.

Her spine went stiff and she spun around. “Is there a problem?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “No, baby,” his voice was husky, “no problem at all. I was just thinking about how a pretty thing like you ends up working in this old museum. It’s a waste. I could set you up real nice.” He used his hand again as he spoke, extending it so that the palm was slightly up.

At one level, she found the exchange humorous; could he speak if his hands were bound? But then again, it might just be easier to remove his tongue. Certainly it would be more pleasant.

With all the sweetness she could muster, she answered, “Oh, really? Somehow I doubt that you could offer me even as much as I have now.” She let her eyes move over him appraisingly, then, looking into his face, she batted her eyes.

He grinned, then, as though he were trying to charm her. His cologne was too strong, adding to the tastelessness of his behavior. “I wouldn’t be so sure, sweetheart. Mr. Irons ain’t looking so well these days. If something were to happen, you might need someone to call.”

At this point, her rage overwhelmed her. She felt sick that this man should even mention Mr. Irons’ name, much less question his well being or her loyalty. “Sir, I assure you, anything you have to offer would be quite. . . impotent in comparison to Mr. Irons.”

Their eyes were locked for a moment and then he turned away, as if he saw something familiar about her.

A new voice – Nottingham’s – interrupted them. “Wait here,” he said quietly as he stepped into the side hall. Nodding at the Captain, he said with a bit more command, “Come with me.” Then he led the man the rest of the way to the door.

But even from there, Eeva could hear what the man said to Ian, could see the finger he used to point at her as he spoke. “That maid of yours is a real bitch. You should fire her ass.”

Ian said nothing, firmly closing the door in his face.

When he returned to her, Nottingham tilted his head to one side, silently ordering her to follow him into the livingroom.

She stood with her back to the fire, looking at the hardbound book on the small table beside the chair where the Captain had been sitting. Unconsciously, she ran one pale finger over the silver candleholder, gathering some of the hot wax from the white candle. The brief burning of the wax hardly registered; the numbness she felt toward the world was growing stronger each night that she spent away from Irons.

Soft and flexible at first, she rolled the cooling wax between her fingers, until it started to harden and crumble.

“You were out of line,” Ian stated. “Until it alters, I ask you not to forget your place.” With measured steps, he moved to stand in front of her. His face was impassive as he looked at her. One strand of his thick, dark hair fell from its place, softening his hard features.

He did not intimidate her now. Her tone mirrored his own, calm and quiet. “He is insolent and stupid.”

“And you responded in kind, which is equally as undignified.”

She blinked, feeling the truth in his words. Bowing her head, she said, “You are right, Mr. Nottingham. Please forgive me.”

“It is not in my power to forgive someone such as yourself.” He sounded irritated suddenly, his tone sharp. But as quickly as it had come, it was gone, replaced with a sort of desperation. “It isn’t too late for you to leave. You will never find forgiveness here, not in this house.”

She looked up at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. Spreading her hands, palms up, she answered, “Here is all I have.”

He stepped toward her, so close that she could almost feel the beat of his heart, smell the clean scent of his soap. “Here,” he whispered, “is just an illusion.” His dark eyes stared into hers, his gaze intense, as though he wanted to burn that thought into her mind.

“What is happening to him?” she asked.

Nottingham blinked at her question, then looked down. When he spoke, his tone was normal – for him, anyway. “Ask him yourself. He wishes to see you.” He moved away, then paused, trying once more. “Eeva, I can take you away from here, now. You should think about it.” His words were heavy, though, for he knew it was useless.

She smiled at him, appreciating his concern, even if it was wasted. “It is too late for me,” she said slowly and with the sadness that she felt. “If you find this place so horrible, why not leave yourself?”

For the first time she’d ever heard of, his voice cracked as he answered. “I serve my master. I cannot leave him. He needs me.”

“Then it would seem that we are alike, you and I.”

He shook his head, the errant strand of hair brushing lazily along his face. For an instant, he seemed to be a little boy, a lost little boy. “You have just started down your path. It may be that I am coming to the end of mine.”

She looked at him, not sure what to say. Lost in his own thoughts he suddenly seemed to be very tired.

After a few seconds, she asked, “Did he love my mother?”

Startled from his reverie, Nottingham looked at her, his eyes wide. Then, sighing again, he said, “his affection for her had a difficult time outlasting her usefulness to him.”

She tilted her head, trying to make sense of his words – they sounded so cold.

With a quick shake of his head, he continued, “I was just a boy then, Eeva. You should ask him yourself. Ask him about your mother. And the Witchblade.” He reached out as if to take her hand.

She pulled back from him and turned away.

In silence, they walked to the door of their master’s bedchamber.

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