Drip
Drip
Drip
Crimson red liquid flowing down milky white skin; blood.
Drip
Drip
Drip
She stood, the hood of her cloak hiding her features. Her pale hand glistened with blood in the slowly receding light. On her lips, a small smiled played, soft, gentle, evil.
At her feet, a body laid, its chest moving up and down, it's rapid breathing the only sign of life. A pool of blood gathered beneath him like melted rubies. It was a man.
He raised a hand, his eyes wide, clinging to the last bit of life left.
"Please…"he managed to croak out.
Her eyes lit up, though the color was still hidden. She giggled, a childish sound so innocent, so pure it almost hurt, hearing it come from her lips. She lifted her hand and pulled back her hood, yet darkness had started to set in, hiding her features still. Her eyes twinkled, amused, as her lips parted.
All around the cobbler's bench,
The monkey chased the weasel,
The monkey thought it was all the fun,
Pop! Goes the weasel.
"Too bad the weasel didn't feel like playing."
Cain leaned back in his armchair, studying his valet as he tied the count's shoes. It was interesting really. His movements were simple, quick, and precise, yet his touch was always gentle. Of course, Cain would know. It was Riff who helped him bathe every night.
"How long do you think you'll be out, milord?" Riff looked up to meet the earl's golden green eyes as he asked. Cain shrugged as Riff stood up to fetch his black frock.
The count stood up and stretched, running his hand through his dark locks. Did it really matter?
"You're great aunt is coming tomorrow, sir," Riff reminded gently, as he held up the frock so Cain could slip his arms into the sleeves. "It would be best if you didn't stay out too late."
With a slight roll of the eyes, he waved his hand, dismissing the reminder. "I'll try not to," he answered hastily, seeing Riff's displeased expression. He hated it when his valet frowned.
"Very good, sir," he said mildly as he finished buttoning up the coat. He handed the count his top hat and cane which had been hanging on the rack next to the door, their hands brushing lightly as Cain reached out to accept the items. He jammed the hat on top of his dark hair and tapped the floor once with his cane. "Your gloves, sir." Cain took them and slid them on, already walking to the door.
Turning the golden doorknob, he pulled the door opened, allowing a waft of wind to enter and ruffle though his hair, blowing strands into his eyes.
"Oh, and Milord-," the door slammed shut on Riff's words.
The air was clear and crisp as Cain walked down the cobblestone streets of London. The sun was setting, casting a blood red hue into the sky that melted into a darker violet. What was it they say? Red skies at night to a sailor's delight, red skies at dawn, sailors be warned. Or something like that. The moon hung low in the sky, shining palely in the receding light. It was a full moon.
Not many were roaming the streets as Cain continued his way. Many were either in their own homes, dining with their families or in the taverns, buying rounds of drinks for their friends. The streets were almost eerily quiet save the steady clicking of the count's shoes against stone. He rounded the corner, unusually tense. It was too quiet like the oppressing silence before a thunderstorm. It was a warning.
His steps quickened, covering ground with fluid strides. His grip on his cane tightened. Cain didn't actually know where he was going. There had not actually been a destination in mind when he decided to go out. He had just been feeling antsy, unable to sit still at all so he had decided fresh air would've done him some good. Then, Riff had to bring up the great aunt. It wasn't that Cain hated his relatives, not all of them anyway. He was just wary of them. Greed was an evil thing that often led to evil deeds and he was not going to let another family member get the chance to wrong him.
He probably shouldn't have taken out his annoyance in Riff though. He hadn't meant to act so cold toward his valet. He just hated meeting with his family. They always pretended to show concern about his wellbeing, but come on, if they actually did, they would've protected him from his father, or at least done something, even if it was just acknowledging how evil Alexis really was. But no. They just pretended everything was perfectly fine. Just peachy keen.
With a frustrated sigh, Cain loosened his grip on his walking stick. No matter how much he didn't wanted to believe it, the truth was that he was getting no closer to figuring out his father's plans. There are no such things as coincidences, yet everything Alexis did was so scattered that Cain had a hard time believing the random acts had a purpose at all.
"Hhhh. . .hhhelllp." Cain stopped. "Hhhheelllp." The low moan was coming from a dark alley. The count peered into the darkness, raising his cane to his chest. He took a step in, his golden eyes glowing like a cat's in the darkness. That fact didn't actually help him see any better though. He continued walking in, carefully studying the shadows. It probably wasn't the smartest thing for him to do, going into a dark alley alone, but Cain was never one to think about consequences. Nope, he'd just think about them when he was being brutally beaten or threatened with death. Still, he proceeded further in, the sky darkening with each step. Dusk had fully set in and the stars were beginning to reveal themselves with small playful twinkles. Cain could hear the labored breathing of a man, the sound growing louder and louder with each step.
Suddenly, a hand shot out, grabbing Cain's ankle in a vise like grip. The count inhaled sharply, suppressing a surprise gap.
"What the-" he took a step back and raised his cane, ready to strike when another hand came out of the shadow. It was covered in blood.
"Help…please…" Eyes wide, Cain lowered his hand. Light from a gaslight that stood next to the alley managed to light part of the alleyway. Half hidden in the shadows, Cain could see, was an injured man, lying in a pool of blood. It didn't look to good. On the ground, more than a few pints of crimson red liquid glistened.
It was hard to tell where the blood was originating from. Blood was slowly dripping down the man's face, mixing with his blond hair. His clothing was completely soaked in such a way that black could no longer be told from red. And still, the pool of blood seemed to be growing. Cain quickly knelt down, his body moving instinctively.
"Sir, can you tell me what happened?" he asked, pulling the man's tie loose. The most important thing was to stop the bleeding. Where was Riff when he was needed?
The man looked up at Cain, his eyes glazed. He was at death's doorstep, not yet ready to go in, but one foot already across the threshold. He was going to die no matter what Cain did.
"Her…her…," The man reached up to grab the collar of the count's frock.
"Who?" Cain asked, adrenaline rushing through him. Could this man have something to do with his father?
"Silver. . .," The man took in a desperate breath. "…we- weasel."
Cain looked down at him confused. "What do you mean?" he asked, obviously distressed. "Silver weasel? Sir? Sir?!" The grip on his frock loosened as the bloody hand slowly fell, leaving a trail of blood on Cain's coat. The eyes blinked once before they became blank, looking up into the night sky, but not seeing. His chest heaved up once more, his last breathe, then became still. Death had claimed his prize.
Cain sat on the cold stone pathway, clutching the dead body and looking blankly down at it. Without knowing why, he started to cry, crystal clear tears falling onto the dead man's face, washing away crimson blood. Another one dead.
Riff stood, staring at the door, the slam echoing in his ears. It would seem that his master was in a bad mood. Torn between following his master or remaining in the mansion, Riff continued to stare at the door. It was never truly wise to leave Master Cain alone when he was in a bad mood. Experience had taught him that. More times than not, something would happen, and it probably wouldn't be a good something either. Still, Riff had more than enough things he had to do, even without keeping tabs on his master, so when the maid came to ask for assistance, his mind was made.
For the next hour or so, Riff scurried around the mansion, doing what he did best; managing the household. Mary Weather who had been studying quietly in her room suddenly demanded for tea and specially made scones. One of the maids had just fainted after finding a spider hiding in the curtains and there was a massive spill in the kitchen. Not to mention, Riff hadn't even touched the count's poison collection which needed to be resorted. On top of all of that, Riff couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.
"Riiifffff!!!! Where's my tea?" An insistent voice carried through the halls.
"Coming Miss Mary Weather," Riff called back. He picked up his silver tea tray, grabbing the plate of freshly baked scones on his out. "Oh and Farrell," he said to the cook as he stepped through the doorway, "Bring some smelling salts up to the maids' quarters. Halina seems to have fainted. . .again."
"Of course, sir," the cook called to his retreating back.
Riff knocked lightly on Mary Weather's door, waiting only a few seconds before she told him to come in. Balancing the tray skillfully with one hand, he opened the door and stepped in. He placed the tray on an empty table and busied himself, pouring out the tea. Mary Weather flounced over to where he stood, and picked up one of the scones. She took a delicate bite and studied the valet silently. Riff knew the question to come.
"Where's my brother?" she asked, blue eyes unblinking as they bored into the butler.
"Out it would seem," he answered, unfazed by the slight glare Mary Weather was giving him.
"Out doing what?" she persisted, taking another bit of her scone.
Riff set down the tea pot and straightened up. "Only the count knows himself, milady," he answered. She frowned, not the least bit satisfied with the answer. Her brother was going to get a scolding when he got home.
"If that's all, milady."
She turned her attention back to Riff. "Yes, I-," The doorbell rung, interrupting her sentence.
"Please excuse me." He dipped into a low bow and exited the room, heading toward the main doors. Again, the doorbell rung. "I'm coming," Riff muttered under his breath, reaching the door. With a swift pull, he turned the knob and opened the door.
A woman stood at the door way. She was wearing a wine red cloak to ward off the nighttime chill. It was the new governess.
"Come in," Riff said, stepping back. "We've been expecting you." The woman gave a small smile and stepped in. Her black hair was pulled back away from her face, accenting her features. Her gray eyes were flecked with a whitish color causing the two to meld into a silvery sheen that seemed to always be twinkling. "You are Miss Charnette Laurent, am I correct?"
She nodded. "And may I inquire as to who you are?" she asked. She had a quiet voice.
"I am the head butler, Riffael Raffit. If you have any questions while you are in this household, direct them to me."
"Yes, sir," she said meekly. It would seem that she was a shy girl. Riff almost pitied her. She was going to have to go up against Mary Weather.
"Let me show you your quarters, then I'll introduce you to Mary Weather," he said, his demeanor softening a bit. He wondered how long this one would last. "Lord Cain is out at the current moment," he continued, "so you won't be able to meet the master yet." She nodded again and Riff led her through the halls toward the servant quarters. She followed quietly behind, her footsteps not making a sound.
"Rrriiiifffff!!!!!" Mary Weather bounced out, a curious expression on her features. Then seeing the woman, she stopped abruptly, her lips tugging down in a small frown. "Who is she?" the petite blonde demanded. "She better not pregnant with Cain's child."
Charnette blinked, her eyes widening in surprise as a slightly mortified look crossed Riff's usually stoic features. "Milady!" he scolded, shocked at what had just been said. "That's awfully rude!" Mary Weather shrugged.
"What am I suppose to say, Riff?" she asked, her blue eyes looking up at him with such pure innocence that it could only be fake. "I guarantee you that one day it's going to happen seeing as to how much my dear brother loves to go out. Only the lord knows what he's actually doing when you're not watching him."
To this, Riff knew no answer. He opened his mouth a few times to say something, but it refused to come out. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears as his mind explored the different possibilities. His heart gave a painful squeeze as he realized that everything Mary had just said was true. Even he couldn't keep tabs on the earl at all times. Not to mention, Cain was a bit of a womanizer at times…maybe more than a bit. Would it really be surprising if someone ended pregnant?
"Um…sir?" Charnette looked at him nervously, shaking Riff out of his shock.
"Ah, yes." He turned to Mary Weather, pointedly avoiding her eyes. "This is your new governess, milady, not your brother's mistress."
"Hello!" the small girl said cheerfully. She either did not see Riff's reaction or was purposely ignoring it as she struck up a conversation with her governess. It was probably the latter.
"My name is Mary Weather. What's yours?"
Charnette dipped into a small curtsy. "Charnette Laurent, milady."
The blonde nodded. "You're French aren't you?" she asked bluntly.
"My father was," the governess answered.
Mary smiled before turning back to the head butler. "Riff! Lead her to her quarters," she commanded before flouncing back into her room. Riff hastened to the task with a small beckon. Anything to stop him from worrying about stupid things Cain was doing.
Promptly, the phone rang.
Thank you for reading!! I love Godchild/Count Cain and I love Riff/Cain. Review and tell me how I did. I didn't actually plan the story to be a Godchild fanfic, but when I thought up of the murder, it just popped into my mind and clicked. This is my first Cain fic, so thank you again for reading and remember to review!! Oh! And Happy Chinese New Year!!
P.S. There is a reason as to why I used "Pop Goes The Weasel."