By Jaromír Hřivnáč #starwars #thedarkside #sith #darthmaul #maul #apprentice #fanmade #fanart #MoonsithIG

Part One.

Across the oceans, as the sun had set on a wet English afternoon, Judeth Clayton had arrived by private car and been deposited upon the street at the doors of The Continental London. She wore a magnificent floor-length ebony evening gown designed and hand made in Persia with flowing caped sleeves. Her dark hair was pinned in elegant coils and waves about her head. From her ears, she wore singular white pearls, a set that complimented their matching necklace as it adorned her décolleté. Upon her feet, she wore spectacular black Christian Louboutin heels whose timeless red soles were Judeth's absolute trademark. The picture of refinement. The car door was held open for her exit and as she was escorted along the red carpet that led to the hotel doors that were also held by doorman for her arrival. She was flanked by two guards. A man and woman in immaculate black suits. They were inescapable and silent. And they watched the Hand Maid like a hawk. Before leaving the White Tower of London, they had searched the contents of her evening clutch, checking her phone for unsolicited messages and calls. Rifling through her belongings where they displaced her lipstick, pen, tampons and other inconsequential trifles that were typical of a woman's evening purse. Her belongings were insignificant to their interest. What they searched for were pills, hyperaemic needles, and morphine vials. For that was the source of their employment in this mission.

Master Karth Piaf had made it clear that they were to ensure the woman was at no time left unattended or be remotely permitted to interact with, engage or otherwise fraternise with anyone or anything that even remotely looked like they were capable or allowing her to indulge even in the illusion of narcotic use. The pair that served her now were one of two sets of four total guards from Athena's security detail that were assigned to monitor the Hand Maid day and night without fail. They worked in 12 hour shifts between them, rotating at 6AM and 6PM respectively. Their tireless routine was not once interrupted. They had attended to this uneventful and tedious duty without fail or incident every day for the past two months. Karth paid them a generous four digit wage and a single gold coin for every shift they completed where they could report back that Judeth had not evaded their notice or succum to her visceral urge to inject herself. Yes, it was a mindlessly boring task watching the 38 year old woman day in and day out attend to a monotonous routine. But they did not mind entirely for it kept them from the field of battle and off the streets. They were breifed that if questioned as to why they kept up this peerless duty, that the lady was on "death watch". Athena forbade her Hand Maids the luxury of suicide and Judeth's mental health had deteriorated greatly under the strain of high-functioning depression since Lalienna's banishment from the Iron Fortuna Syndicate. The misinformation was readily accepted. The four rotating guards were paid to keep the true meaning of their duty absolute secret on pain of death. They were hand selected by Karth Piaf for their loyal and unshakable qualities amongst hundreds of possible candidates from Athena's Black Guard. They knew what Karth was capable of. Iron Fortuna was revered and feared for its brutal human torture techniques. They weren't about to rock the boat.

Thus, when their search of Judeth's purse revealed nothing that they considered incriminating; they handed it back with a wordless nod. She snatched the designer clutch with abject fury. Her patience was running short with this ridiculous facade. Karth had kept to his word. She was never given a moment's privacy. Not to eat, sleep, work, pray, study, bathe or relieve herself. She had done everything Karth had demanded of her, handing over her list of street and professional drug dealers across the city of London. Her rooms were searched daily. Her phones, laptops, email accounts, text messages and files were scrutinised without mercy. Twice daily she attended Doctor Tanis's treatment rooms to have herself injected painfully with detoxification substances that were administered to reduce her borderline biblical morphine withdrawals. To the rest of the world she appeared outwardly normal. In so much as her removed and cold exterior could facilitate. She only ever showed any semblance of sincere human emotion when in the presence of her son, Philip, who adored and embraced his mother, singing her praises and demanding her attention as he revealed all he'd learned in his school rooms. Those moments of matriarchal tenderness were short lived as the boy was removed from her presence to attend his studies and she forced to attend endless council meetings with the Queen and her advisor's facilitators, debtors and underlings. Athena had denied her permission to return to the field on any further espionage missions until Karth and Doctor Tanis cleared her of being a danger to herself. A concept she found repugnant and laughable.

Alas, she was forced to submit to Karth's will, for he held her son a captive pawn over her, threatening to reveal her addiction if she relapsed. His goal was clear and unquestionable. He'd hide the sin of her drug addiction from the world at any cost, but in turn she would get clean. Karth was never a man that made idle threats. She'd tasted his tortuous wrath more than once. Even if his intentions were pure, it was clear that he and the deceased Gregory Piaf had very much been brothers. Both of the men were disposed to monstrous acts of sinister violence against women.

Judeth was left without a choice. He meant well for her. She knew this. But she didn't expect this surveillance mission to prolong more than a month before he'd get tired of his little game, acknowledge her good behaviour and return her freedom. As the weeks rolled on in London, she realized she had been sorely mistaken. And wondered to herself, how much longer he'd keep this bullshit up for?

Alas, she was escorted by these guards into the familiar glittering warmth of the hotel. It's lobby fireplaces crackled happily to keep out London's Autumn chill and a dozen or more patrons looked on admirably at the statuesque woman and her security detail. Wondering as to who she was and why she appeared so important. Judeth kept her eyes forward and walked the length of lobbys red carpet with elegant strides approaching the grand marble desk and being met by the tender smiles of the Iris twins that beamed at her happily. It was almost 8 o'clock.

"Welcome back, Lady Clayton!"  Began Chantelle

"To The Continental London!" Finished Chervonne.

"Sir Sable is expecting you in the dining room." The blonde ladies trilled together. In perfect pitched unison. The words spoken in stereo.  They were still positively feline in their elegant mannerism and reminded Judeth very much of a pair of sleek Siamese cats. Their deep blue eyes alluring and twinkling with promised mischief. 

Completely beautiful. Judeth offered the ladies a disarming smile and nodded politely before turning off to the right and following the marble floor to the famous hotel dining room. Still flanked by her guards that walked three paces behind her at all times and would not deviate no matter what.

Closed off from the other diners, Judeth was led by the attending maître d'hôtel to the exclusive and private dining quarters of the hotel concierge. The prestigious and decadent 'Table Twenty One' was a positively royal affair with a floral centerpiece adorned with white tiger lilies, tulips, carnations and roses; bordered by a sterling silver candelabra that bathed the white linen, its luxury china and sparkling cutlery in the glow of four candles. Together this complimented the low light of the dimmed chandelier above them. The dining chairs were overstuffed French provincial elegance. Two black and white uniformed waiters in white gloves stood to discreet attention in the corner of the room with their silver meal carts and exotic culinary delights freshly prepared and covered over by silver serving domes. All of this was positively majestic in terms of elegance and refinement. But none of the grandeur of the private dining room held a candle compared to the man that stood at the head of the table and stalked his way around it to stand at proud attention in a faultless silver-grey three-piece dinner suit. That was The Continental London's concierge, Jermey's personal retainer and confidant. The gentleman was known to the London criminal underworld as Sable.

He was breath-taking to behold. His chestnut brunette hair combed delicately away from his statuesque features.  His eyes were the deepest blue and his beard and mustache were the picture of masculine elegance.  The scent of his cologne arrested her senses. Exotic dark spices, rich Italian leather, mid notes of Winter rose and top notes of sandalwood.  Her breath caught in her throat. He was everything a classical male Adonis could captivate. He didn't say a word, but his eyes filled with a sincere and intimate joy as they took in her regal beauty. She was as glorious and arresting to him as she thought him to be of her. He came forward on elegant strides and she met him, raising her right hand and presenting her emerald and gold ring. His lips found the stone, sighing quietly as he bent his head in reverence to the arresting woman before him. He dared... his lips found her knuckles, she did not retract her hand as his kiss rested warmly atop her bare skin. He heard her sigh... inaudible, she suppressed a shudder but he noted the intake of breath as her breasts heaved beneath the plunging neckline of her gown. It was all she could do not to swoon in his presence. He was purely glorious and entirely disarming. And when at last he rose and smiled at her it was with tenderness and complete sincerity. He'd not seen her face since the day he had delivered the blood oath marker she had requested to burden Lalienna with at the Tower. He noted, her eyes appeared colder. Her beauty sharper... tempered into a super models near otherworldly, exiguous charm. There were shadows and dark secrets, endless suffering under the veil of her sea green eyes. Her cosmetics had been applied by a master's practiced hands. But that did not detract from what he saw reflected just beneath the woman's determined veneer. Hunger... sufferance... He'd seen it at the Tower. He'd seen it build in her over the years for every time she entered the hotel and sought safe harbor in his walls. In his private rooms.  She was, detached... disconnected from the world around her. Something about her demeanor always suggested she was both looking at you and through you at the same time. Reading between the lines, off the page... into your soul. The cracks were starting to come through. He'd been one of her morphine suppliers for extended periods of time after battles and altercations. He'd injected her personally. Directly into the vein and watched her chase the dragon. He'd received her message two months ago that said she wished to make a reservation for M. Holt. That was a coded arrangement of words exclusively understood by them alone. It meant her addiction had been uncovered. The repercussions would be devastating. He destroyed any evidence of her supply that linked back to him. He did it instantly to protect her. But he knew what would come its place would be devasting.

He greeted her warmly, tender tone from his silken tongue. And did not fail to note the guards at her back. Two. One male, one female. Hired muscle with a mission. Athena's security detail. The Black Guard. Elite pawns, but pawns none the less. Expendable. He'd not tolerate them in his presence infringing on his privacy with this woman in his own hotel. They had to go.

" Alex Rothman and Margaret Styl, am I correct?" He addressed the pair sharply.

"Aye, that be us, Sir Sable. A good evening to you." Replied the man named Alex. Margaret nodded in wordless approval. Sable continued,

"And tell me, Sir, Madam, what brings you to our fine hotel this evening?" Pointless question. He knew exactly what was going on. But he wanted a confession.

"We have orders from Master Piaf senior to keep Mistress Clayton under twenty-four hour surveillance, Sir. Under no circumstances is she to leave our sight. Thus we escort her to your fine company this evening. We beg of you, dine and enjoy yourselves. We will be as silent and inconspicuous as flies on the wall. You needn't concern yourself with our attendance. We are merely here to monitor the Lady's behaviors and ensure she does not deteriorate." Answered Alex Rothman in fluid, Welsh accent. His companion Margaret nodded in approval.

"I see." Sable returned, nodding his head curtly. He smiled at Judeth politely, almost apologetically and returned his attention to Alex Rothman.

"And tell me, Mr. Rothman... how has your wife been keeping? I'm given to understand the dear lady birthed your...what was it... second child this May, if I'm not very much mistaken?"

He'd chosen his words carefully... and watched, entertained as the colour drained from Margaret Styl's face. She fought to maintain composure. This... this had been news to her. She shot Alex a withering glance. Alex... began to sweat at his brow.

"I...I... Uh... that is..yes... Yes Sir Sable, she is well. T-thank you for asking, Sir..."

"And, tell me... Has she become privy to your evening affairs with Miss Styl at your side there?" Sable pressed... ruthless. Like a blade. Margaret looked infuriated. Positively sick to the stomach.

"You never mentioned you had a wife, Mr. Rothman." She snapped at last, her brows arching high.

"No Miss. Styl, I wouldn't concern yourself. I dare say there are a great deal many things in this profession of ours that Mr. Rothman is likely to keep from you if it means you'll continue to warm his bed on the cold and lonely evenings of the coming Winter. I dare say you do it far better than Mrs. Rothman ever could, encumbered as she is with two baby boys."

Sable's words fell like a revelation upon Margaret's lap.

"You fucking bastard!" She erupted, turning slap Alex fair upon the mouth. Rothman took the blow with stunned ignorance, turning his head back to register the shock.

"Margo... please... you need to let me explain." Alex stammered out

"Why use words Mr. Rothman? I have a perfectly good video of your indiscretions that I'm certain Miss. Styl would be all too pleased to witness." Sable drawled dispassionately. His eyes twinkling in sadistic amusement. They were like insects to him these creatures, these lowly guards.

"And I will show her.... even if she has to be tied down to the chair.... For you see Miss.  Styl, you are not the only woman whom Mr. Rothman makes good his affections with. Our video surveillance shows many private visitations to and from The Red Door with... frequent abandon."

"Sable, you fucking bastard! You're going to ruin me, man!" Alex snapped.

"Nonsense Mr. Rothman, you've rather already done that for yourself. I merely had the opportunity to witness your fall from grace. And your repeated rutting of Miss. Styl in our hotel car park. You really should lock your doors, Mr. Rothman. It's a rough crowd out there, in the dark."

Now Margaret was whimpering, her eyes flooding with tears, her hand flew to her mouth in abject horror as she looked the man at her side over and shook her head no. The words died in her throat.

"What the fuck do you want from me Sable? What's it gonna cost me to keep you fuckin' quiet about this?" Rothman was distraught. Furious in his anger, he paced forward and Judeth stepped out of the way, disinterested in being caught in the crossfire of this argument.

Sable smiled however. And it was the smile of a shark that knew he had his prey on its dying breath.

"How much is Master Piaf paying you to guard Judeth Clayton?" He asked.

"Two thousand Pounds a week, a gold coin per shift for every time we report no incident for her." He bit out vehemently.

"I'll double it. " Sable replied. "I'll give you four thousand Pounds and two hundred gold coins. Plus, I'll destroy the videos of you and Margaret fucking in my hotel if you turn on your heel, and attend the bar for the duration of Judeth's stay in my company. Whatever menial task Karth has put you up for, I can assure you I'm more than a thousand times equal to. Now... take Miss. Styl with you and buy the poor woman a drink. She looks as though she may either spit fire or suffer nervous collapse. Do not leave the hotel grounds. You may collect Lady Clayton when I decide to release her back into your hands for return to The Tower, when and only when I see fit. Do I make myself clear?"

Alex was beside himself, Margaret was openly weeping in infuriated shame. He glared poison daggers at the hotel concierge but relented, dragging his colleague and lover out of the private dining room.  The maître d' shut the door behind them.

Finally, Judeth and Sable were left alone.

His attention returned to the White Woman who rested her hands on the back of her dining chair and looked at him with an intensely satisfied smile.

"Well played, Sir Sable... Well played indeed." Invigorated, Sable helped the lady into her chair before rounding the table and taking his own. The moment they were seated the waiters came forward to immediately grace the table with wine and their dinner plates. Sable thanked and dismissed the wait staff. The moment the door closed... Judeth realized, she and Sable were finally safe...and completely and entirely alone.

"It's been a very long time since I laid eyes on you last, Lady Clayton. I propose a toast to our eventful reunion. " Said Sable, raising his red wineglass in invitation.

Judeth met it with own, a clink of approval as the glasses kissed before both came away and deposited their blood red contents into the lips of their respective holders. The toast complete. The glasses were set down.

Sable and Judeth talked. Over dinner. Three courses, two wines, sparkling Italian mineral water and finally, dessert and coffee.

Sable leaned forward with his brass lighter igniting the lady's cigarette before attending his own. They were comfortable in each other's company. In conversation and in silence. They were old friends. Very old friends. With history. Deep history. Dark history. Intimate history. They knew things about each other they weren't certain they understood about themselves. It was stimulating, enlightening exchanging wits, ideas, ideologies, theories, hopes, dreams and desires with one another. The way only solid companions with a similar wavelength and rich mentality could encapsulate and platonically adore one another. For those two hours, over that sumptuous French dinner, Judeth and Sable danced with words. Complimented each other. Finished one another's sentences. They were both very much alive... and Judeth... for once...she was very much present. In the moment. Fully focused. Everything in sharp detail and attentive comparison. She came alive. Truly. Fully. And it was not the wine. It was not the detoxant that protected her internal organs from catastrophic failure. It was him. Sable. His presence, his very existence was doing this for her. Drawing her, like thread through a weaver's table and building her into a tapestry of rich ornamentation. She didn't need artificial stimulants to get this high. She was alive and had a living breathing son. That was enough for her. In this moment. He was enough for her. More than enough.

So he took his chance. Now that she was in bloom. A flower whose petals were opened before him.

He came to her, words like the wings of a passing butterfly.

"Judeth.... Darling... What are we to do about your Lalienna?"

She exhaled the smoke she held from her lips, the plume billowed into the air and disappeared floating away. He watched her shudder and immediately regretted his decision. He didn't want to watch her fade.

"I don't want him to have her, Sable. I don't want anyone to have her. Save for you and Jeremy. You're the only people in this entire fucking world that I dare trust with my life. And hers."

"You know this time would come though, surely? A blossoming young woman like Lalienna was always going to draw attention. Unwanted or otherwise. We could only ever host her as our ward indefinitely."

"She didn't last a single night, Sable. Not one... The moment she walked through your doors, that bastard D'Antonio and his gang of Italian street thugs had their claws in her. They're vultures, the Camorra. Animals."

"They're steadfast, Judeth. If nothing else, they're loyal to the crown. Loyal to us. They believe in family, solidarity to the death. They'll protect her."

"He fucked her."

"Santino?"

"Who else?"

Sable nodded. He knew the truth. He'd seen the video. It was almost as though he'd filmed it himself. He wouldn't let Judeth know what he knew though. He sighed heavily. Refilling her wine glass and then refilling his own. This was their second bottle of the night. He felt they'd need more for what was likely to come.

"I think, you need to let go a little, darling. And stop playing the wounded martyr all the time. It doesn't suit you."

"Don't insult my intelligence, Sable, I'm not in the mood for your cuts at my tarnished humility. There's nothing martyr-like about grieving the loss of a daughter, in marriage, separation, adoptive or otherwise. "

"That's not what I meant and you know it. But if you're going to force my hand-"

"I'm always interested in forcing your hand," She returned sharply,

"Then.. listen to me when I tell you, you've done the right thing. Having Lorenzo draw up this contract for her probation was a masterstroke. Very clever indeed. But it's not going to last. Lalienna is peerless if she was trained to be a faction of what you're like. He's never going to let her go. And sooner or later you're going to have to admit defeat, Judeth. This is outside of your control. You need to accept that and stop letting it eat you alive. The moment you make peace with this realization is the moment you stop taking to the needle to silence the demons in your head. "

His words seemed to cut at her. He didn't mean to. He was the last person in the world that wanted to watch her bleed.

"Judeth... Darling... You can't go on like this. Destroying yourself. Over things you can't control. Things you'll never control. There's hope while you breathe, while you live. But what you're doing... You're not living... You're barely existing. You've lost control. Of everything. Including yourself."

Silence between them. Judeth smoked... and watched his eyes. Warm... delicate, sincere. Those eyes saw through her. Into her. She was aching.

"So what do you propose?" She asked at last.

"Come back to me. Here... right now. Leave the dead in their graves where they belong with the ghosts and the ashes... But come to me. Like you once used to."

"Don't... do this to me, Sable... I can't."

"You can."

"I won't."

"You will."

"Sable, for God's sake have mercy... My husband's just been killed."

"You never loved him, Judeth. You took his hand in marriage because he promised you shelter he didn't have. He promised you a daughter and retirement from servitude to Athena... But he only ever had his own interests in mind. You know this."

"I know."

"It's not too late to break free." He pressed her, drawing his chair closer now, around the table so he could sit with his knees to either side of her thighs. Close... So she could drown in his presence. He was overwhelming her. Intoxicating her. And he was being cruel about watching her suffocate.

"Athena won't ever let me go... Not until Philip is married to her daughter."

"In what? Ten years time from now? When he's twenty four and you're a hollow husk of subdued madness screaming against the chains of your enslavement? Fuck that! Fuck them, Athena included. Judeth... come to me. I want you. I've always wanted you. You should have never married Gregory, he was a demon to you."

"Sable, please... I didn't have a choice. I had my duty."

"Fuck your duty. You had me and you know I could be twice the man he ever was. He raped you, Judeth... You married him, lost his daughters in torrents of blood and he still fucking raped you. Repeatedly. And you let him do it to y-"

His words shocked into silence, for Judeth threw her wine in his face, horrified... then rose and pitched the glass with such force it sliced through the air like an arrow and exploded into a hundred shards as it impacted against the back of the dining room wall.

"Don't.... do this to me.... Sable.... please.... Please... I'm begging you." The tears came. Slipping over her waterline. He watched them track a path across her cheeks and disappear away onto the floor. He dropped his eyes and wiped at his face with her linen napkin. Irritated. Red wine stained Italian silk. He'd have to take his clothes to the laundry as quickly as possible to ensure the damage would not be irreversible. This outfit had been hand-tailored and cost a fortune in imported luxury fabrics.

He met her eyes again. His heart was breaking in his chest. The light had gone from her eyes... He'd had it there. For a moment. He'd seen it. Ignited like fire. Pure. Beautiful. She was so alive. And now... crushed in her fury. In her depravity. In her loss and suffering. She was empty again. Hollow. A reflection of what a woman could have been. Would have been... If only her ex-husband had not treated her so badly. She might have survived her traumas. Like this. She wasn't surviving. She was dead.

So then what attracted him to her so powerfully.... if not his ravenous desire for necrophilia?

He got to his feet. And launched for her. His hand at her throat, she gasped, frantic as he pinched at her airwaves for a moment then spun her around, forcing her hips to butt against the dinner table. Trapping her between the timber and his body. And she flung out her arms, meaning to dislodge him, but he was faster and had drunk less wine. He caught her upper arms and pinned them back against his chest with one arm, the other, with its free hand took her throat again and brought her head back forcing it to rest against his shoulder. And he felt it... The rush of power take him. Flood his veins. Soak his mind. Drive his libido with something sadistic, twisted. His hot breath in her ear. She was tense... ready to react. To respond on basic instinct because she was a fighter, a warrior. And he knew it. He knew she could have come up with at least a dozen different ways to break out of his grip right now and break his arms, his face and his ribcage if she wanted to. But she didn't. She didn't. She let him hold her... subdue her like this. Dominate and control her. She shivered against him. Feeling the heat of his manhood as it pressed into her rear. Feeling her restraint fail her. Too much suffering... Too much red wine. He was weakening her... Overpowering her with every passing moment.

"Stop fighting..." He whispered, against her earlobe. "Give in to me..."

She tensed... struggled. He held her tighter... Watching. The way her breasts rose and fell against her gown... Intoxicated by the surge of power that radiated out of her skin. His lust was ascending. For her flesh... for her blood.

"What do you want from me, Sable?"

"One night...." He breathed. "In my bed."

"I can't... Please.... Don't make me do this."

"One night... Judeth... Just come with me... Taste it... Against your tongue... Against your skin. One night is all it takes to remind you,  you're still human. You're still alive. That his memory won't be the tombstone that marks your departure from this wretched world."

"It won't be me... You'll be taking." She breathed the words. Barely an echo. Her lips moved but her body was betraying her. She was losing the will to resist him. He was kissing her now. Her skin sparked where his lips touched her. He wanted her. Needed her to submit entirely. To give in. To give way. To let him in. Not just inside her body... inside her head. Even if he had to make her bleed. Under the kiss of his whip. Straining against the bonds of his black velvet rope and insatiable passion. He'd have her this night. He'd tasted her blood before... And he wanted more.

"Beg for me...." He breathed... Lacing the edges of his teeth to her shoulder edge of her neck, just before the junction of her shoulder. She shuddered against him. A roll of electric current exploded like fireworks against her spine. She sucked in the air... But he was drowning her.

"I can't... do this.... Sable... Please... please..." She weakened against him entirely, it took every ounce of strength she had. She said the words he needed to hear in that moment.

"I'm begging you... Sable Ducourt... Release me."

That was enough. It was all he needed. She wasn't ready. And he wasn't about to rape her the way Gregory had. He loved her. Had done so for years. Suffering in silence. She wouldn't let him save her. Even though he begged her to. She wouldn't let him save her now either. He let her go. Stepped away. She deserved her freedom. Precious flower. Black swan. Dark Angel.

She turned to face him.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Until she came forward of her own will. Surrounded him in her embrace. She yielded her lips to his.

She was alive still.

Very much so.

In the depths of that kiss.

She was drowning him now.

And he was letting her drag him under.

Tears formed in her jade eyes, lip quivering slightly. She held back a sob, taking a breath.

“You…you never wanted me?” It felt as though her heart was breaking. Literally. The strings of her cardiac muscles were snapping, leaving her in the worst pain she’s ever felt… and she’s felt a lot of shit. She’s been through the worst, through hell. But this…this was worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs wouldn’t produce the oxygen needed to stay alive. God, make it stop. Stop it! She couldn’t handle it. She clutched her heart, squeezing the fabric of her shirt in her fists. Her eyes broke. They relayed how she felt. So so so so ruined. So torn. So…worthless. Thrown away.

————

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // here is your angst. Do with it what you will. ;) have fun, my angel of sadness.

Laundry festival🧺

JOHN WICK (2014) dir. Chad Stahelski

THE MAN. THE MYTH. THE LEGEND. JOHN WICK. YOU’RE NOT VERY GOOD AT RETIRING.

Time, Death and Justice by George Frederick Watts, c. 1900

Devour mercifully, without remorse.

"The problem with youth is death is an incomprehensible concept. Even as you hold the dead bird in your hand as a child, the weight of it's loss does not seem to penetrate the carapace of seeming immortality the child lives within. The truth comes later."

- Musings - L. G. Spider

John Wick || Blood of the Raven King

Act Two || Scene Two || Concurrence

Bobby woke with a start!

A loud thump in her room caused her to bolt upright with a panicked shout atop her bed. Her blurred eyes took seconds to adjust to the low light of the room and even as her sleep blurred vision clarified, the unfamiliar surrounds did nothing to lessen her anxiety. If anything, she cast her sight about the furniture, unsettled, displaced. Slowly, recollection dawned upon her. No, this was not her dorm room in Oxford, nor was it her old bedroom in Essex. The wallpaper was too elegant and the cornice moldings were too ornate. This was not even her bed.

No, it took a few long moments to pull herself together but given time she realized this was her Uncle's hotel and she was once more a guest to his rooms. This was not England, but the United States of America. The digital clock on the bedside table read 2:34pm. And that thump that she swore came from within the room was certainly her doing. In her sleep she must have thrashed about and swung her arm out, knocking the brass bedside lamp clear off its table. It lay upon the carpet beside the bed with its pale lampshade askew.  She could not remember when it was that she had gone back to sleep after her frenzied writing earlier that morning. Only that she found herself extremely tired afterwards and laid down for what she promised herself would only be a half hour. The sound of the rain so soothing and the hotel so impeccably quiet it seemed. So much for that! 

Swinging her legs free of the bed linen, Bobby bent to set the lamp back upright and found her phone flashing face down on the carpet. The lamp cable had also knocked it free when it came crashing down. 

Sliding her thumb along the slick glass screen, she noted a half dozen messages from her friends Connie and Nate. All which followed the same pattern. 

'Bobby?! Are you awake!? Charon tells us you're fighting jetlag and we don't believe him.' That was Connie at 9:17am.

'Ahoy Bobbette! We're coming to The Continental at midday for lunch and your elusive company. Make yourself decent. Or not, you know I'm kinky.' Read the message from Nate at 11:12am. 

'Bobby! New York doesn't sleep and nor should you, idle princess. We demand your company, and a glass of lemonade, to douse you with.' Connie at 12:15pm. 

'Shall we send Mario round with a plunger? Did you fall in again or have you discovered Narnia?' Wrote Nate at 1 o'clock.

Bobby could not help but chuckle at her friends and their teasing. 

'Heaven forefend Roberta Kent! It's 1:30pm! If you're in bed with a man, throw him out at once and come downstairs! Your Uncle is making eyes at me and I'm feeling conflicted. If you're not down within the hour I'm coming up to get you!' Wrote Connie. And no sooner did she read the last word than she jolted sharply, for there came a powerful knocking at her room door. Connie's clear British accented voice could be heard from the other side. 

"Bobby? Bobby, it's Connie, won't you let me in?"

"Yes, yes I'm coming! Give me a moment!" Called Bobby rushing from the bedroom and out into the lounge. 

In moments she was at the door, unlatching the locks and pulling it open to reveal her friend, colleague and confidante, Constance Blakehurst in a chic deep blue pencil dress and black patent leather heels. Her mane of shoulder length blonde hair had been curled into elegant waves and her ice blue eyes assessed her friend in her pajamas although it was well past two in the afternoon, with gracious good humor. 

"Good Heavens, Bobby Kent! Have you any idea what time it is? Do not for an instant tell me you were still abed this hour?"

"Well...I, uh-"

"Read your messages? Yes, I know, your phone's in your hand and still in one piece which is miraculous considering Nate and I blew it up every hour since this morning. Well? Are you going to let me in so I can greet you properly or are we going to continue this conversation in the hallway?"

"Oh, Connie! It's so good to see you again! I missed you dreadfully!" Said Bobby brightly, stepping aside and letting her friend enter before shutting the door behind her. The two women exchanged an excited school girl's hug that was complimented by many cheek kisses and hair caresses. 

"And I you, to be sure! And Nate hasn't shut up about you since you emailed to say you were coming back to New York! You should hear him darling, every thirty seconds he repeats your name. He's positively beside himself in joy. You really should change your mind and date him already!" 

"Connie! Won't you give up the match maker game?! I've told you before, Nate and I are just good friends." 

"Then can I assume that along with the destruction of your walking cane, you've regained the confidence for other prospects?" 

"No! Honestly, I'm not looking." 

"And even if you were they'd abandon your room in screams of terror if they saw you in that choice not sleepwear!"

This drove a flush of colour to Bobby's cheeks and peel of laughter to follow.

"What's wrong with these pajamas? You were the one that bought them for me to begin with!"

"That was four years ago, Bobby darling. I'm surprised you've not worn holes in them by now, you wear them so often."

"Well, you should be honored that I treasure your gifts so intently and make such good use out of them."

"And I am!" Exclaimed Connie, taking her friend's hands adoringly in her own and beaming in pride.

"Oh, even with your hair a mess and your those old PJs, you're still a picture of loveliness! Go on, give us your runway swagger, sweetheart! Everyone's been absolutely raving about how the magnificent Roberta Kent has gone from wheelchair bound with partial spinal paralysis to walking unassisted on heels! You should hear your Uncle rave about you!"

Bobby complied to her friend's request turning a graceful pirouette on the ball of her foot and then taking to strolling a lap about the living room, circling the coffee table twice in a figure eight before coming back to stand before Connie with a graceful bow. Well! Connie was beside herself in pride. She applauded loudly, cat-calling in the most unladylike fashion and rushed her friend to smother her in a multitude of kisses. The two girls were in fits of laughter.

"Oh Connie! Don't, you're smudging your lipstick, I'm sure of it."

"Don't be silly darling, that's what kiss proof is for! Oh my God! Two years and nine months to the day and I never thought when I saw you in that hospital, that I'd ever watch you walk without assistance again. Oh my sweet God! It's a miracle, I swear it."

"Shh, Connie, sweetheart, don't cry now. There's truly nothing miraculous about it. Honestly. I just got lucky that they didn't damage something irreparable. The rest was all science and dedication."

"And you're truly not in pain at all?" Asked Connie sniffing and wiping at her nose for she could not stem the flow of happy tears.

"No, thank goodness. I mean, not like I used to be. It comes and goes intermittently and I'm more sensitive in the cold. And I'm stiff in the mornings getting up and moving about but once I get going for the day I'm right as rain." Bobby replied, pulling a tissue free of its box on the side table and seeking to wipe at her friend's eyes.

"Oh, Bobby! I'm so happy for you! Truly! You wait till Nate sees you walking. It's all he could talk about the entire trip from Ireland."

Again the girls crushed each other in another warm embrace.

"Well, I'll be more than happy to show him my walk in person. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, honestly. It was a long journey over and you'd think I'd be used to travel by now. This stupid injury has slowed me down somewhat. But never mind that, you look stunning, honestly! Did you tint your hair? It appears a lighter blonde than before."

"I did, you charming girl, do you like it?" Connie beamed, caressing her tresses.

"Oh most certainly! It sets off your eyes! And that dress! It looks so expensive!"

"Vivienne Westwood my darling, only the best to walk about in such a swanky hotel." Now it was Connie's turn to spin a circle allowing her companion to admire her fully.

"Startling! Honestly!" Bobby exclaimed. "Hey, is it true what you said in the text? About Uncle Winston?"

"Coming on to me? No of course not, silly girl. I was just trying to get you downstairs sooner. He's as charming as ever. He ages so regally in his silk cravats. Honestly, what a perfect gentlemen he is. I can't believe he never married."

"Well, you could always propose yourself as willing."

"Roberta!" Connie cried, "He's like, what? Thirty years my senior?!"

"Don't let him hear you say that! I made a casual reference to it last night over dinner and he fixed me with the most wounded pout."

"I'll bet he did! Now come on, girl, out of these bedclothes at once and into that bathroom. We need to have you presentable inside of fifteen minutes or the boys are likely to drink themselves to death waiting for us. And I've a million things to tell you, but first, please tell me you were good enough to pack a few decent dresses. I'll kill you if you're going about a classy place as this dressed in nothing but your tactical gear."

"What's wrong with jeans?" Bobby complained with an amused quirk of her lips.

"Are they designer labeled?" Connie asked with an arch of her brow and her hand on her hip.

"What if they come from Target?"

"Then your obituary will say you were strangled by cheap, poorly made denim."

The girls shrieked with laughter and sure enough, Connie rushed her friend back into the bedroom.

As good friends do, Connie helped pick a pretty blue and white dress with laced sleeves and shapely contours out of Bobby's wardrobe. She was greatly relieved that her companion had the foresight to bring an array of casual and formal day and evening wear that was certainly not cheap, poorly made denim and simple t-shirts. Within twenty minutes Bobby was washed, brushed, made up and dressed, looking every bit the alluring young woman Connie remembered her to be before her tragedy had befallen her. And all throughout her toilette, the girls exchanged vivid chatter and gossip. For they spoke frequently on the phone, via Skype and even exchanged letters and post cards whilst on their travels around the world; but nothing compared to being in the same physical room with each other. Connie kept tearing up and wiping at her eyes, having to readjust her eyeliner and hair before finally taking her friend by the arm and guiding her out the door.

On the way down the hall and into the elevator, Bobby turned the conversation round to the dream she'd had the night before and had written about extensively in her dream diary that morning. Connie was accustomed to listening to and attempting to decode Bobby's dreams over the years. Both ladies had taken on a particular interest in the intermittently reoccurring nature of the dream wherein Bobby found herself walking a suspended bridge that seemed to have no ending in sight. Connie had noted that the dreams seemed to occur more so in times of duress. Especially, it seemed, after Bobby had reported to having had a panic attack. They appeared to be the aftermath of symptoms associated with post traumatic stress as a repercussion of her trauma for which Connie was exceptionally sympathetic towards. Naturally, Connie questioned her friend about her general health and made a mental note of her assumptions. That Bobby had just undergone her longest flight across the globe since her recovery in years and was attending her Uncle's domain whom had a disinherited hand in the events that had befallen her friend's ill fate. This, she reasoned, was likely the cause of the dream's resurfacing.

What Bobby had not gotten around to explaining was that this time the man she'd seen on the bridge in her dream had taken on distinct and ominous features. What's more, she'd not had the opportunity to express that she had been overtaken by some inexplicable dizzy spell that was seemingly detracted by the black dressed couple on the stairs that she had met the night before. Or that the gentlemen in question shared the face of the man in her dream. That for the first time ever, she felt positive she was making some sort of connection to something, somewhere. Only she had absolutely no idea what or where. But that couple was haunting. She'd almost forgotten about them in Connie's company. At last, when they exited the elevator and meant to cross the lobby's ground floor to attend the dining room, Bobby could not help but stop and stare at the staircase, alarming her friend.

"Bobby? Is everything alright dear? You look positively pale. Are you going to be ill?"

Bobby shook her head slowly. The stair case was being attended by bellhops and hotel guests that came up and down in orderly lines about their business.

"No, not at all. I just... I'm being silly. Let's go, we've wasted enough time already and I'm sure Nate and Uncle will be put out." Taking a deep breath, Bobby smiled and took her friend's arm warmly.

As they passed the reception desk and its moderate line of patrons, Charon and his neatly dressed lady assistant were busy attending to their bookings. Even so, Bobby called to the Concierge over the sweet melody of classical music and guest chatter. The dark gentlemen in his pristine suit looked up from his monitor and fixed Bobby and her friend with a gentle smile and a polite incline of his head in acknowledgement before returning to his work, booking in his latest client.

"My goodness! Are they always so busy?" Connie asked as they made their way to the dining room doors.

"I imagine so. I've never known it any other way. But it does quiet down at night." Bobby responded.

"Welcome back, ladies." Said the maître d'hôtel, gesturing the two friends within. "The manager and your companion has been awaiting your company."

"Thank you so much, that's very kind of you." Bobby replied, smiling at the young man with his sparkling hazel eyes and exotic features. Generally, Winston was renowned for housing much the same staff in his hotel. His turn-over was infrequent at best. But this gentleman who was the same fellow that hosted front of house at dinner last night seemed to be a fairly recent addition as far as Bobby could recall. All the same, he was gracious and neatly uniformed, gesturing the two ladies into the dining room where a number of tables were filled with other guests enjoying their afternoon repast.

"Oh my goodness! There she is!" Called Nate, rising to his feet and rushing a beeline toward Bobby. Winston too was on his feet, beaming in his tan sports coat as his niece was once again reunited with her two friends. The two men had been chatting amicably while the girls were upstairs. Winston was such a sharp witted and well spoken gent, that conversation came easily between the two men. They had much to discuss and much in common with regards to Bobby's fortuitous good health. They were each enjoying a glass of rich French cognac before Nate spied the ladies being led in.

"Well, hot damn, lil' mama! Look at you! Walking!"

"Shh, Nate, not so loud, you'll embarrass her!" Connie urged, squeezing her friend's arm.

"No more than she should be, surely!" Nate replied brightly, hugging Bobby tightly and kissing her cheeks. "Oh, but you look wonderful, babe, for real! How are you feeling? No more walking cane! I can't believe it. I'm so proud of you! Hard road, eh?"

"Well, it wasn't easy, I tell you. But look! I'm in heels and everything!" Bobby beamed, looking down at her dainty black point-toed shoes. Nate nodded appreciatively and turned to give each lady one of his arms to escort them back to the manager's table.

"You certainly are darling, but were it up to me, heels or not, you'd never walk unescorted. Now, come on, your Uncle was sharing the most riveting tales of his guests with me."

The trio crossed the floor happily rejoining Winston who came forward to kiss his blushing niece on her cheeks.

"Welcome back, sleeping beauty. Why, we thought you'd never join us." Winston greeted.

"I did warn I was tired, and your beds are remarkably comfortable." Bobby returned warmly, reaching to take her Uncle in an embrace. Nate meanwhile sought to help Connie into her seat whilst Bobby whispered against her Uncle's ear. "I'm sorry about last night, Uncle. Will you forgive me?"

"For what? Having an opinion? Perish the thought. It's all been forgotten darling girl, now sit with me and your friends a while and have something to eat." The elder gentleman whispered back, breaking away to give his niece yet another kiss upon her cheek before helping her into her seat.

"And here we have her, our lady of the hour, Bobby Kent. In the flesh." Winston introduced to the table as he took his seat. Connie and Nate could do nothing if not smile appricitively. They'd been waiting for their friend's company a good long while and were delighted to have her in their grasp once more.

"Waiter," Winston called, getting the attention of a passing gent in this spotless white apron, "a bottle of wine for the table if you please. The '97 Pinot Gris from South Australia I think, considering the occasion." The waited bowed his head at the order politely before dispatching to the bar.

Bobby put her hand on her Uncle's arm, raising her brows in alarm.

"But Uncle, it's so early in the day."

"What? It's past two o'clock, my girl. Did you have pressing plans that required your express sobriety?" Winston replied with a laugh.

"No, I suppose not." Bobby returned, shifting in her seat and feeling very suddenly like a child being permitted to sit at the big people's table. She must have blushed for Nate and Connie both took each of her hands adoringly and laughed.

Between them, the four set to amicable and lively conversation. Their meal was served in relatively short order. Both Connie and Nate were in awe of the expansive seasonal selection of platters and delicacies, heaping great praise upon Winston, whom directed it all back to his international team of passionate and creative chefs whom took it upon themselves to curate a spectacular rotating menu that was always fresh and complimenting of the season. Outside the New York storm seemed to have passed and finally the wet weather had given way to the first rays of afternoon sunshine that cleared away the dreary grayness and picked the colours from the leaves in the garden window.

Winston was delighted to hang back in conversation, watching as his niece and her friends brought a constant smile and a ring of bright laughter to her lips. She looked happy. Happier than she had been in a very long time. And his heart ached for her. He had left New York and stayed on with her in Essex for a long as business would permit during her recovery. What he saw of the young woman disturbed him entirely. In spite of her tan, she grew pale and sickly even after being discharged from the hospital. Her eyes took on a vacant gleam and she spent much of the day and night crying bitterly in his arms. She had become a struggle to feed and only took the smallest amount of food with the highest amount of persuasion until at last he'd returned her to the doctor to have additional medication added to her roster. Something to open up her apatite, for she had lost weight whilst in the coma and was not doing her health any favors by continuing to refuse food.

He'd slept close by in the guest room beside her own in the country manor house. And it was often that he lay, by lamp light, reading into the night and listening out. Bobby would cry into the night, weeping in pain or at the demons that plagued her mind. Often she would wake to screams of nightmares and he would rush back into her room, laying with her whilst she wept and whispered gentle placations in her ear. That she would be alright. That he was there and he would not leave her. That she would grow strong again. That she needed faith and time to heal her. That he was so sorry for her suffering. She'd sleep fitfully in his arms and he would eventually sleep beside her. His heart broken. Terrible things should not happen to good people. But they did. And he ached within, for he was at fault.

When he could no longer stay away from the hotel because business demanded his attention, it was Connie and Nate that returned to Essex and took to living with Bobby permanently adding new life and colour into the old house. They bought books and films and music and study with them. They bought wine and laughter and encouragement that lead the young lady to eat and take to her recovery with vengeance. He was satisfied, she would be well given time. These two dear friends provided more to her than he could. And so Winston withdrew with a promise to come and visit again regularly. To write and call often. That when she was better, he'd arrange to have her visit and stay at his hotel. That Charon would be delighted to see her in person. Charon was so tender, after shifts he would call in and ask for her. Bobby would weep at his kindness, thanking him for his attention that he would wave away. He insisted, they were family now. And he had just as much a vested interest in her recovery as did her Uncle.

What a remarkable difference two years and nine months made to a person.

Now Bobby ate her plates clean happily. She laughed and joked with her friends. Her blue eyes gleaming, her skin and hair lustrous. She'd gained weight again. Her features filled out away from that cadaverous expression she had previously worn. She was on her second glass of wine and was keen to take on cake and coffee much to the cheers of the table. On a few occasions Winston excused himself from the table to take calls and confirm requests from his darker professional patrons. Contracts were opened. Contracts were closed. Names were rubbed off the boards. New names were added. The High Table, as it seemed, were bent on tying off loose ends. And his phone was a constant stream of information that added to the current of order and chaos. He checked in on Charon at the desk who was finally getting a reprieve from the stream of visitors that had attended in the morning.

"Take a break, old friend. Stephanie, take over for Charon, won't you? Have five p.m. hand over competed once your done with next week's reservations."

"Yes, sir. Immediately." Answered the pristinely dressed brunette who was the Concierge's booking assistant. Charon was grateful of the break and thanked his employer graciously.

"Is Bobby well?" He asked after her.

"Oh, splendid!" Winston replied. "Enjoying a long lunch with her friends. Hasn't said a word about her research yet, bless her heart."

"She did say, last night, that she was sorry for a disagreement with you at dinner." Said Charon quietly as the two men made their way through the lobby and back to the dining room.

"I was partly at fault for it. We've made amends now. It's just this talk of the Raven King and he's resurfacing has her obsessed. It seems our associate at the Bowery has some definitive lines of information he's been feeding her. If you don't mind, we'll go pay him a visit later, just before dinner say?"

"Certainly, sir." Charon replied. His features becoming drawn sharply. He'd read all of Bobby's letters and had noted her references to their "mutual friend" with interest.

Now however, the two men returned to the manager's table, the trio of friends were laughing and sharing an amicable exchange but were quick to rise as Winston and Charon approached.

"Charon! Finally! You work far too hard out there!" Bobby exclaimed, rising from her seat and coming forward to hug the dark gentleman tenderly.

"Of course. The weekends are always exceptionally busy."

"Charon will join us on during his break, I trust this is agreeable?" Asked Winston of the table.

Much to the good hearted cheers and calls of "of course" and "by all means".  Nate rose to shake Charon's hand heartily and Connie also rose to press a polite kiss to the elegant gentleman's cheek.

The observant waiters who noted Winton's re-entrance to the dining room with Charon at his side and were quick to set an additional place at the table, taking the Concierge's order for a strong cappuccino and a slice of chocolate torte.

"These desserts are so decadent!" Connie exclaimed, "Are they also made in house?"

"Daily, by our French pâtissie." Charon replied proudly.

"And tell me, Charon, is it some pretty, available blonde girl that's currently looking for a willing suitor?" Nate teased with a twinkle in his eyes.

"He's forty-six, married for eight years and has a two small children, putting him directly out of your range." Charon replied curtly, his lips curling in jest. The table took to laugh as Nate smacked his hand upon it with mock disappointment and a cry of,

"Damn! Bested again!"

Now the table settled with seconds for coffee, tea and sweets, accompanied by Charon's masterful knowledge of city, took to conversing rapidly about all of New York's finest sights and sounds. It seemed the friends were keen on taking Bobby out and away from her expansive research and allowing her the opportunity to simply have fun. Bobby immediately chimed that she wished to visit New York's Public Library for she had heard they had very particular books in the stacks that were available for limited reading sessions that she was absolutely bent on viewing. Nate and Connie both groaned insisting they instead attend an array of vibrant bars and night clubs. Teasing her about finding a boyfriend before spinsterhood set in.

"Connie!" Bobby cried, giggling and blushing profusely.

"Well, it's true, isn't it, Nate? Tell her! I mean, look around you, there are so many charming gentleman in his very hotel. Isn't it true, Winton? I dare say you're conspiring to have only the most elegant men and women stay on. There's not a badly dressed man about."

"She's got a point there, Bobby, I'm starting to feel dreadfully deficient." Nate agreed, sipping at his coffee cup.

"Oh, you're both impossible. See what I have to deal with, gentleman? See how they try to twist and pervert me?" Bobby complained to Charon and Winston whom looked at each other knowingly with deep smiles.

"So go on," Nate pressed, "For the sake of the girls, because none of them will look at me with a yard pole, which of these guests of yours are eligible bachelors?"

The ladies giggled profusely and Winston and Charon set to give each other yet another knowing glance.

"Well, which one takes your fancy?" Winston asked with a raise of his brow, sipping at his coffee cup.

"How about that gentleman over there in the sports coat on table seventeen?" Connie began inclining her head and whispering conspiratorially.

Amused, Charon sought to play the game.

"That is Mr. David Macavoy. He's thirty-six and said to have a sweetheart who works as a dental hygienist and is currently dating her employer. Just as well. Mr. Macavoy keeps a string of causal mistresses as he travels to and from stock broker's offices securing stocks and trades."

This made the table "ooh" and "ahh". Bobby simply rolled her eyes.

"The torn adulterant businessman is not my forte."

"Then what about the fellow leaning on the bar?" Connie laughed raising her brow in his general direction to a smart dressed young man in a tweed coat that had the air of a dandy and was drinking a nip of scotch whilst checking his phone.

"One of our frequent, fly in, fly outs from Italy." Charon explained. "Antonino Borguesso, son of wine importer for Borguesso Limited. He's waiting on his companion as we speak."

Winston chuckled to himself at this admission, shaking his head knowingly. For shortly thereafter, Mr. Borguesso's companion came through the balcony doors at the far end of the dining room, having finished his cigarette and returned to Antonino at the bar. The two men embraced warmly and kissed.

Nate fell into a fit of laughter, reclining back into his chair.

"Rotten luck, Connie, your radar's right broken, love. Give it up!" Connie pouted huffing at her friend whilst Bobby simply rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Her radar's not the only thing that's broken." Bobby admitted.

"Oh, Ha! Ha! Laugh it up why don't you!" Connie returned sarcastically, ignoring the laughs of the table and casting her eyes about the dining room for other prospective suitors.

It was at that moment, just as the clock stuck four in the afternoon that a very particular gentleman wearing a dark Italian suit and tie, his coat unbuttoned, and his long dark hair framing his face; came strolling into the dining room casually. He was tall and classically handsome. His beard and moustache impeccably groomed. He had dark eyes and an easy smile as he nodded to the maître d'hôtel who gladly waved him toward the bar.

More than one of the guests in the dining room looked up from their meals or conversations, fixing the gentleman with polite glances that seemed to boarder on knowing familiarity. Connie could not help but look him up and down and audibly gasp as she elbowed Bobby's ribs and inclined her head in his direction.

"Bobby! Bobby, shut up a minute and look at him."

"Ouch! What? Who?"

"Him, at the bar. Be discreet, it's like the whole room's watching him. God, he's handsome!"

Bobby followed her friend's gaze, for she was caught in conversation with her Uncle and did not see the gentleman arrive. Now however she watched him ease himself with effortless grace against the bar some three stools away from Mr. Borguesso and his lover. He leaned in quietly and ordered a drink of the bar tender who smiled and set to serve him.

Bobby swallowed thickly watching him... And the world... slowed down.

It was as though time it's self was reluctant to move forward. Every moment seemed to hang in suspended animation, dilated in space and time. Hanging like a droplet of water to a flower petal and clinging to the edge... Unwilling to let go.

That ringing in her head cascaded forth once more to the beating of her pulsing heart. Growing in volume so as the sounds of the dining room around her became muted and inconsequential. The clink of silverware against porcelain. The chatter of the guests, the sounds of the staff as they set down plates or spoke instructions to each other in hushed voices.

The air seemed to grow colder, for her skin edged with goose bumps against her arms and across the back of her neck.

It was him.

It was certainly him.

The same gentleman she had met on the stairs last night escorting that beautiful woman in her dark dress and opera gloves.

That face... that was the face of the man on the bridge in her dream.

This ringing in her head... As if she were underwater and all sound was now coming back to surface. She closed her eyes a moment and gently shook her head before asking,

"Uncle... who is that gentleman at the bar?"

Winston followed his niece's line of sight and exchanged a quick glance with Charon. Both men lost their gracious smiles. Winston hesitated to answer but his niece pressed him.

"Uncle Winston? Please, his name at least?"

The tone of the table seemed to grow darker. Now Connie and Nate read the changing vibes and stilled in their seats.

"That... my dear girl... Is Mr. Johnathan Wick. Retired ex-military man for the U.S. Marines once stationed in Hawaii. Widowed, recently, to our great regret. He was once one of The Continental's most exquisite professional retainers. Unfortunately, poor circumstance and bad choices have inadvertently lead him back to my doors. Our professional relationship is rocky, to say the least. I would highly advise against crossing his path. Some men, are best left to their own devices. Mr. Wick is just such a man."

"He's too mature anyway, Bobby, you need the attentions of a younger man." Connie whispered to her friend regretfully. Bobby however, ignored her friend's misguided assumptions and pressed on.

"I saw him last night as I was going up to my rooms. He was escorting a lady with him down the stairs. Who is she, Uncle Winston?"

With a deep sigh, Winston answered, draining his coffee cup first before rejoining,

"That was the Lady Judeth Clayton. Marchioness of Exeter and head of one of England's most powerful families."

"Royalty? Here?" Bobby asked, aghast. Whilst she was no royalist, she could not recall the Clayton family name having such a distinguished title in recent British history.

"My hotel caters to many of rank and title, dear girl. You know this."

Bobby nodded to this admission. Her Uncle had more than once admitted to accommodating traveling Barons or Dukes. Now Bobby wondered how many of these established men and women of title were as corrupt as the governments for which they served. She pressed on,

"They seemed very close to each other. I only met them for a moment before attending the lift."

"Mmmh. Afraid so." Winston replied. "Mr. Wick serves as Lady Clayton's royal consort. Engaged in her personal service, under protection of her family name."

"Consort? Does this mean they're romantically attached?"

"The title implies similar connotations, I would imagine. Yes."

"I see."

"Right out of your league, love," Said Nate apologetically, patting Bobby gently upon her shoulder. The contact seemed to bring her back into the present moment. Connie nudged her knee with her own under the table cloth. A polite reminder to look away for she must have been staring, transfixed.

Even so, all she could think of in that moment was the irrepressible urge to look into his eyes once more.

'Look at me.... Look at me...' Whispered her thoughts.

Mr. Wick however, did not turn to face her. Rather, he settled himself comfortably against the bar, thanking the bartender who served his bourbon over ice. He gave the rest of the dining room his back, as if disinterested in their existence and content to be left alone. Lady Clayton was not at his side. And his gentle terrier was upstairs in the penthouse napping comfortably upon a lounge in the rays of late afternoon sunlight that shone through the balcony windows.

"Bobby? Bobby, are you listening to a word I'm saying?" Asked Connie, leaning forward to take her friend's hand which she fixed with a gentle squeeze.

"Yes...sorry... I was miles away for a moment there. What were we saying?"

"We were saying, we were about to excuse ourselves for the afternoon, my darling. An infinite pleasure as it is to languish with you, business unfortunately needs our attention." Said Winston affably, rising from his seat, Charon at his side.

"It was a delight to see you again, Mr. Savoy, Miss Blakehurst." Said Charon, shaking hands with each of the friends in turn and taking Bobby's hand in his own, smiling at her tenderly before fixing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Thank you for joining us, Charon. Your company has made the day even greater." Now Bobby turned to her Uncle who also said his goodbyes of Connie and Nate and came forward to hug his niece warmly.

"Thank you, Uncle, once more. For everything." She whispered against his ear.

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Always." He held her there in his embrace a moment. Breathing in the flowery, fresh scent of her classic perfume. And wanting to give her a stern warning which he held in check, for he saw the way his niece's eyes lingered, unfocused upon Mr. Wick. A gaze for which he did not approve. His heart hammered in his chest in nervous anxiety. If only the timing had been better. If only his niece would not have set eyes on him. But what could he do? Large as the hotel was, he could not sequester a member of The High Table nor her esteemed consort to their rooms indefinitely. And so he pulled away, saying his final goodbyes for the day and inviting the trio to return on his treat for dinner at The Continental that evening. He regretted, he'd not be joining them that night as he had other affairs for which he must attend, but he hoped whole-heartedly that they would enjoy themselves entirely on his account. That hospitality was his greatest pleasure in life and seeing them reunited in good health filled his heart with good cheer.

"Oh, and Charon, before I forget." Said Bobby, as the Manager and Concierge made to walk away.

"Yes?" Asked Charon with a smile, turning to face the young woman once more.

"I don't mean to make a fuss, it's certainly nothing of any pressing importance, only, I couldn't help but notice this morning that my dressing table mirror seems to be broken. There's a large crack that I was sure wasn't there yesterday. Unless it was, and I'm very much mistaken. But I'm concerned with the way the mirror seems to be splintering, that the glass might give way from the frame entirely and smash all over the carpet. Could you, perhaps?"

"Of course." Said Charon, nodding earnestly. "I will arrange to have a pair of servicemen attend your room within the hour and have the mirror replaced while you're out. Is this acceptable?"

"Yes, more than anything, thank you. Please, ask them to take care. The glass appears to be cracked strangely, as if it was forced outwards from its backboard. I fear any movement may make it come away badly. I wouldn't want anyone hurt on my account."

"We'll take that into consideration when we tender our report." Winston replied, Charon also nodded in assent. The two gentlemen said the final goodbyes and retreated from the dining room, leaving the trio of friends behind.

No sooner, did they make the grand lobby once more than Winston's gentle smile dissipated into an expression of aggravated tension.

"I want every glass mirror in her room, ornamental or otherwise replaced immediately with iron backed plastic imitation. We're not taking any chances." Winston commanded in a low murmur that only his friend could hear.

"She said the mirror appeared to be forced outwards. I'll go investigate at once."

"And be quick about it! If she's challenging her energies as a conduit seer, then it's only a matter of time before her very presence starts to bring forth occupants whose relations we can do without."

"And Mr. Wick?" Charon asked quietly, his own features tight as he scanned the patrons sitting about the fireplace or attending their friends and family. Winston sighed heavily, taking his phone from his coat pocket and readying to make a call.

"It appears that die has already been cast. We've no choice now than to enter damage control."

"I understand." The Concierge acknowledged.

"When you're done with your inspection, Charon, bring a car round to the front. We're going to pay the Bowery a little visit."

"As you wish, Sir." Charon replied.

Thusly, the two men separated to attend their duties. Their minds clouded in warring concern.

The Continental, it seemed, would not remain the oasis of calm and civility they had hoped to foster indefinitely for much longer.

Within the dining room, Connie and Nate had reseated themselves and sought to chatter vibrantly with suggestions of places the trio might go together that very evening for drinks and entertainment. Bobby however, continued to cast sideways glances at the gentleman at the bar, much to her friends amusement.

"Bobby Kent... Since Mr. Wick's arrival you've been as attentive as a goldfish." Connie teased. "Look at you, you're positively smitten."

"It's not like that at all. It's... the dream I told you about earlier." Bobby replied, waving away her friend's inappropriate suggestion.

"What's this?" Nate questioned, coming close with a raise of his brow.

"Bobby's endless bridge dream seems to have come to the forefront again as of last night." Connie explained.

"There's just something about him. I can't shake the feeling that I've seen him somewhere before."

"And have you?" Nate asked quietly, setting aside his wine glass.

"I... I don't know. I can't be sure. But... In the dream I had last night, I could have sworn... It was his face. For the first time in what seems like forever, the man at the foot of the bridge in the distance had a face I could see clearly and a voice. And I heard it clear as a bell, as clearly as I hear you two speaking with me right now."

"Bobby..." Connie whispered, taking her friend's chin in her fingers and gently redirecting her eyes away from Mr. Wick's turned back.

"Bobby listen to me, darling. What are the chances of you being wrong, hmm? These dreams of yours. They seem to resurface under times of stress. Now, think about it clearly for a moment. You've traveled out of the United Kingdom for the first time in years. You've done nothing but bury yourself in research and the mind has a way of playing tricks on us. Loneliness and longing can-"

"I'm neither lonely, nor longing for anything aside from the answers for which the world around us is too blind to perceive, Constance Blakehurst." Bobby snapped sharply, cutting her friend's conversation off cold. Connie pursed her lips and lowered her eyes.

"I'm telling you, there's a connection that is definitely coming to surface and its closer than anything we've ever known before." She lowered her voice, leaning closer toward the centre of the table.

"I have a feeling, deep intuition, that screams that the Raven King is closer to the physical plane than we have ever known him to be in at last half century. Now, you swore to me, when I set down this path that you would both stand at my side, come what may and you would assist me in bringing to bare the magic for which our mortal nature has long since suppressed from human knowledge. Now, I know, I've been wheelchair bound and out of my mind with madness these past two years, I was there. It happened to me. I've not forgotten. And I'm not likely to anytime soon. But you saw it yourself that day what came out of that mirror when we enacted the Rite of Exquiro."

"We, know Bobby. We all saw it." Nate murmured "And we're as with you today as we were back then. But, the Rite.. it's not reliable, there are too many pieces missing, lost in translation. We may have bungled it, for all we know."

"Our mutual friend, says he has the answers we seek. That I'm to wait here at The Continental until he sends word for my arrival." Bobby returned.

"And when will that be?" Connie asked, her brows furrowed together as she sought to shake the memory of the creature in the mirror away.

"I don't know." Bobby admitted at last. "But what I do know... is that I should take this clear opportunity to make my acquaintance with that gentleman at the bar."

"Wait! Bobby... You heard your Uncle, love. He clearly said that bloke is not someone you want to tangle with. I mean, look around you. These people. Well dressed and finely mannered as they all seem on the surface, they're like hand-grenades. Just waiting for an opportunity to go off at any moment. We don't know what they're capable of. And after what happened to you...." He let the thought trail heavily between them.

"This is consecrated neutral ground, Nate." Bobby replied sagely,  "My Uncle has assured me that the laws that govern the people in this premises are irrefutable mandates. Their very lives might be made forfeit if they so much as consider attending to their business within these walls."

"So what happens when you go outside?" Connie asked, searching her friend's eyes deeply.

"What happens to anyone that goes outside?" Bobby returned. "We leave ourselves to the hands of the Fates. To the Wheel of Karma. To the laws that govern man in ethical and moral code. We cross our 'T's and dot our 'I's and do our best to live out our days without provoking the wrath of the gods and weather the force of nature as only humanity can. Our days have always been numbered and death does not discriminate. It waits. Patiently, at our shoulders with an ever-draining hourglass. Just watching for the right moment."

"Then you are surely familiar, that if ever a gatekeeper to the fates and all their ill temptations ever existed, this very establishment and your Uncle are it. I'd take his word, if I were you." Nate intoned, his smile vanished. His dark eyes flashing in worry.

"But you're not me." Bobby replied, rising to her feet and straightening her dress. "You can't be. So you'll stand by and watch, whilst I go have a conversation with the fates and see where they lead me. Because I swear it to you, I've seen this man before. And I can't pinpoint how or where. But I'm going to find out, with or without you."

Silence fell upon the table as Connie and Nate exchanged tense glances. They both nodded, reluctantly and watched as Bobby Kent excused herself and walked away.

Many of the guests that had partaken of meals earlier had since paid their cheques and excused themselves to other pursuits, leaving the dining room a great deal quieter than it had been but an hour prior. In fact, Mr. Borguesso and his companion had also departed the bar and sought to seat themselves in a quiet corner to take their drinks and talk amongst themselves. This left Mr. Wick as the last remaining attendant seated at the bar, sipping at his drink and idly casting his glance over his mobile phone.

Bobby considered the timing fortuitous, yet realized with every advancing step closer to the dark dressed gentleman, that she was decidedly under-prepared for the conversation she hoped to undertake or the means by which she would establish the exchange. None the less, she had made up her mind in the passing half hour, and turning back now no longer seemed an option.

And so, with a deep breath and a quiet step, Bobby sought to attend the empty stool beside the gentleman, but did not presume to sit down. Instead, with a quiet voice, feeling the eyes of her companions at her back, she sought to engage him in conversation directly.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wick?" She began gently. The dark gentleman set down his glass slowly, turning his attention away from his phone on the bar. He regarded the younger woman with docile, warm eyes.

"Yes?" His voice quiet, deep. He sought her eyes with his own. And the moment seemed to again still the air around her. Heartbeats passed between them until at last Bobby answered in almost a whisper.

"Forgive me... for intruding on your privacy. I don't mean to disturb you, only... I know... This is going to sound completely absurd but, we did meet, briefly last night on the staircase as I was entering the elevator."

"We did." The gentleman replied, quietly once more. His expression unreadable. "And you were wearing quite a beautiful rose coloured evening dress." He continued, turning now in his stool to face the young woman more completely.

The compliment brought a smile to Bobby's lips.

"Thank you, you're too kind, sir. And you were a escorting perhaps one of the most exquisitely beautiful ladies I have ever set eyes on. She really is quite remarkable. I'm sorry I did not get the opportunity to greet you properly then... And you'll forgive my boldness, but... Seeing you again now, I... I can't help but feel as though we've perhaps met somewhere before."

Silence passed between them for long moments as the weight of this admission hung in the air. Bobby searched the gentleman's eyes, ensnared by the way in which the light seemed to be drawn into them, like pools without reflection. The colour of deepest ochre. He seemed to be thinking. Weighing her words for long moments. Grateful of her compliment for his companion. For she was a rare beauty, that much was true.

At last he replied, his tone as measured and quiet as ever.

"No. I'm sorry, I don't think we have." He said. But his eyes... His eyes continued to draw her.

"Are you sure?" She breathed, almost without thinking, she took a step closer. Stepping it seemed, directly into his shadow.

"I never forget a face." He replied. "And I wouldn't forget one such as yours."  

"Would you forget a name?" She pressed.

"No."

To this she nodded, slowly. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat.

"Then perhaps, I should introduce myself. My name is Bobby Kent. I am... or was... An English cartographer and travel journalist. Up until a few years ago when I was met with an.... accident." She hesitated, swallowing thickly.

"I take a different line of work now. Research, academics mostly. You'll forgive the forwardness of my address, only, I asked my Uncle for your name. Silly as it sounds, I could have sworn we'd met in the recent past. I'm sorry I appear to have been mistaken and disturbed your peace." Here, she put out her hand.

"I'm Winston's niece." She concluded.

The gentleman, with his dark eyes leaned forward very slightly and sought to take the young woman's hand in his own. His grip was warm, firm. And sent a shockwave of energy riveting through her veins and up the length of her spine. The air around them grew cold... still.

"John Wick." The gentleman said.

The mystery unfolds slowly, like a flower unfurling its petals in the night. Who is The Raven King and what dark secrets does Winston and The Continental hide from the world around Bobby and her friends? Mr. Wick has finally been brought to the forefront. And you dare not look away. Be mindful, when you step into the shadow of a damned. Can you hear the beating of a butterfly’s wings?

Join us next week to for the third and final scene in Act Two - Blood of the Raven King.

Write us to have your name tagged in the reader’s list below and never miss a chapter.

Act One || Scene One & Two

Act  One || Scene Three

Act Two || Scene One

{[ @rubydian @lalienna-dementriento @rubydart @f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat @cynic-spirit @jardanijovonovichs @overheardatthecontinental @sapphowinter ]}

Hey man, nice Shot

John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum