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Bullets in the Boudoir	By : Crimsonberry Category: +A through F > Fable Views: 2450 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Fable, nor any of the characters from it. I am not making money off of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Bullets in the Boudoir
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
Bullets in the Boudoir

" Keep your eyes off of me!" I shouted at him, my cheeks flushed in annoyance.
It was an assumption, really. Since he had arrived, his eyes had wondered around the lineup, but always centered back to me in interest. Since there were also a few lovely girls, I could only assume why. His gaze was like a pinpoint of fire directed towards me. I didn't like that stare. He looked so smug, playing with his long cane that was probably made from an extremely expensive wood, glossed without a chip or scratch on it. His clothes had not a speck of dirt on them. Even his boots, trudging through the dirt, shined like new. No other kinds of men put that much effort into their appearance.
He smiled deeper then, the slave master apologizing to him profusely for my behavior. He waved him off.
" Shush. Let the lad talk a bit. What is your name, boy?" he asks, walking slowly toward me with such an air of arrogance I thought I might vomit.
I just glared back, waiting until he was closer. Indeed, he stood a couple feet from me.
" I asked you a question, my dear lad," he repeated, no sign of anger rising in his face.
The smugness wasn't leaving either. I spat at him, hitting him square in the cheek. His eyes opened, but still no anger there. He calmly smiled and took out a red and gold hankerchief, sliding it over his face, like he was expecting it.
" Go to hell!" I yelled, trying not to grin as the slave master rushed over to once again apologize and glare at me with about twenty lashes in his eyes.
The others watched in horror, one of the girls trembling in fright like they would be punished for my actions. They thought I had gone mad.
" Do not bother with this boy, my Lord. He is hopeless and not worth any effort. Found him stealing and mugging," the shorter and dirtier man stated.
The potential buyer seemed not to hear him, or maybe care to. Something in this man irked me to no sense of reason. I wanted to knock him down a peg. I wanted him to stop staring at me with that cocky grin. I wanted him to show that I had gotten to him. He hit the hand of the slavemaster before it touched his shoulder with a "thwack" of his cane. The man bowed and gave him some space, rubbing the small wound.
" Nice shot, lad. What you slavers don't always understand, is that these slaves are rare gems among you. The defiant. The irrational. The fearless," he says, taking steps closer as he described me, his eyes never leaving my own.
I stared back into his dark pupils, determined to not let him intimidate me.
" They become the most loyal, most trustworthy servants you can find. Of course you have to break them in first," he said, his grin spreading.
I felt a deeper flush heat the skin of my face. I also felt my teeth clench hard against each other.
" Eventually, they are without any compare," he says, raising his cane and running it over my hair, observing the ponytail, which he seemed annoyed with.
The slave master was nodding and agreeing behind him. I tried to shrug him off, to which he did not mind.
" Of course, my Lord. I wish I had the hands strong enough to break him myself. He has caused so much fuss and trouble. If anyone can straighten him out, it would be you, Lord Reaver," the slave master gushed, glaring over at me again.
Reaver? What kind of bloody name was that? Not one for a business man. Maybe a brothel? Fucking hell.
" A redhead full of fire. You don't see that very much anymore, do you?" Reaver said mostly to himself.
The slave master shook his head.
" I will take him, do not worry about change," he said.
The slave master looked at him in excitement and nodded. He called to his mercenary goons and soon my feet were being unshackled from the floor.
" Are you sure none of the others interest you, my Lord?" he asks, still looking for more coin to fill his grubby hands.
Reaver shakes his head.
" No. He is worth more than all of them. None of the others seem worth my time," he says walking over to me as I struggle with the guards on the way down.
As I come face to face with him, inches apart, I notice how tall he is. He looks down on me like a rat that had been locked in the galley. I started to form some more spit in my mouth. I didn't like how close he was, smelling spiced and musky with some sort of pricy perfume. I was about to spit into his face again when I heard the cocking of a gun at my ear. Confused, I looked down to see the barrel of an intricate gun pressed against the bottom of my chin. Reaver had brought it out and moved without me even noticing. My eyes widened a little bit, more at the prospect of his silent movement than the gun.
Oh. Shit.
" Now, now, my dear boy. There will be no more spitting. Naughty habit. One must learn to swallow," he says, lips curling into a grin again.
I think he had added on the last part just to anger me. I glared at him and turned away, swallowing the spit and my pride, for the moment.
" There's a good slave. Now, do you want to behave, seeing as how fast this will be to your jaw? Imagine how long it would take me to just blow those brains out of that lovely head of yours. It would be such a shame, wouldn't it?" he whispers, and I shiver.
He did not seem scary before. He wasn't even frowning. But the ice in his voice was like death itself. It was unnerving. Damn unnerving. I didn't say anything. Not remembering the question he posed.
" I will take your silence as a yes, for now," he said, sticking the gun back into his coat.
I sighed as I saw the weapon go away, still frowning. A carriage covered in red with a large golden symbol on it pulled up before us. A man hopped down to open the door for Reaver. He raised an eyebrow at me and my tattered clothes and back to his master.
" Let him be. We can clean the cloth later," Reaver says, motioning me into the vehicle.
The man nods and watches me get in, then closes the door to hop back up to the front. I hear him call the horses from outside and it began moving. It was different than a ship, and I had never been allowed to ride a horse. I looked around the small room with my eyes. Plush seats and curtains lined the sides. A small cabinet sat next to Reaver, from which he took a bottle and glass and poured himself a dark red drink. I could smell the sting of alcohol from where I sat, across from him. I grimaced as I watched him, sitting up so regally, back completely straight. It made me purposely slouch even more.
" How old are you, my dear boy?" he asks while sipping from his glass with his perfect lips.
I had not noticed until now that he was a bit statuesque. But he was probably a pole smoker, so it didn't matter much. Of course it probably made him more cocky, knowing he was good looking. I rolled my eyes, forgetting that he had asked a question. A swift whack on the side of my head brought me back to reality. I tried not to show that it had hurt. It did, but I more stared at him with surprise. His facial expression was showing slight promise, however. There was a flicker of annoyance in his eye. Maybe he was a performer, always acting elegant when the audience was watching, but something different behind the stage.
" Seventeen," I answered, trying to look bored.
His grin came back again.
Damnit. Stop looking at me like that.
He leaned forward, chin on his cane, towards me.
" Good age. Might have preferred you a bit younger. Much more maluable at that time. The question is if you are a man yet," that's when some curiosity came into his expression.
I wasn't sure what he meant, since he wasn't smirking. I shrugged.
" Silent treatment I will tolerate for now, but soon you will learn to talk to me, even if it is with a snake's tongue. I had a mute servant, and she was ever so annoying," he says, smiling.
I frown at him. His hands idley tap the top of his cane with his leather fingers. I tried to see where he kept his gun, but couldn't figure it out from how he was sitting.
" Boring in bed, of course," he adds, mostly to himself, finding a speck of lint on his coat and picking it off.
I grimace, showing more annoyance than disapproval. He doesn't notice.
" Ah, we're coming up to the front gate, I believe," he says, sitting forward in his seat.
I think about trying to make a getaway, but his hands were fast. Maybe I would press the matter later. The carriage came to a halt, and the door was opened after the quick footsteps of the driver hurried over.
" After you," he said pleasantly.
I stuck my nose up and got out, staring up at the large mansion. A large marble statue of Reaver himself was in the front garden. I chuckled to myself, thinking how mad he may get if I ever accidentally broke it into pieces. I got a sharp prod from his cane toward the front door. I sighed and put my escape fantasies away for the moment.
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Bullets in the Boudoir