fallingbackup | The time of our great undoing

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[fabulae_victoriana]

The time of our great undoing

When Kevin woke up alone for the first time in months, he knew almost immediately that Glen was gone. If he were still human, he'd have looked everywhere for the man until he'd at least tracked down one of his Chains, and gotten confirmation from them that he was no longer in the world with them. But as it was, he could smell that the very spot he was laying on was the spot where Glen's trail had gone cold. The duke had vanished from the bed they shared as the knight slept.

That was well over a week ago now and in his head, Kevin's been lost ever since. He's done the best he can to take over Glen's duties around the house, and the Jabberwock, for whatever reason, has let him do it. But no matter how he tells himself that he's only minding things until Glen returns, and that he will, the atmosphere in the house rankles against him. Young Gilbert doesn't accept him -- not like this. The little Lacie pities him for the depth of his sadness; Lottie scoffs at him for thinking he can even attempt to fill Glen's shoes, even if he knows perfectly well he's only providing a poor substitute. With every day that passes, he feels more and more withdrawn, and so, when he can, Kevin escapes. He can be found wandering the city, now and again, letting the noise of it drown out his own thoughts. Or he can be found patrolling the fences around the farmlands as usual, perhaps in the hopes that the familiar solitude of it will help keep him in his right mind. But the truth is that Kevin hasn't felt this out of place and unsettled in at least a year, since he'd come to live in Glen's house in the first place. He'd thought he was home at last, that he'd found a new family and even a little peace. Now, it seems that all of that peace was in Glen all along, and Kevin has no idea when or if the duke will return.

But the most upsetting part of it all is what he does know. If Glen has really gone home, he's no doubt living through the Tragedy. Right now, somewhere, Kevin's Oswald is staring at the man who's broken his heart, there are swords raised between them, and the duke is maybe just realizing that he's going to die on that blade because Jack Vessalius never did love him enough.

And Kevin can't do anything about it.

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"The still-beating hearts of the people I hate," Kevin says flatly. Behind him, the other Kevin snorts, very softly. Wiggling his besocked toes, just to irritate the dog, he adds, "Barring that, I suppose that spicy rice stuff you make will do."

Edited 2014-02-20 05:05 (UTC)

This gets a laugh out of her and she leans up to nip at his ear. "Later." she whispers sultrily.

Slipping away while Beastie tries to twist around and nip not-so-sultrily at Kevin's toes, Lacie proceeds to get to work. A pair of chickens are transported from the ice box to thaw, and she starts to pull out the necessary pots and pans.

"Rice it is!"

Kevin commences amusing himself by antagonizing Beastie, something he often does while Lacie is cooking. Sometimes he works with the dog, training the puppy to behave himself, but other days he just roughhouses with him, and that's what he chooses to do now. But even as he sits himself down on the floor and foils the dog's attempts to get up off of his back when Kevin pushes him, the swordsman is extremely conscious of the other Kevin, lurking silently by the wall.

It doesn't escape him that they have essentially switched places. When Kevin was recovering from his death at the Baskerville farm, it was the two-eyed one who was at ease and comfortable, carrying about his business while this one remained quietly off to the side. Now, the other Kevin is on his territory, and is reacting much the same way. It's a little annoying to understand so well, but precisely because he understands, he knows that the other one is being respectful, in his own way. And he must be thinking much the same things, and wishing he could escape.

Well. The resident Kevin doesn't particularly favor the idea of the other one casting his gloom about the place. In a rare stroke of kindness, he says abruptly, "We've books in the sitting room. Down the hall." Sure enough, after a moment's hesitation, the knight takes the opportunity to escape and slips down the corridor.

Clyde the dead stuffed peacock is in the sitting room, too, as it happens, since it's one of the only rooms that's been completely fixed up as of yet. So there is that.

Meawhile, Lacie busies herself about cooking, though she is unusually quiet, lost in thought. In another life, in another world, Lacie wouldn't have been able to empathize with Kevin, or at least not as well. But here, having found a love of her own and that love being with a Kevin, she understands more of what he's going through than she otherwise would. (More than she's entirely comfortable with, to tell the truth. It's a messy business, letting people in.)

So, she cooks quietly, and plots. What can they do, to distract him? Food--even if she is a good cook--will only do so much. This calls for something drastic. Something...

An idea dawned.

"... Do you remember what we talked about, last All Hallows?"

"Ghosts coming through doors?" asks the swordsman.

Yes, he remembers. The dubious but thoughtful look on his face gives him away.

Lacie shoots him a Look of her own, but his expression is enough to keep her from making a snide remark. Instead, she continues putting together the rice dish and continues as if he's given her a proper answer.

"Well, what do you think? He could probably use it."

"Sure, but he won't go for it," Kevin answers. "You know what -- I'm like. When I'm like that. You'll have to seduce him, and my being here will complicate it. He won't want anything to do with me and he won't want to touch you because you're with me."

He falls silent for a moment, considering. Beastie tries to get a hold of his hand, and the swordsman sweeps the wriggling little dog up into a hold that totally isn't a cuddle.

"...better feed him first," he concludes.

"Here and I was going to drag him up the stairs and leave the chicken to burn," Lacie says, tartly, but she grins over her shoulder at him all the same. Putting a lid on the pot of rice, she turns and makes her way over, amused at the sight of him (not)cuddling their puppy, who lets out a yip and promptly attempts to lick Kevin's face.

"He might be surprised to find that he wants what he thinks he doesn't." She reaches up, fingers entwining sensually in his hair. "You didn't think you wanted all of this, at first."

(After all, she hadn't either, at least not consciously.)

"...there was very little that I wanted at all."

It's true. Kevin had known he was throwing his life away when he made that Contract, but his desire to have his family restored even if he never got to see it had been enough. Even before he'd known just how badly he'd failed, the completion of his task had left him negligently suicidal, placing no real value in his own life and having no plans to move forward. Sooner or later he'd have found some fight to get into, no doubt; stopped bothering to eat or sleep and just let himself go. It's still only Lacie that keeps him from doing that.

The swordsman reaches out, wrapping her hair around his own fingers.

"He knows exactly what he wants. And it isn't here."

"He wants escape. He's like you, that way. We can offer him escape." She leans forward, brushing her lips along the line of his jaw. Between them, Beastie struggles and yips, wanting to be part of all the affection. Smirking, Lacie darts in and licks Kevin's nose.

"Just not the kind you get, alone."

Turning, she goes to stir the rice.

A few minutes later, having heard the voices fade from down the hall -- he's been hovering, not wanting to get too close, not wanting to overhear whatever they have to talk about because he's sure that just now it's him -- the other Kevin appears in the kitchen doorway.

"You have a dead peacock in your library," he observes.

"That's Clyde," answers his one-eyed counterpart, calmly. "I killed him because he was the prettiest peacock of all."

The knight opens his mouth, finds he has no way to argue with this logic, and shuts it again. The dog is glaring at him from his almost-twin's arms, as though he is infringing upon cuddle time simply by existing in the same room. Obviously the library is safer, dead peacock notwithstanding. He retreats, intending to go back there until dinner is ready.

Even as Kevin moves to retreat again, Lacie can't help but burst out laughing at the ridiculous exchange. Suddenly, she hopes they can persuade the younger Kevin to stay more than the night. If she can get more deadpan comedy out of them, she's willing to lobby for it.

"Go to the stairway and look up!" she calls after him. "Then you can meet Asshole Bob!"

Perhaps they can tell the story of how Asshole Bob got his hat--or, rather, what happened to the man who'd owned it, first. This thought puts a small, faintly demented smile on her lips straight through to setting the table.

"No, that's alright," Kevin answers, and then he totally goes to look. Later, he will refuse to ask about the hat. It's the principle of the thing.

Depression notwithstanding, he eats well at dinner, even if he sort of keeps to his own little corner of the table. These two have been around him at dinnertime before, having stayed with the Baskervilles on the farm and all. So they're well aware of Kevin's wolfish manners, left over from his injury, when he hadn't had a reason to be proper at the table and had made habits for himself that still stick with him. Even so, he's a guest in their house now, so he politely tones it down. He sits properly in his chair and doesn't curl up in it, uses the silverware, and paces himself such that he finishes eating around the same time they do -- even if he polishes off a whole chicken on his own and he's the reason there isn't going to be any leftover rice this time.

As the meal draws to a close, though, he plucks at his napkin and wonders how he's going to get out of here. Thanking them for the meal is in order, and showing gratitude is dangerous where Lacies are concerned. Plus, he's not sure what excuse he can use to leave and actually get away with. The both of them will see right through him, and Lacie in particular would probably spot it a mile away if he made himself out to have duties in her brother's absence that better suit others in the house. No errands to run this late, other people to watch the Brat, no one who would mind his being out late...hn.

Lacie, who'd been watching him devour the meal with increasing admiration--after all, her own appetite is nothing to laugh at--sits forward, smiling a bit. She can guess at what he's thinking, and she's not about to let him get away with getting away, no matter what reason he might suggest.. She props her chin in her hands, smiling at him.

"So, you'll be staying the night," she says, with pleasant finality. "There's a room upstairs."

Of course, the one she has in mind is actually her and her Kevin's room. But if she tells him that before they've got him up there, they very likely won't get him up there, at all.

"...um," says the two-eyed Kevin. "Actually, I --"

"Can we just skip this bit?" the other Kevin says suddenly. "The part where you try to protest and it's a waste of time because Lacie always gets what she wants sooner or later anyway."

The knight slowly turns a nasty look onto his double, which the swordsman returns blandly. But the younger Kevin doesn't have a good comeback for this, a clear indication that he knows exactly what grownup Lacies are like, in addition to the younger one he has attached to him. So they just stare at one another, until the grumpier of the two sniffs dismissively and the werewolf tilts his head back in an unconscious imitation of one of the other's movements.

Down on the floor, Beastie wuffles around, looking for dropped morsels.

Edited (...not on the -- not on the door.) 2014-04-10 21:09 (UTC)

Lacie, hearing the puppy, casually slips a few pieces of chicken under the table for him. Considering the battle won, she stands and strolls over to the werewolf. With a bright smile, she slips an arm through his and casts a look that's part gratitude and part conspiracy at her partner in crime.

"So, we should take you up and show it to you," she says to the younger Kevin. "Help you get settled in."

He catches that look.

"Ohhhhh, no you don't. You're not fooling anybody, you two have some sort of plot." Casting a sour look at the both of them, Kevin plants himself all the more firmly in his chair -- and he's stronger than the both of them, so they're going to have to use other means to get him out of it. Unaware that he's only damned himself to earlier action, he grouses, "I am staying right here, or I am going home, one of the two."

Lacie raises an eyebrow, her expression hovering somewhere between amused and the look people get, after getting slapped with a glove. Accepting the challenge, she promptly sits herself down right in the younger Kevin's lap, her arms wreathing his shoulders loosely.

"I don't suppose it would matter that we're trying to help you," she says, conversationally. "Provide a little distraction."

"Your idea of 'help' is as dubious as ever."

Kevin plants his hands on her hips, but it's only to try and shove her unceremoniously off of him. As he tries to duck underneath her arm, he glances at the other Kevin, but he's settled back with his wine and is, to all appearances, not paying attention to the fact that his lover is climbing all over another man. Of course. Of course he isn't. Kevin is aware that Lacie got ahold of his other self when the former knight was at his loosest of screws; it only makes sense that she'd put him back together skewed to her own whims.

"There's plenty to distract me that isn't the two of you. Get off me."

Lacie's arms tighten around his neck just enough to keep from being shoved off.

"You won't let it," she says, flatly. "You'll just go back out into the city and wander around and brood, and probably make yourself sick. I'd be a bad big sister, if my brother came back and his favorite knight was sick, when we could've prevented it."

To this Lacie's credit, she'd not being quite as obnoxious about it, as her other self had been in his dream. After all, her own pleasure is only part of her reasoning, this time. She truly does intend to provide what comfort they can, and it's clear enough in her gaze.

She leans forward, nestling her head firmly on his shoulder.

"Whatever you find, out there, won't be as good as what we can do."

"What you really want is trouble, isn't it? You want a fight. That's what you aren't saying."

When the other Kevin does speak up, he takes a somewhat different approach -- one with the most infuriating form of understanding in it. Life has taken these two in very different directions, but when all is said and done, they're still the same man, and the same cunning mind the knight possesses stares at him from behind that one red eye. His fallen counterpart simply has less reason to shy away from that fact, and virtually no reason to be in denial about it.

"But you're stronger than me, and quicker. You'd tear through the Marsh like it was nothing. Anything that could actually stand up to you enough to satisfy you stands a good chance of actually killing you." He swirls his wine in his glass, gently, noting that the other Kevin has gone very still beneath his lover's hands, which means he's hit the nail right on the head. "But both of us at once, no weapons, Lacie with her chains..."

He trails off, and the silence after his words is suddenly humming, as though the knight is a string who has been suddenly pulled taught, and is vibrating with it as best he can.

A grin splits Lacie's face, and she leans forward, her arms wrapping a little tighter around Kevin's shoulders.

"Is that what you want?" she murmurs, her voice going dusky and dangerous. "Well, that's alright."

She casts a glance over her shoulder at her Kevin, resting her head on the younger Kevin's shoulder. Her gaze is is fairly sparkling with gratitude and conspirational mischief. A pair of chains slither their way out of the shadows, the blades brushing light and tickling against the younger Kevin's skin.

"We like it rough, anyway."

"...you're both insane."

He tries to lean back away from Lacie, only to be stopped by the feel of those wretched chains, and he once again goes very still. It starts to occur to him now that he might actually have to fight his way out of here, and despite himself, he can't deny that the other Kevin is right -- if so, he'll look forward to it. He matches Glen Baskerville in strength and skill, perhaps even exceeds him, and knows he could defeat the other Kevin. But who better than his own self to outsmart him, and with Lacie joining in --

"That's as may be," says the other Kevin complacently. "But we also know all your sweet spots, because they're mine." Rising, he walks over to stand behind the knight, leaning down to speak right into his ear. "We also aren't afraid to hurt you. We won't hold back."

Lacie's hand slides down the younger Kevin's chest, resting where a certain sensitive mark graces her own Kevin's.

"Mmn, he's missing the best spot," she murmurs, half to herself and half to her Kevin. "We'll have to concentrate on the others."

A mischievous glance at the younger Kevin, as she leans forward, demonstrating her own knowledge by letting the tip of her tongue flicker against his throat, tasting his jugular vein from the edge of his collar up to just beneath his jawline.

"We're only trying to help," Lacie murmurs in his other ear. "Come on... Take advantage of us. Let us..."

The trouble with being werewolf-quick is that he can move before he even actually thinks, sometimes. All but dumping Lacie on the floor, the younger Kevin is up, hand reaching back and fisted in his counterpart's hair to throw him off as well, when he registers just what spot Lacie means on his chest, and goes still with the horror of it.

"You use that?" he demands.

"Why not?" asks the other, wincing a little as his hair is yanked. He settles his chin on the knight's shoulder. "It's like having an open wound directly on your soul. If she wants to turn me to putty with it, or drop hot candle wax on it, isn't that the sort of thing I deserve for having earned it?"

The knight turns to glare over his shoulder, only to find his own face smiling creepily at him from scant inches away. Snarling a little, he says, "I don't think it counts if you like it," but the other only twines his arms around him -- and drags hands curled into claws across his still-clothed skin. The one-eyed Kevin isn't going to seduce him properly. He's going to be mean.

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