(
@Lion)
It was like any other day. Callista worked in the floral shop during the evening after she woke up, making bouquets, setting aside flowers for orders and generally just helping out. Sometimes there was a job for the night, sometimes there wasn't. There was tonight and after the sun had gone down, she'd gotten ready slowly, humming a little tune Carn taught her while she got dressed. It was as tight as it could get, black to hide any blood. Form fitting to keep it from snagging on anything.
The mask was put on, a simple black covering and the hood shortly followed. The dagger was placed in a sheath in front of her chest, a perfect view for the eye to watch for her. Usually there was no asking before she simply melted into the shadows. Carn kept his end of the deal when she did.
Just like the shadow's she turned into, she was simply gone from her room. The mark tonight wasn't far off. A minor but wealthy man, and he had... Enemies... That paid handsomely for his demise. Callista didn't care about the details - she'd never cared before - she was just told to go and so she did. Before long she'd slipped into the window of the bedroom, the night was young and she'd been told he was at a party.
She scoffed silently, looking around his bedroom. Pristine. Everything was in it's perfect place, the bed was made and she quickly went about removing Carn and placing him on the bedside table within arms reach. Then she removed her clothing, tucking the black cloth under the bed and rearranged herself naked over the covers and waited. There were great pains to cover the scars on her face and neck, adjusting her dark hair to cover things just
so.
Tonight, Callista was a gift from a friend of the mans. Officially. To give him pleasure unlike any he'd dreamed of and then she was to help him to sleep. Forever. So, she waited, reclined on the bed, humming the lullaby her man eating dagger taught her and giving that same dagger an occasional glance, glaring at him ever so slightly when he looked at her with interest in his eye.
A minor noble.
Certainly the best role for him to assume for a man of his stature. Rembrandt had played the part of innkeeper and bard, as droll as they were. He hadn't been expecting much and if anything, he got what he intended to get out of it in the first place. They were ordinary occupations that offered little merit other than their typical vocational duties.
But a nobleman. Oh he could use that after last week's Company tour!
Rembrandt took the household of one Hendrick Winstead, a minor Serenian nobleman with a home in Arca and no major relatives to worry about. He was engaged, to a bride to be he'd never met from somewhere up north, and most of his cousins found him to be at least a little bothersome. Which was good for Rembrandt, because he didn't need any relatives coming to try and sniff him out.
He had money enough to live comfortably, and he enjoyed all the privileges of the rich and not-so-powerful. And half of the worry.
And was a man of some...peculiar taste. Rembrandt wasn't a fan of prostitutes. There was too much to worry about what with their general health or temperament. Rem preferred the company of well-to-women. They were usually of commendable pedigrees. That was always a nice touch.
But Hendrick, apparently, had been assured this gift was credible and in thanks to a favor granted to some trade deal long before. Well far be it from Rembrandt to turn down a gift. It was Hendrick's doing after all.
"Good evening," Rembrandt murmured when he walked into the door, looking every bit as much as Hendrick would, portrait perfect. "Care for something to drink?"
There. Now she could get it over with and then go home and go to bed. Callista ran a hand over her breast when the man finally entered the room and... Offered her a drink.
"What."
Callista sat up from her reclined position on his bed, naked as a jay bird and just... Stared for a moment. The dagger got a brief glance, hidden out in the open as it were but it's eye was closed. It was being a gentleman and no rolling about. Another curious glance at the man, she felt... Well, as naked as she was.
Still, there was a job to do and perhaps this fellow enjoyed the company of less fair creatures. Which was okay. They didn't have to have sex for her to slip the dagger between his ribs. Just get him comfortable. Slowly, Callista gathered her wits and slipped off the bed, her bare feet quiet on the floor and she ran her fingers through her hair while she walked closer.
Hendrick's groin area got a long look and she flicked her eyes to look up at his, "Mmm... Yes I would." Her hands went to his belt, brushed over the front of his groin, "Are you offering me a sip?" Get him good and ready and then slip the dagger in. Get dressed. Leave. Go to bed.
Don't forget Carn.
Callista licked her lips and started to tug at his shirt, having a keen interest on getting this over with.
Boy, she was quick to get down to business. Rembrandt chuckled and pushed her hands away. Honestly, have a little class! "Slow down, darling," he said with another laugh. "Just relax. Have a drink. Real drink of real liquid from a real glass."
He laughed and moved over to the set of decanters on the dresser beside the lounge and fixed them both two glasses of whatever it was that seemed to be Hendrick's poison. A sniff later unearthed that it was brandy. Good choice.
He offered her the glass and gestured for her to see. "Please. Relax. Make yourself at home."
Oh no.
It took all of Callista's will power not to roll her eyes and gag. These were always the worst type of man, the one that tried to treat her like a person instead of exactly what she was hired to do. Still, it wasn't his fault. She wasn't hired by him. She was hired for him. Callista suppressed a sigh when Hendtrick walked away, but she did roll her eyes and pray for patience.
There was a way these things went and if she just stabbed him while he was dressed it wouldn't go well. It would look like murder. He needed to be naked and under her for this to go well and so far, she had no luck. Callista followed him quietly, though making an effort for her footsteps to be heard as well as they could.
"I have made myself at home," She purred, gesturing to her very naked self before accepting the glass and giving it a sip. Callista grimaced, while she lived a hard life, she wasn't one to drink alcohol. Ever. Her tongue felt a little tingly already and she felt the heat in her throat. "You do know why I'm here, don't you?" A lick of her lips and she took another sip. It still tasted awful, but she liked the heat it left behind.
"You don't seem surprised to see me buuut you don't seem interested." Callista moved closer, reaching out to tug at his shirt, "If you like, we can reschedule and have a man sent to you if that's what you prefer." Please, for the love of the gods have that be it, if he was going to be a gentleman and take his time, she'd really rather not do this at all!
It was clear to him, rather immediately, that she had a task and she was intent to complete it. Rembrandt felt quite unnerved by this, because she was rushing. And not even in a sexy way. His hands immediately reaches for her sides, and he kept them there for a moment. Though he was mentally alerted, his face remained placated. And he kissed Callista, softly, then harder, intent on keeping his hands holding her wrists.
Callista wouldn't be worried about his knowledge of her task. The main one was to get him off like she (Her owner) was paid to do. The rest however was worthy of worrying about. His hands on her wrists posed a problem but she pressed against him and tried to strain her hands away. Gently she pulled away, looking up at him after a few moments, leaning away from the kiss. "I'm here for your pleasure," her words were whispered honey and she pressed her naked self closer. Biting her lip and pouting.
"I can't do that if you won't let me," Slowly she looked at the cup in her hand, mostly empty. Part of her wanted the rest, it made bits of her nice and numb an unfamiliar feeling. "May I call you Hendrick? Or do you prefer... Something else?" For the love of the gods, why couldn't this man just get naked so they could do it and she could murder him.
What was with some of these men and wanting to get to know her or - gods above forbid - make love. Maybe this one would get a knife in the ribs, there had been an added bit to frame another acquaintances of his, but that had been a bonus, not strictly part of the deal. That would require the letter opener.
Rembrandt stared down at the girl in front of him, his hands still gripping her side. He wasn't about to let her go, but neither was he going to allow her move so freely. Drooping down to half-lids, he couldn't help watching her expression, even if a part of it seemed forced. She was a very good actress, he might recommend her to his theatre company if her business in this sort of field fell through.
"Don't speak," he whispered and leaned in to kiss her again, taking his time and using one hand to remove his clothing, while keeping her close with the other. He took his time about it, in a way he was sure that infuriated her, in whatever she was up to. When he was naked, he pulled her up onto his hips, holding her against him and kissing her hotly.
He was content with getting something out of this ordeal, even if it was momentary sex. Sitting down on the chair behind him, he pulled her up and over his thighs, his member yet to rise, but that wouldn't be a problem for long.
Callista simply tilted her head and smiled up at him, giving into the kisses and nodding when he told her not to speak. Fine. Odd, but fine. Carn was all the way on the bedside table where she'd left him and there was a moment where her eyes went down and she stared down at the ground, resisting the urge to look at the dagger.
Like the dagger would help.
No, Carn wouldn't help.
Gently she bit at his lips and ran her hands over the exposed flesh as it became available. There was a surprised gasp when she was pulled against him and the warm kisses caught her off guard, the sudden heat was unexpected and like a proper call girl, she gave as good as she got. Just a little bit more.
Just a little closer.
Her hands trailed up his sides and before long they were sitting! On a chair.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
He was a chair fucker.
That would mean he was going to watch her. A quick look around, pressing her hands to her breasts and tilting her head back, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Unfortunately it put the scars on her neck on full display but she had to find something or she'd have to suffocate him and while it was totally doable, he didn't seem too strong, it took longer and potentially made more of a mess.
Callista hooked her legs to the back of the chair and ground against his hips while she leaned back up.
Looked like she was gonna have to strangle him. She'd have to go back home to get the piece of fabric from that other noble man but... It was doable. Callista's hand snaked between them to his member giving it a few gentle strokes, smirking slightly. What happened to 'do you want a drink'? What happened to 'relax'? There was a dark chuckle and she bit her lip, leaning into to give his chin a kiss.
At least at the end of the day, everyone reacted one of two ways to a naked lady. Really well, or really badly. Her hand snaked up from his groin to his neck, giving light scratches all the way until she got to the hollow of his throat, Callista leaned in and gave his neck a gentle bite before kissing at his collar bone. At least he'd get laid before he died, though that was never thrown in for free.
Some pleasure before he got sent to hell.
It was almost poetic. Almost.
Poetic if there wasn't a prostitute involved.
Something was wrong, and despite the prospect of getting laid, it unnerved him. Rembrandt did moan to her touch and it wasn't long after those few strokes to harden his body. He'd always been well-endowed, probably the second decent gift his father had ever given him. After that little bit about changing his face.
He couldn't forget the image, however. Forget the image and he would become himself again. And all this was about being someone else wasn't it?
He didn't wait much longer, his hand slipping down between them and feeling along the moistness between her legs, testing the flesh.
Appropriately ready, Callista pulled his hand closer to her before she readied herself over him. How well-endowed he was didn't concern her, she'd never see him again after this. Probably hear about him. Perhaps get a thank you letter through her master. Maybe even get to keep a plant from the shop. Giving his cheeks a stroke she gave him a deep kiss while she sank down upon him, giving appropriately timed gasps and moans, nuzzling at his neck and looking as flustered as she could.
The mechanics of it all were boring and Callista found herself going through the movements like one would move through a repetitive dance. It was convincing, the noises, the gasps. The occasional jerk of her hips while she worked him. Leaning in to bite his neck, she moved to wrap her arms around his neck and stroke his back while she moved on him in the damn chair.
Why a chair.
Chair's were the worst!
Still, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple she gave a few perfunctory jerks of her hips, a lusty moan... And then she leaned back and pressed her hands around his neck as hard as she could, wrapping her legs around his hips and the chair so there were few chances to get away. A few minutes and he would be at peace. Just a few minutes.
Then she could get dressed, go home and maybe get some breakfast.
The moment her hands went around his neck, Rembrandt opened his eyes and the image was gone. They were stronger than expected, and he immediately grabbed at her wrists. Even if he was not of a warrior's build, he was no weakling and gripped hard. He leaned back hard, tipping the chair until it fell backwards and smashed down on her legs.
The wood snapped and broke, but he was trapped beneath her and he did the only thing he could think of and reeled back, planting hard punch against her face.
The punch whipped her head to the side and she gave a snarl, blood dripping down her chin, her hands back around his neck. It was all ruined. It was all...
Callista's eyes went wide and she stared down at the stranger. This was not Hendrick. This man wasn't part of who she was supposed to dispose of. Instantly her hands let go and she just stared, confused before she tried to get away from him. "CARN!" Her voice was shrill and she looked at the bedside table frantically, her legs were stuck between Not Hendrick, bits of chair and the floor and she lifted her hands up.
Who was this.
"Who are you! Where did Hendrick go?" She gave panicked little breaths, everything was going wrong, "I wasn't sent here to kill you." Suddenly she felt as naked as she looked and Callista moved to cover her breasts with her arms, though there wasn't much she could do about their collective groin area.
Her screaming only afforded her another smack to the face. At least to keep her quiet. Rembrandt snatched her wrists and held them roughly. He turned over until she was on her back, pulling out and instead adjusting himself over her. "Who are you!?" he demanded harshly. "Why are you trying to kill me? Or Hendrick, rather. Since I am clearly not him."
"Who sent you?"
The smacking she was used to, the bloodied teeth and the hurting face were things that were familiar and she clung to the pain in her face like a security blanket. Callista knew the pain would ebb away eventually, but at least it was familiar. Something this situation was not. Who was she? "I'm nobody," Her voice trembled and she just stared up at him, still examining his features, "someone paid my master to kill Hendrick. It wasn't you. You're not the target. You're not supposed to be here." Callista moved to sit up, pulling her hands in small attempts to get away from him, staring again at the bedside table like the dagger would get up and walk towards her.
It was asleep, as it would remain while the strange man was here. "I'm nobody, please, forget this, forget you've seen me. You're not the target. You're not the..." Her eyes bolted to the door, then to the strange man above her, "Did you kill him? You were wearing his face."
"You're clearly somebody because you were trying to strangle me," he hissed back. "Who are you? It would be wise to answer, girl. I don't want to hurt you, but clearly you're more than willing to hurt me."
A snarl and she balled her hands into fists, "I'm not here for you." Angrily she bucked her hips and kicked out her legs and while she was trained to kill, that didn't afford the strength of being able to get out of being pinned down. "My..." Callista looked off to the side before squeezing her eyes shut, like telling him her name would be painfuly, "My n-name is Callista. I'm Callista." Finally she made eye contact and stared at him, "I haven't hurt you since you've changed your face."
"Get out. Get out and never come back!" Rembrandt hissed again. Quickly he got off of her and snatched his hands back. He was quick to put distance between them and threw his clothes back on. "Go back where you came from and tell no one of this. I mean it."
Callista rose quickly, staring at him, confused. Angry now. "Where's Hendrick?" She hadn't bothered to get dressed, but she did make her way over to the beside table to stand beside Carn. "I can't go back there without finishing him," Her chest rose quickly with panicked breaths. The punishment. Callista couldn't do it, if she needed to... "You don't understand, where is Hendrick?"
Rembrandt looked between her and her hand and the something she was standing beside on the night table. " Get out," he hissed again. "Why does it matter regardless? Just leave!"
Callista went to grab her clothing that she'd left under the bed and quickly pulled on the form fitting black suit, though she left the mask and hood off. Get out he said. "It's not that easy," she said softly, hands at her side, "payment was exchanged, they'll be coming to look for a body." It was an odd situation, but she'd gotten a hold of herself and she just stared at the man. "Where is it?"
He could tell by that black suit that she meant trouble. "Hendrick is dealt with. Don't you worry about him," he said, more lowly this time. "Just say it was a bloody goddamned mess. You wouldn't even recognize him."
Worry about him?
"I'm not worried about him, I'm worried about me," Callista snapped at him, taking a few steps closer. Not that she wasn't naked and much more prepared she gave this stranger a once over, frowning at him. "Are you some sort of demon?" A weary look was cast over her shoulder to the dagger though quickly she looked back towards the man.
"Who are you?"
Rembrandt straightened, still wary of her but relaxed enough. "I'm of little consequence," he stated, quickly buttoning his shirt and reaching into a drawer, pulling out a play bill. "But if you really want to know. Come." He handed the play bill to her. "Tomorrow night. It's called The Midnight of Madame Movenco. You might enjoy it. Come alone."
Hesitantly, confused, Callista took what was offered to her, giving it a slow look before looking back at him. "You don't understand..." Her hands went to her neck, pressed against the scars for a moment. Licking her lips she looked down at the ground, she wasn't a murderer. Was she? Her fingers itched to hold Carn. It would be so simple to run this man through, just... End his light.
"Can you wear Hendricks face again?" She swallowed and looked at him, searching his face, "You need to wear his face again." Slowly her hand went around the hilt of the dagger and she moved to tuck it into the front of her suit. "I... I won't tell them about you. I'll take the punishment," The eye on the dagger snapped open and looked frantically at Callista, "But you need to wear his face again."
He was sure to keep his distance, eyeing that knife that so abruptly eyed him back. He felt a sharp shiver down his spine at that, but did not comment on it. Why did he have to become Hendrick again. "You intend for me to play dead?" he asked, a smirk spreading across his lips.
Callista shook her head, her hands going to her hair to press her palms to her temples. "I don't understand," Her hand moved up to pet at the hilt of the dagger, finding comfort in the strangely warm steel. "Where is his body. I'll bring it here. I'll feed him to Carn so that they don't know what happened." The dagger made a retching noise, cold dead bodies weren't something he enjoyed. "But there needs to be a body in this room."
Rembrandt shook his head in frustration. "I went through all this trouble for nothing," he sighed. "To think, I might enjoy a fine house, and a good lay, and blow the money on a few gambles. But no, this Hendrick fucker has to go and piss someone off enough to kill him! He's in the cellar. It's a bit of mess down there."
If Callista could feel bad about anything now would be about when she'd do it. There was nothing however while she examined him, if anything she found herself growing curious. Who was this person, to steal a face assume someone else's life? Callista flicked her gaze to the bedroom door before looking back at the man. A few steps closer and she reached her hand out like she wanted to caress his cheek. "Lead me to the cellar." It wasn't a request.
He considered throwing her out the window for a moment. It'd be brief. But it would raise too many questions. Broken windows were hard to explain off, and this girl clearly had plenty of secrets of her own. "Follow me," he said and went back to the door, wary of the blade at her side.
He stepped lightly down the first flight and quieter down the second. He stepped out into the dining area and opened the iron door that led down to the cellar. "We'll need the lamp here." He unhooked an oil lamp and when it was lit, led the rest of the way down.
The man wouldn't hear Callista walking at all. Her footsteps were silent and she moved as quietly as a shadow does. Curious. That he wouldn't give her his name, invite her to a play of some kind but lead her to his kill. To her kill. Slowly she followed him "why dont you take his things and gamble as yourself?"
Rembrandt smirked at her, turning his head in her direction, briefly. "Where would the fun be in that?" he asked. "I am myself all the time. It's nice to don another face once in a while. Here we are. That crate there." He pointed to a box with a leg oddly twisted out of it.
That crate there.
Callista looked over with wide eyes and stared for a moment. The booming manly laughter that shot through the celler caught her off guard and she jumped. "Thats the sloppiest thing I've ever seen! There's even a leg sticking out!" Another long string of laughter. Alarmed now, Callista moved her hand to her mouth, pressing agaisnt the wound in her mouth from when he'd punched her. A familiar feeling to calm her down, bring her back to where she was physically.
Slowly she looked at the Face Stealer and moved her hand to cover Carn's mouth with her palm before taking careful steps towards the body. Mutilated. That alone would get her into trouble. "You may leave if you choose to. I need to move him."
The cackle made him jump, his eyes shooting to her dagger. "That was.. your blade?"
Callista removed her hand from the dagger and moved it to her face, tracing the scar ever so gently. "No. It was the hilt. His name is Carn." The dagger remained silent.
"I see. A talking dagger hilt," he said, letting out a slow steady breath. "I guess it's not the weirdest thing that's happened all day." Still, it unnerved him and he gestured to the crate. "Let me help you. It's the least I could do after not cutting my balls off. Among other things."
Callista put her hands on the crate but looked at the man oddly. "You're not who I was sent for." Her tone was clipped and she looked away after a moment, "the night is still young, you know." Gently she pushed at the leg, frowning between it and the Face Stealer. "Why not gamble and whore all night? I can do the on my own."
Rembrandt grinned at that possibility. Indeed the night was still young. And this was far more exciting than whoring around. "I don't much care for filthy prostitutes. Too many diseases. But apparently this was a special about this arrangement. One that I was only made aware of recently. Are you at liberty, exactly to say what Hendrick did to piss off whoever sent you?" He shook his head.
"Maybr I'm better off not knowing," he said after a while. Never the less he helped with the crate, pulling it toward the stairs.
Callista pressed her hands to her belly and looked at the Face Stealer. "I'm not diseased, if that's what you're worried about." She was still, technically, a filthy prostitute. Callista pursed her lips, pondering on how to relay information she didn't have. "I simply do as my master bids me. Do you ask why water boils?" Callista smiled and looked at the crate now at the foot of the stairway, "no, you don't, boiling is simply what water does when it's heated." Gently she booted the crate.
"Is he whole or in pieces?" Not interested in prying open the crate to check.
Did it matter if she was diseased or not? Not anymore. Rembrandt just shot her a look and focused on moving the crate. He turned it, huffing a little, and catching his breath. "If you do not question something, simply because it is then you, dear lady, are a fool. But aren't we all in this game of masks." It was an idle comment and he wiped his brow.
"He's whole, but his neck might be a little twisted. Falling down a flight of stairs can do that to a person."
"I am not a fool," Callista bristled slightly, at being called something. "I am nothing." Voice soft, she frowned at him after a moment. Masks? A moment longer to inspect his features. His abilities were curious and briefly she wondered if he was a demon. The Face Thief Demon. Callista pressed her fingers to her cheek and she looked at him before trying to pull the crate open to tug the body out.
"Do you have to kill everyone's face you steal?"
With a kick, the nails came a little bit looser and Rembrandt pulled the top from the box, and there were the crumbled remains of one Hendrick Winstead. "No," he said. "It just helps. Killing is such a messy business. I prefer not to have too many people ask questions as to why they saw me one place, when I was clearly in another. Besides, it's clear he would've ended up like this one way or another."
He shot her a small smile before pulling the body up and out of the box. "You need this placed in the bedroom, I'm guessing?"
More and more she was growing interested.
The thing he'd given her was tucked into her clothing, perhaps she would sneak out and see him. Or not see him. At least get some answers either way. Curiosity had been beaten out of her but she could feel the trembling flame of it when she looked at him. Carn looked at him too for good measure, blinking owlishly before closing and going quiet.
The smile caught her off guard and she just frowned at him, why was he carrying the body. He was free to go. Part of her asked him why he was doing this, the other part just nodded. "Yes. On the bed. Wait." Callista looked at him, "We'll remove his clothes and leave him at the foot of the stairs, his legs grew weak after the prostitute visited him, he took an awful tumble down the flights of stairs. It was truly unfortunate. He'll be greatly missed." And the way she spoke was as if she truely believed in happened instead of just telling a story.
"Are you a monster?"
Rembrandt was already involved. Why not go the extra mile? He was already dead and all they needed to do was set the dead guy at the foot of the stairs. "Sounds about right to what actually happened," Rembrandt sighed, exasperated at having to go through the motions once again. "You know most deaths occur as an accident in the home. Sometimes there are unfortunate participants in that accident, but otherwise. Yeah, accidents really do happen."
Once up to ground level, Rembrandt dropped the body at the bottom of the steps. And went about removing the dead mans clothes. "Am I a monster?" he mimicked and peered up at her. "No. I'm just a man." And be laughed, smiling up at her for a moment. "And you're not a monster either, I presume?"
There was a smile. A geniune smile and she shifted her weight, half enjoying someone else doing the work and giving the Face Stealer an amused smile. "You were having sex with him before you pushed him down the stairs?" Was her quip and she went about helping remove the clothes, looking back at him when he claimed to be just a man.
"I am nothing," Callista said again, "I am nothing and nobody." With Hendricks coat and shirt in her hands she moved past the body on the ground and started to the steps, hands out for the rest of the mans clothing. "I can't be a monster if I don't exist."
"Just a shadow underneath the mask," he murmured. For despite what others might claim, everyone wore masks. In every role a person played through out their life, there was always a mask to fit the occasion, a shelter to hide your secrets. A guise to wrap over yourself.
"I meant the tumble down the stairs part, but I get your jest," he snickered and gave her the rest of his clothes. "A shadow that wears a face called Callista. But you're nobody. I understand."
A shadow that wears a face called Callista.
"Yes. I am a tool used to carry out my master's orders," Her tone grew dark and she looked from the dead body to the clothing in her arms, "Just a shadow." It came out as barely a whisper. How fitting. Callista gave the Face Stealer a small smile, a polite bow and she made her way up the stairs, dropping Hendricks clothing carefully so it would looked like he'd whipped it off of himself in hast to join his woman in bed.
Callista however did not go back downstairs. The sound of a window opening and closing could probably be heard down to where The Face Stealer was and then there would be no sounds. Callista would be gone.
Perhaps to never see her again.
Perhaps to see her one last time. Unfortunately for him, he piqued a curiosity in her that was unfamiliar and it burned inside. As he suggested, Callista would show up the next night, alone like he requested (was being with Carn still alone?) and there would be a strangely scarred face in the crowd, eyes wide and curious.
It was a shame that enjoying the life of one Hendrick Winstead didn't pan out. It was such a rare occasion that he had to play a noble. Not on the stage of course. It left him fairly bummed. It didn't even get to last a week before the jig was up and he was left with nothing more than the reflection of himself. And yet, perhaps it was a small blessing that he'd forgotten Winstead's image. His life would've been lost. Then he'd be the crumpled body at the bottom of the stairs.
So he had to resort to being himself for the remainder of his stay in Arca. And one final show before he could enjoy his week and move on with the Company once again. That was usually how these things went. Nobody would miss him anyway. Winstead was a bastard.
That night onstage, he'd certainly thought his invitation was ripped up after his acquaintance departed. It hadn't been meant to be taken serious. In fact, he didn't really know why he did it. Perhaps just as a distraction from keeping her from asking too many more questions. Little did he know of the curiosity she had piqued.
She was just a shadow after all.
As his first cue came up, Rembrandt appeared on stage in a puff of smoke, face painted red and a series of horns protruding from his head. He was Mepharis, the demon that lead Madame Movenco through different realms, ever trying to tempt her with lust, the promise of immortality, and the fulfillment of all her desires. He turned to Madame Movenco, throwing fire from his hands, making it land in small plumes at her feet, the magic of a mage working behind the scenes and knowing how to make him appear as fearsome as possible.
As he turned to the crowd, making his exit, he spotted a familiar face in the crowd, and his eyes widened just a bit. In fact a smile spread across his face. And he vanished in a puff of smoke.
His scenes came and went, and in the final, when he meant to claim Madame Movenco's soul, he threw the rose he had in his hand, to the crowd, toward Callista, the white rose falling at her feet.
Callista had snuck out.
Constantly she had been subtly checking over her shoulder and while she was woefully under dressed for such an occasion her heart was pounding a million miles a minute at the prospect of being caught. There were fresh bruises on her neck in the shape of a hand that she didn't bother to cover up, the loose fitting shirt and the brown corset, the everyday clothing she wore at the flower shop. Probably smelled like damp soil instead of the roses they housed.
The play was like watching a story and for someone who could barely read stories were few and far between. When she noticed the Face Stealer on stage she found herself smiling, dressed up as he was as a demon of all things. Callista almost laughed, instead she stayed quiet and got odd looks by the people who noticed her grin.
Enraptured was a good word for what she was during the play. Following everyone, watching the little details, the cues. Finally, there it was.
A white rose at her feet.
More curiosity grew in her chest. Surely a dangerous flower for her to nurture. Callista found herself surprised by how much she wanted to care and tend for this curiosity and she bent to pick up the rose and examine it, holding it carefully before gently brushing her fingers over the petals.
Callista would be gone after the curtain call.
Instead she'd be in the Face Stealer's dressing room.
Waiting.
Did he know what the white rose meant? She needed to tell him.
Rembrandt had turned backstage with laughter. It was always nice to get a standing ovation. And the bouquets he collected, he shared among the flowers with some of thw other cast members. As he'd always said, there were no small parts, only small actors and he took his profession seriously. Rembrandt had hoped to see that Shadow again, and when he found her in his room, he smiled, clearly pleased.
"Hello. A fine evening we're having," he said, still donned in his devil's face paint and prosthetic horns. He plucked a horn fromhis temple and then the other, setting the bouquets off on the lounge chair. "Ouch. These things get stuck on pretty good."
A tilt of her head to look up at the Face Stealer when he arrived and Callista stood up slowly, careful of her aches and pains and new bruises. As she'd predicted, the death of Hendrick had been messy and she'd been punished for it. Pulled out of bed in the middle of the day. "If you kill like an animal, you'll be treated like one," There was a far away look in her eyes for a moment while she repeated the words though quickly the lavender eyes refocused and she found herself close to the Face Stealer.
One of those little horns in her hands, carefully holding the white rose in the other. "You're a monster," She stating, looking up at him. Gently she wet her thumb with a finger and pressed it to his chin to wipe off the paint and she looked down at her hand. A bright smile when she looked up at him again, "I see. So this is your face but you've painted a face on top of it." Pleased that she'd figured it out she put the horn down and held out the rose to him, showing it to him.
"Do you know what the white rose means?"
Truth be told he was intrigued by her fascination with the make-up. This was a thick oily paint that frankly was making him sweat underneath it and he was eager to get it off. Damn those managers for making him wear paint as opposed to a mask and perhaps half only half his face painted. He smiled as she examined the paint and he wiped some away with a bare hand that was no longer wearing those skin-tight gloves.
"Yeah, it's a bit of a pain, isn't it? Three hours in the chair for the face alone. Not to mention the hours that followed the horns. But such is life," he said with a soft sigh. He popped the horns off his head and saw she examined the rose. He rose curious brows at her. "Does it mean something? I was unaware."
Callista pressed the rose to her lips and smiled gently before looking back at the Face Stealer.
"Purity and innocence," Slowly she drew the rose petals over the scar at her cheek, then down her chin to the hand shaped bruise at her throat and the scars there too. A tilted head and she pressed it to her lips again, closing her eyes. "It seems fitting the demon Mepharis would have such a rose. Is it what he's throwing away at the end? Madame Movenco's purity and innocence?" A longer look at it and she held it down, fully intending on keeping it and hiding it away like she hid Carn.
Maybe Carn would help her take care of it.
"Is this your real life?" She eyed the make up on his face and then looked around the room, "You're prettier than Hendrick."
"Very perceptive," he commented and went about wiping his face with a washcloth. There was a basin of water and he dipped it slowly, pulling off the paint in gentle streaks. "Mepharis wanted Movenco's soul because it was so pure and enticing. Discarding the white rose meant the Madame had given in. Sometimes temptation is too great to resist." He chuckled.
He was basking her compliments, and his smile spread cheek to cheek. "Thank you very much. You're quite pretty yourself," he said with another chuckle. There that dreadful paint was off. He dropped the washcloth into the basin and scrubbed it. "I didn't become him because he was good-looking. He was just in the wrong place in the wrong time, unfortunately for him." His eyes drifted down to the bruising on her neck. His smile faded and he gestured to her neck. "That because of me? Hendrick being a mess I mean?"
That dangerous flower budded at the compliment of being perceptive and she slowly looked down at the rose again. Temptation is too great to resist. The play was a temptation too great to resist. Seeing the Face Stealer again was a temptation too great to resist. Luckily for Callista, she was neither pure or innocent and she tucked her white rose into one of the pockets on her skirt, the flower sticking out of the end. The pocket where Carn was.
"Pretty?" Callista frowned at him for a moment, surely he was mocking her. Fingers brushed over the scar on her face and she pondered for a moment on being pretty. Was she? Could she consider herself as such? No. Callista was not pretty. Tools weren't pretty. Still, she gave a pretty smile to the Face Stealer and reached up to brush her fingers over his cheeks, trailing down to his chin. Her fingers hovered over his neck where she'd tried to choke him and a finger traced down to rest on his shoulder.
"Yes," She said simply, no blame or accusation in her voice or on her face, "If you kill like an animal you'll be treated like one," the words were repeated softly. Then her hand moved to her neck, "It's just one of them, master wasn't pleased Hendrick was such a mess, it lowered the price of the hit because it was so sloppy."
"I wonder if he says that because he's gotten the taste of his own medicine. Don't dish it out, if you aren't prepared to take it, as an old friend used to say." Rembrandt made a soured expression and turned to look in the vanity mirror, inspecting the finer points of his face and neck, where the markings were found on her and then he turned back to her. He took her hair and gently rolled it up.
"By gods," he hissed, sucking air in through his teeth. "How awful. You poor dear. You need something to drink. I've had that look in my eye before. So, what's your poison?" He clapped his hands together. "And I don't mean actual poison, darling, just what kind of drink do you favor? How may I serve you tonight? You came to my show, it's the least I could do after the punishment you received...partly on my behalf."
Callista stared at the Face Stealer for a moment and tensed - but stayed still - when he moved her hair. On a job, Callista had no shame. There was nothing she didn't do for her master. Tonight she was here for herself and the touches were too much, even if it was to look at the bruises on her neck. There were bruises and cuts elsewhere and she was curious if this man wanted to examine those too.
His sudden insistence on her drinking had her thrown off guard and Callista blinked at him. Poison? Oh, not actual poison. "What did you give me? Before in the room? I liked that. It made my lips tingle." Slowly her fingers brushed over the bruises and she was curious why they offended him so. "I did wrong, should.. I have not been punished?"
Rembrandt snapped his fingers and turned toward the decanters on the other side of the room. He always had a drink to mark any occasion. "Brandy," he answered, pouring a small glass and handing it to. He was intending to get her drunk, but whatever she wanted, she could have. She was his guest after all.
He turned to her with his own glass and clanked it against hers. "Punishment for a task complete, no matter how messy, seems a bit counterproductive to me," he said, shrugging a little. It was a nonchalant action, but he didn't know her employer, or anything more about her. She did have nice eyes though and it was those he looked at now.
He smiled instead. "Let's not talk about unpleasantness," he said after a moment. "You kept your word. I honestly didn't know what to expect from you. Thank you again. I feel myself growing increasingly in your debt, and I can't think of anything to repay you with. And...you showed up, I hope I didn't disappoint while performing. How did you come about all this way? You sound as if you have a very busy life, unable to come and go as you please."
Brandy.
There was a cat named brandy once, Callista had enjoyed playing with it. It was also the first of much blood she'd gotten on her hands and when the glasses clanked together she thought fondly of that cat and sipped at the alcohol. It tasted bad. In a good way. Her tongue went numb and she closed her eyes for a moment before she took another sip of the liquid. "I am a tool, a tool that doesn't preform properly needs to be fixed," She informed the Face Stealer mechanically, sipping at her drink again.
Slowly she pressed her finger tips to the petals of the rose and smiled. Her drink was done, she'd found herself having sipped it far more quickly than she anticipated and pouted at the empty glass before tucking it beside the bottle he'd gotten the drink from.
"My word?" Callista tilted her head, giving a slight smile at how wobbly everything was. Having never had alcohol besides the bit the night they'd met, it hit her empty stomach like a pile of bricks and she was feeling the effects of it not too long after drinking it as quickly as she did, "The play was lovely, my favourite parts had you in them," for obvious reasons.
Slowly, like they were being listened to, Callista blinked at him and turned to make sure there was no one around. "I snuck out. Master will be very displeased when he finds me gone but..." the curiosity, "I wanted to see. I wanted to see my Face Stealer and the thing he gave me led me here. You make me curious and I haven't felt anything in a long long time." A smile and she licked her lips, "Is there anymore brandy? It makes more than my lips tingle, I like it."
It made it easy to be happy and she liked the way smiling felt.
My, my, could she down a glass. Rembrandt had been watching her with interest. She was so...odd and it intrigued him. Pouring her another drink, he chuckled and took a seat on the lounge, wandering if she grasped the irony of her statement. A tool that needed fixing. Indeed.
"And curiosity, I take it, is a bad thing that your master doesn't want you to feel? That's...awful. I can't imagine never being curious. I would never explore other places...other people." He chuckled. "Face Stealer? That's a new one. But you want a name to match this lovely face you've been admiring, I'm called Rembrandt. A name for your shadow."
Callista stood with the new glass in her hand and sipped at it, enjoying the warmth it caused and liking how happy it made her feel. "Curiosity makes you go places you should't." Here. "And talk to people you shouldn't talk to." Him. Another sip from the glass and she gave a little wobble where she stood. Fairly soon, Callista found herself sitting on the floor, looking up at Rembrandt, her feet poking out from under her dress.
Again, the glass was empty and she blinked at him, her eyes were tired and she put the glass down beside her, not requesting a refill. "Are you sure that isn't actually poison, Rembrandt?" Callista looked at the empty glass and pursed her lips, not that it would have mattered, wouldn't have been the first time she'd been poisoned."I feel awfully funny," She stared at her hands for a moment, the finger tips numb and giving them a wiggle.
"Brandy'll do that to ya," he chuckled and laid out across the lounge looking down at her. "I don't want you to get into more trouble. Should we get you home before your master finds out. I mean, I don't want you to leave, but I also don't think a pretty thing like you ought to be punished for being...late."
Concern drew her features and Callista moved a hand to her chest and she idly rubbed at her collar bone. The words were there, though she had to blink owlishly at Rembrandt while he spoke so that she could process them all. Why was it hard to think of things? A small smile pulled at the side of her mouth that wasn't scarred and she closed her eyes for a moment, "Why don't you want me to leave?" Slowly she rose up on her hands and knees to crawl towards the lounge, "Did you want to finish what we started? Is that why you want me to stay?"
He didn't say this often, not to anyone, and would probably never admit it ever if interrogated for it. But she had surprised him and few people surprised Rembrandt Highchurch. "I think you're interesting," he admitted amidst a laugh. "You're so...odd. I mean you have a talking dagger, I mean hilt. And you didn't rat me out. That alone garners interest. Anyone normal would have been ran to the nearest guard to say what they saw. Few people surprise me, but you managed to... somehow."
Callista was...
Odd.
"Carn is a dagger. Just... The hilt has the mouth, not the blade." Her hand went into her pocket and she pulled him out. For the most part it looked like a normal dagger, except the metal was warm and there were strange creases along the side. Designs along the hilt looked like a closed set of lethal teeth and for a moment she gazed down at him fondly.
Her only friend.
Slowly she tucked him away, back into the pocket with the precious rose and she shuffled closer to Rembrandt, still on her hands and knees. "A guard?" An owlish blink and she looked around as if expecting to see some, "Are those the people that knock on doors and ask questions? Master knows many of them, they come over for..." Callista trailed off on that tid-bit of information, looking back at him until she was closer and now standing on her knees in front of him.
A gentle hand lifted and she hovered it over his cheek, finding his features fascinating, "Are you going to steal my face?"
"Steal your face? Did you want me to?" The question seemed to strike him and he wondered for a moment if he could. She was a woman, however, and that would be a rather impeding obstacle. "I don't think I could. That would require certain genitalia that I do not possess," came the answer and he looked her over. He gave a shrug. "My body is male, and I'm afraid it would remain that way. I might be able to copy certain features, but I could never become you."
"No," She drew her hand up to caress her cheek and Callista pulled her hair to the side, over her shoulder. Slowly she leaned forward to rest her elbows on the lounge and she rested her head on her hands. "You have an interesting talent." Another thing to be curious about,"And I'm very aware of how male you are," A sleepy smile to Rembrandt and she gave his groin a look, entertained on some level that within the first ten meetings of having met one another they'd started to have sex.
Something that was far less intimate to her than simply leaning and looking at him.
Callista sat back on her legs and sighed, stretching her arms up and standing up, losing her balance in the process. "I should go," A small smile and she leaned in, giving Rembrant a lingering kiss on the cheek, "Thank you for the rose."
He laughed. "You're going to leave? You can barely stand!" He stood, landing on his feet a little easier than her. He'd been drinking a lot more than she had, he'd wager and probably for a lot longer. "Let me walk you home. It can't be far."
Walk her home?
No one could see her return to the flower shop.
That would...
But he was so nice to her.
Callista frowned for a moment, looking conflicted and she moved a hand out, beckoning for his. To lead him, she told herself, "It's..." Callista found herself telling him exactly where the flower shop was before carefully she held out her hand, looking hopeful. A bit like a puppy begging for pets.
A flower shop? Of all places he would least expect a creature like her to surface from. He smiled and took her hand gently in his.
"Oh, drats! Just a moment.. I'm going to have to get out of this costume first. He quickly changed from behind a screen before emerging once again and took her hand. "Lead on," he said, smirking smartly.
Callista looked happily at the hand, holding it tightly before she pressed his knuckles to her cheek. On wobbly feet and in a strangely chipper mood Callista lead him to her home. There was frown and before long she found herself with his arm in her grasp. "Almost there," she murmured, "there's the front!" A hand lifted up and she stood in front of it, looking up at Rembrandt. "Why did you want to know where I live?"
The strength of her hold was astonishing to say the least, but for some reason it only made him grin. She had to be strong to put up with the kind of beating she did. He turned to her in view of the flower shop. Wow, she wasn't kidding
"Why? Because we're friends of course. And I wanted to make sure you got home in one piece. You're a little tipsy you know that?" A chuckle and he leaned in go return the kiss on her cheek.
She'd stopped some ways away from the flower shop. Where she lived. Where her master lived. Looking at it sobered her some and Callista stared at it for a moment.
Friends?
Her only friend was a dagger, but the kiss on the cheek had her face grow warm and it was moments before that a light was on in the flower shop. Master knew she wasn't home. The door burst open, a relatively good looking man came out and he was furious. Without acknowledging Rembrandt, the man - maybe in his early thirties - grabbed Callista's arm and back handed her.
"You little whore! Going around at night fuckin' anything are ya?" The man, her master, gave Rembrandt a steely glare and Callista went quiet, though the grip on her arm was painful. He leaned in and stared at her watching her lips tremble and quietly she began to beg for forgiveness. Her master ignored her and instead pressed his lips to hers harshly, ripping them away with a dark look on his face.
"Been drinkin' have ya? Come on." He tugged her along back to the front of the flower shop, then he gave a level glare to Rembrandt "Thanks for bringing my wife home, Sir, she's frisky and doesn't know how to keep her dress on." A sneer, "I hope for your sake you didn't put anything in her, she always whores it up 'round the full moon."
It was not a full moon.
One violent push towards the door and Callista was pushed into the building, followed by a series of crashes and glass breaking and a pained cry.
Then the door slammed, the light went out and everything was quiet.
Rembrandt was left there to watch the man grab Callista so roughly, as she was the property he rightly claimed. He didn't so much as get a chance to say one word, or react and kept his eyes glued to the man. Rough around the edges, a little rugged, and definitely an overactor. When the door slammed shut, Rembrandt flinched, and quickly turned to watch through a window from the side of the building.
And even in the dark what he saw inside wasn't pretty. It angered him, and he couldn't even say why. And he grew angry at his inability to discern his own concern. They had just met after all. He couldn't stay all night he knew, but he had to make sure he didn't kill her.
But he'd gotten close, that much Rem could tell. He shifted toward a bedroom window, where the man had left her. He held his breath, seeing a small sign of life.
It was treatment she was used to.
Luckily for her, instead of going through her clothing it had just been torn off and her master's anger let the clunk of the dagger in her pocket go unheard. A quiet thing to be thankful for. Finally, the punishment was done and she winced away when she was spat on and let to droop off the table, panting softly. Everything ached and it wasn't until she was tossed into her bedroom after gathering her clothes did she breath easy.
Carn was carefully taken out of her pocket and she looked down at the torn dress sadly, touching the fabric at the back. Perhaps she could repair it.
Tucking the dagger in the drawer's secret compartment she pulled out the white rose from the pocket and stared at it in horror. It was crushed. Half the petals were missing and she gave a soft pained cry, cradling the lost white petals.
Rembrandt. Was he still outside?
Carefully. Quietly. Callista went towards the window, unhitching it as silently as she always did and peered out, fresh bruises on her face and naked shoulders. "You should go," She said softly, having spotted him, looking over her shoulder after a moment to make sure her door was still closed, "He might hurt you if he thinks you're my friend. I'm nothing. I'm nobody. I don't have friends."
Rembrandt let out that breath when he saw she was still alive. He pursed his lips and reached out to caress her cheek, though he avoided the bruises and gave her a smirk. "That's only if your friends are normal people. But I'm a shadow just like you. Shadows can be friends."
Wincing visibly when he reached to caress her cheek Callista looked away after a moment, her voice still quiet. "My rose is broken," She said holding out her hand full of petals, "I was going to keep it but ... Now it's broken." Which was apparently far more tragic an incident that night than being beaten and abused. Callista let her hand drop the petals and they gently glided down to the ground.
Gently she bit her look and looked away. For all the bruises and scars, the visible bite marks - a fresh one on her pale shoulder - "Can I see you again, Face Stealer?" The question was spoken softly and she was visibly getting ready for rejection.
Her wounds were bad, but they would heal. The scars on the inside however, that would take some time. He pursed his lips a little, wondering what he would do to the man if he ever laid a hand on him in such a manner. Stairs would be too good for him. But would he even be worth killing?
He touched her other cheek and smiled. "I think that might be somewhere in the cards," he whispered. "I'll come back. Maybe someday to buy some roses. Some white ones." He smiled and poked her cheek a little. "But tonight is my last night in Arca, I'm afraid, for a while."
That painful hollow feeling in her chest was unfamiliar and Callista found herself frowning deeply and pressing a hand to her breastbone. Disappointment? Yeah. The curiosity wilted and she found herself ducking her head down and taking a shuddering breath. Callista had found that she didn't enjoy feeling things, it all hurt and she moved her hand to rub at the tingling feeling his finger had left on her cheek.
"I..." Callista looked away, " I hope to see you again." She did and Callista was concerned for herself how much she hoped for that to happen. How much she wanted to watch that curiosity bloom, "don't get killed by any midnight ladies." A hushed tease and she looked at his neck briefly before she leaned back to close her window, not wanting to say goodbye. Because goodbye was forever.
What!? All that and no kiss? He gave a small huff of disappointment but he would find a way to soothe his wounded pride. He gave her a small smile and stood up from the window, making sire the coast was clear before stalking away. She would see him again. But he wondered if she would recognize him.
In three months time, he did return to Arca, though his name was Jon Gosselin, and he was a gambler by trade, wealthy, but not a show-off, and he'd been married for a few years, to a woman that worked as a maid for some courtier. Gosselin was a little older tham Hendrick, with gray hair forming around his temples and a goatee beneath a wide nose.
But even a gambler could appreciate beautiful flowers. He walked into the shop, and browsed the display. "You have a lovely selection here."
Bart gave a bright smile to the customer and nodded, "We do!" Rounding around the way, Rembrandt would remember this man from the very brief meeting. This man was Master. The owner of the floral shop. "Roses are in season, these ones here," Bart nodded towards the dark red roses, " All the way from Adela. Bred from the King's own stock!" Which was why they were so expensive.
"I'll have my flower girl explain them to you, she's as knowledgeable as they come if you need help!" Bart gave the man a friendly pat on the shoulder and he made a hand motion to someone down an aisle. Callista gave Bart a lingering smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. His hand gently caressed her face and she smiled again and nodded.
Bubbly and smiling she made her way to the man at the display and tucked her hands behind her back. She wore a dress that covered her up to the neck and her hair was in simple braids. "My boss said you're looking for a flower for an important lady," She eyed him up and down, "that's usually why men come by here." There was a simple bite of her lips and she gave him a bright smile and waited for the cue word.
This was the time when people came by because they wanted a job done. If he didn't say the word, she would know he was just here for flowers, either way, Callista wouldn't drop the facade of being the resident flower girl. Of being happy. The only tell-tale feature was her dead eyes.
He noted her dead eyes, and wondered if she ever felt anything more than curiosity. Anger perhaps, passion? Anything other than the nothing that lingered there.
"Yes," he answered. "Some beautiful roses. For a very important lady. That made an impression. What color do you suggest?" And he flashed her a small smile.
Callista gave a silent sigh of relief.
He was just here for flowers.
Placing a hand to her face like she was pondering she held her position in front of the Adelan Roses, the expensive ones she was supposed to push onto customers. Instead, she moved to the white roses and smiled, this time it touched her eyes. "I like these ones. They're so... They're nice to look at. They blend in and..." Callista paused while she tried to think of the words, "They're much more rare than red roses." A brief look to the red ones, "The king of Adela has a whole garden of red roses."
"Ah. A white one? What an interesting suggestion," he said after a while and his eyes flickered to her boss. He was busy helping another guest, but there was no doubt that he was watching them closely. Jon turned his attention back to Callista. "A white rose. Give the lady something separate from the norm. Something that separates her from everyone else," he said. "I imagine you know much about white roses?"
[Haaaaa. I just clued in that I gave Callista the last name Rose. I feel slow.]
"Ah..." Callista looked at the man when he looked over at Bart and she followed his gaze. So he was watching them, ever since that night all those months ago he'd kept a close eye on her. Been forced to work in the flower shop until she'd proven her loyalty again. Currently she was nursing lashes along her back, but luckily, no one was very touchy with her. Something about the way she looked at them.
Except now.
Callista's eyes practically sparkled when she plucked a white rose from the bucket and softly touched the petals like someone touched a kitten. "It symbolizes purity and innocence. They're... The quieter one. If you're thinking of someone you can give them a white rose. New beginnings. Farewells." Callista smiled again and put the rose back into the bucket gently. "Is this lady a friend? Perhaps your wife? Red roses are... Well. Love. You could mix the two."
Jon smiled in the way she admired the rose. "Purity and innocence. That resembles much of the friend that I intend them for." He peered at them all. "I think the white ones will do. The red, leave me feeling a bit uncertain. I think we are friends, two acquaintances that share a taste for brandy. But would a bouquet be too forward, or would a single rose do? Oh, all this is so confusing. But I trust your expertise."
Brandy.
Callista paused and frowned at the man for a moment, searching his features for something. No, she had pointed out the white roses. If he had gone to them first, she would have known it was her Face Stealer. Now, it was just a coincidence. "It depends," She ventured, reaching towards the flowers to fix the way they sat in the buckets, "On how you feel about her. If you want to be better friends, I'd suggest the bouquet. If you've been gone for a while and just wish to say hello, get the single rose."
A look over her shoulder, she smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I can wrap it up for you and bring you to the counter so that you may purchase which ever you choose once you've made up your mind."
"I think I'd like to be better friends. The bouquet would be nice," he said with a smile and a nod. Certainly she couldn't be that dense. The white roses! He said he would buy a bouquet. He turned to her at the offer of wrapping them and he nodded again.
"Or maybe friends who have yet to meet. Hello," he said, extending his hand to her. "What's your name?"
Callista stared at his hand for a moment, hesitant.
It... Maybe. Callista bundled up a dozen white roses and held them in her arm.
"My n..I'm Callista." She offered him a smile and tucked her free hand into his. Giving a careful swallow, her heart racing faster than she'd ever felt it before. The idea of being disappointed had her heart beating and she stared up at his eyes for a moment. It would be okay if she was wrong, right? The man wouldn't know what was going on right?
"Are you my Face Stealer?" She asked softly, looking over her shoulder carefully to make sure Bart was occupied. He was and she looked back at the stranger that was just the right height and just the right build. The one she always looked for.
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Jon," he said, followed by a soft chuckle. "Or that's what people have been calling me anyway." He winked at her and gently squeezed her hand before reaching for the coins on his belt.
"A face stealer? Hm, I'm just a friendly shadow," he murmured, giving her another smile and handing her the coins. "Ah, just one less." And he plucked a white rose from the bouquet and slipped it to her. "For a friend. A friend that would love it if you joined him for dinner. Unless you have a prior engagement."
A...
Callista stared for a moment, it wasn't Rembrandt - for obvious reasons - but she handed the bouquet to him when he handed her the coins. Automatically, again, she took the flower offered to her and just... Stared. Warmth bloomed in her chest and she touched the flower petals tenderly, pressing them to her lips before she looked back at him.
Then over her shoulder.
Maybe...
"I... Don't." Tilting her head slightly she gave her favourite shadow a curious look, trying to find her friend in the features and she could see him. In little similarities. Maybe if she unfocused her eyes really well she'd see him. No, he wasn't there. But he was. Callista smiled into the rose and looked back up, "Where should I meet you?"
"The Veilosoph Hotel. Ask for the Gosselin reservation for 2. I'll be there. Don't worry. We'll try not to get you in trouble this time," he whispered and winked at her again. After leaving with the bouquet under his arm, he cast one last look to Bart before heading on his way.
Bart caught the look and frowned slightly.
Callista held the rose and smiled at him, Bart smiled back. Putting the money where it was supposed to go, Bart came up behind her. To the store and the people in it they were a married couple running the flower shop. To the patrons that came for another manner, she was his carefully crafted tool and he used her for what he saw fit. It wasn't long after that white rose customer came in that Bart went to greet another man.
For a very different reason.
Apparently she was otherwise occupied that night and she felt her heart sink. That disappointed feeling again.
Though. When she got the news of where it was. What she was required to do she took a backpack this time, left Carn at home and was in and out of the desired hotel room in no time. The evidence was planted and she'd left carefully. Callista rubbed at her chest and quickly changed before leaving the room, her black suit tucked into the backpack.
It was her nice dress, it showed off the right about of skin - enough to be modest - and her hair was down, flowing down her back. A requirement to hide the still healing lash marks. Sneaking outside only to reenter the hotel from the front door, hesitantly she made her way to the front desk and smiled politely.
"I.. I was told to ask for Gosselin reservation for two?"
The concern on her face was quickly melted away when the person smiled and lead the way. Callista kept her eyes to the ground while she walked as silently as she always did with her hands tucked behind her back, the white rose in her hand. When they finally stopped, Callista sat down carefully and took a deep breath, still not looking up.
She was late.
At first he thought she clearly wasn't going to show, which would have been fine. He would've understood. Those lashes did nothing to improve her skin. She was such a lovely creature, it was a shame what that foolish man was doing to her. He didn't even know what he had in his hands, to think he'd let it go to such waste.
When she was seated, Rem looked up - wearing now finer clothes than he had been when purchasing flowers in a shop - and had a white rose tucked into his coat collar. He thanked the man and sent him on his way. But her... He laughed, watching her expression. "You're not going to look at your plate all night are you?" he asked.
Callista jerked her head up, making brief eye contact and then... Looked back down at her plate. Slowly she placed the rose on the table and indeed ending up staring down for a few moments longer. Gently licking her lips she kept her hands on her lap, her posture was perfect by necessity, she couldn't press her back to the chair. Slowly she rose her eyes to his face.
Again she looked away and fidgeted.
Being around dead bodies and killing people was one thing.
Having sex with someone she'd met five minutes ago was one thing.
Being in a pretty dress with her hair down out for dinner was a whole different thing. Something that was unfamiliar and she found herself nervous and hesitant. "I... Thank you for the invitation," Again she looked down at her plate but finally lifted her eyes again, focusing on his neck. "Did you... Did you have a nice time away from Arca?"
[This is going to be one awkward dinner.]
Rembrandt was still Jon, and his goatee was getting itchy. He should have shaved it off before dinner and he awkwardly scratched at it. This was going to be a long night if this was all they were going to talk about. He sat forward and held his hand out palm up. "Learned how to read fortunes. Give me your hand," he offered. "Knuckles to my palm. C'mon. I don't bite. Hard anyway."
"A lady, I met in Ketra took my fortune. Said, I would achieve nothing but fame. But to be wary, danger lurks nearby. I asked her how she knew that, and she replied that she can see the spirits of the dead. And they tell her all she knows. I didn't tell her what a load of poppycock that was, but I figured why not give it a try," he said and smiled. "You just...feel along your pulse like that with my thumb. Now let me look into your eyes."
He waited a moment. "That'll require you to look up darling."
[ Yeah =D Callista doesn't know how to people. ]
Reaching across the table, Callista placed her palm into RembrandtJon's hand listened to his story. This small touch felt far more intimate to her than when the'd met, when she'd been completely naked and ready to murder him in the guise of someone else. There was a small smile at the word 'poppycock' and she looked at their hands, refusing to make eye contact.
Until he told her too. Or told her what that would require.
Lavender grey eyes met his and she stared at him for a moment, focusing on his eyes. Callista found herself unable to remember what he really looked like and frowned slightly. Slowly she bit her lip and waited, "Do I have a fortune?" The words were soft and she looked between his eyes and their hands until finally she did as he asked and made eye contact.
It was some long minute, dead panned eye contact.
A few blinks and his eyes changed back to his own, as did the brow. He kept that eye contact, holding her hand gently in his palm and tracing the lines of her palm with his free hand. His index finger just barely touched those lines. "Yes. You have...been in some dark times. Few things make you happy. In fact, it's easier to feel empty inside than it is to try and feel anything. You...have little to call your own, but what you do have you cherish.
"Some people look at you, and see only what they want to see. And you let them. Because it's easier to maintain the illusion. But sometimes it still hurts, but its...an empty pain. Sometimes all you need is someone to talk to. In these times, that's hard to come by. You will...meet a very handsome man, with a certain special talent, that will hold your hand...much like I am doing now, and he'll tell you that nothing is as it at first seems. But, I think you already know that," he said, and as he spoke, his face changed gradually. A blink there, two blinks, and the gray would be gone, and so would the goatee, as if his face had always been that way.
"And he will think you're very pretty, and have much to talk about." He smiled a little and kept her hands gently between his own. "Talk about simple things like...what interests you perhaps? What kind of things do you enjoy eating? And maybe the man will...apologize for being away for so long."
It took her a moment too long to realize he was talking about them and Callista had to resist the urge to jerk her hand away. Resist the urge to call for Carn, though he was so far away. Things were making her chest tight and she moved her free hand to her stomach to press against it while he spoke. Trying her beast to keep her expression neutral, Callista found herself sad when he'd claimed she cherished what she had.
A lingering glance was pressed to the rose and she looked between it and him again, to his eyes. They were green. Callista found herself smiling slightly at him, shifting in her seat to lean in closer. Someone to talk to? Talk about... What.
Why was he being so kind?
Callista slowly glanced around before looking back at her face stealer. Looking down at their hands. Why did he think she was pretty? Slowly her hand went to her face, to trace the scar, then to her neck to trace those ones. Master had done it so no one would want to buy her from him, so he could keep her to himself. Sculpt her into what he wanted her to be. Slowly, she found herself chipping and desperately she tried to put the pieces back where they were supposed to be. They didn't fit anymore.
"I..." Callista stared at him for a moment before frowning, "I... " What interested her? "I really do like flowers," she said lamely, looking concerned, "and... Singing. I also.. Like..." There was a far away look in her eyes for a moment, "Steak?" Yeah, she liked stake. Blue. All red and bloody in the center. A flick back to Rembrandts eyes and she looked at her hand, still between his.
"Why would you have to apologize to me for being away for so long?" Genuinely curious she looked worried, "Do you think I'm going to hurt you for it? I won't. I don't want to hurt you."
"No," he answered without missing a beat. "It's just good manners, dear. An absence without an explanation is kind of ruse to most people. Then I remember we're not most people." He let go of her hand just enough and gestured to a server. "Two steaks please. And leave them with plenty of blood," he said
"I think if you were going to hurt me," he said, returning his eyes to her. "That you probably would have done it already." He smirked. "How...how have you been while I've been gone?"
Still holding her hand.
Callista frowned at it for a moment, the worried look on her face.
They'd also only met twice. Did he forget that?
Was she really that interesting?
Taking a quick breath she looked down and away, at the floor this time instead of her plate. He was correct, if she had plans to hurt him, she would have done so. "How have I been?" She repeated the question like he'd spoken it in a different language.
"I've been normal," Tilting her head, looking at him. "I work in the flower shop for my master, I see to his needs when he requires it of me, I do his bidding as I am told to do." Another curious glance down at their hands and she wanted to pull away, the contact was making her skin tingle in a way that was making her heart speed up and she didn't know why.
Callista swallowed and cast a brief look over her shoulder like she was trying to look at her back. Did she dare tell him of the time she refused his advances? Denied him? It happened anyway, earned her the lashes on her back that were mostly healed now but still in such a tender place. "I've... Been bad. I..." Callista locked eyes with Rembrandt, "I blame you. You make my heart speed up and I thought of you all the time and I looked for you in everyone's face and... " A quick breath and she resisted the urge to look away, "Master didn't like my being distracted."
Rem kept her hand positioned in his palm, but he no longer covered it and she was free to remove it if she so pleased. He tilted his head at her confession. A part of it caught him off guard and another intrigued him. He couldn't help himself. A part of the danger of all of this was thrilling.
"Your master didn't like you thinking of anyone else?" he murmured. "I didn't know. I don't mean to get you into trouble. Let's try to be more careful. That's why I came as someone else, I was sure he wouldn't let you come and help me if he knew it was me. I like you, but I don't want you to get hurt. Why do you think your heart speeds up? Is it the curiosity?"
Callista gave her lips a lick and looked at their hands. Slowly, she pulled it away taking it in her own hand half way bringing it back so she could rub at her knuckles.The lingering tingling feeling. There was a small smile for Rembrandt and she tilted her head before looking down at her plate again, her hands carefully held in her lap.
"You haven't gotten me into any trouble," Callista said softly, "I chose to think of other things and go places I shouldn't." There was a pause and she looked around the room carefully before letting out a careful breath. His question about her heart speeding up had her confused.
"I... Don't know. I'm happy to see you again... " But what she still curious about this man? Yes. The fact he'd come see her again made her curious. So many questions ran through her head and she didn't have the courage to ask any of them, for fear she might not like the answer. "I'm still curious," She looked up at gave a small smile, "I've only ... It's only ever done that when I was afraid," Confusion passed over her features, "Am I afraid of you?"
Rembrandt frowned a little. "I should hope not. That would change the perspective on everything," he chuckled. "Look, if you're truly afraid of me, you're more than welcome to leave. Maybe you're afraid of being caught."
Swiftly Callista's arms were up and she was holding her hands up, "No!" Was said with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. "I like it here. With you." Her hand went back to her chest and she gently rest her palm against the exposed flesh. Getting caught wasn't a concern. He wouldn't kill her. She made him too much money.
"You... You're my friendly shadow..." Her voice was soft and she took a breath, looking to change the topic. "I'm not afraid of you. I just... I don't know why my heart would beat quickly if I'm not afraid? It's unfamiliar." She looked concerned for a moment and placed her hands in her lap, "If I'm not afraid of you then... What am I?"
Rembrandt straightened, grinning and gesturing to a server to give them something to drink over here. Wine would do, this was no occasion for brandy. That would have in private.
"I think you're thrilled by the vitality of living. It excites you. And if it makes you feel good, how could it be so bad? Most people never go through life feeling like their heart is beating out of their chest.. It's a good thing to feel that way, I swear."
The wine was brought out and their glasses were filled. Callista took it and hesitantly brought it to her lips, giving a little sip. It was sweeter than the brandy and she found herself wrinkling her nose and putting the glass back down.
"I don't think I've been excited before," Another smile and she shifted in her seat reaching to take another sip of wine. "I like this, too." There was a pause and she briefly looked to the rose she'd placed on the table, finally noticing the one at his pocket. A genuine smile and she looked at it, pressing her hand to where his flower was on her own chest.
"I never said thank you. R-..." What did she call him? Was it alright to say his name? "Thank you."
He could understand her trepidation and didn't press her on it. The last thing that would completely ruin this moment would be her buckling and running away. He wondered if she often ran away. She didn't seem the type. He smiled at her, glad she could enjoy herself.
"Your master doesn't let you have things to enjoy does he? Well, it's no matter. Tonight you can enjoy yourself to your heart's content. I want you to have a good time. But you're free to so as you please. If you want steak, we'll eat steak. If you want to dance, we'll dance. But please call me Jon. If they think my name ia something else, we might get kicked out. Jon is paying for all this after all."
Dance?
Callista's eyes widened slightly at the idea of dancing.
She could dance.
"Jon," She whispered, looking at him, licking her lips. Callista looked excited, "Can we dance?" Sitting back, practically vibrating. A brief glance down at her plate and she remembered he'd ordered them steak, "After dinner."
He saw that glow in her eyes and he couldn't help his smile. Because for some reason her very excitement caused it to grow in him. He'd never experienced that before, that her own happiness might at all affect his. Rembrandt was not attached to her, not in any way he might explain, but he found himself growing fond of the girl. And he wished only to show her a good time.
"Yes, after dinner," he said and chuckled. When the steaks arrived, they were steaming hot, in fact the juices were still sizzling on them. He grinned at such a meal. Jon did like to live large didn't he? He didn't waste any time digging in, slicing the steak and taking a bite. And just as he expected, it was divine.
He only hoped Callista would find it much the same way. "I don't know what I like better, food or sex. Gah, who am I kidding? Food. I'd be as big as house!"
Another bright smile and she dug in.
Of course she ate like a lady, cutting the food carefully and taking a bite. Chewing silently and carefully, casting a bright look at RembrandtJon every time she looked up. There wasn't much time between her getting the steak and finish it, and while she tried to savor it it was too good and she found herself giving a pleased hum and looking... Normal.
Like she was out to dinner with a friend instead of awkwardly trying to make the night a nice one.
"That was wonderful," A quiet moment passed by, "I like food better," Callista said softly, pushing her plate aside and reaching for the glass of wine to take a sip. "Sex is momentary and unfulfilling, at least food tastes good."
"Sex and food can be pretty great. When done in the right proportions," he said, smirking a little and downing the rest of his glass to wash down the steak. It had been too delicious to leave half eaten, and he stood, walking over to Callista.
Holding out a hand toward her, he bowed. "May I have this dance?"
When he downed his glass of wine, Callista followed suit, swishing the liquid in her mouth to coat her tongue. This was much nicer than brandy, she found. At his claim of sex being as good as food, she wrinkled her nose in distaste, "That's not true." The words were quiet and she went quiet, watching him for a moment.
Was he leaving? Was he done already?
Wh... Oh.
Callista looked at his hand for a moment and hesitantly she reached for his hand, placing hers in his again. "Yes, you may." A small hesitant smile and she took his hand standing up, fluffing her skirt in the process, a moments pause, her thumb brushing over his fingers gently.
"Easy now. Don't get cold feet on me. Nobody's watching. It's just us," he murmured, taking her hand and leading her out ontothat polished dance floor. He moved with such ggrace, practically gliding on that floor as if he were a part of it.
And the dancing hadn't even begun yet. Rembrandt positioned himself before her, one hand carefully at her waist and when the music began, then did he get lost in it.
It was enchanting.
Callista closed her eyes not long after they began dancing and she let the music and the hand at her waist guide her. They didn't draw a crowd but more than a few eyes were on the strange pair. The scarred girl and the strange man who guided her through the moves. Finally she opened her eyes, grinning widely and looking up at Rembrandt, a little out of breath. Flushed from the movement.
A graceful spin and the music ended and Callista found herself pressed against her dance partner, her hand in his, her other hand at his shoulder and she laughed. Grinning up at him, giving helpless pleased laugh. "I like dancing with you."
"I like dancing with you as well," he peered up and saw a few men looking his way, speaking to the man at the door. He stared at them for a time, trying to make out what they were saying by lip alone. It was difficult, but he could have sworn he read the name Jon Gosselin. And he was quite sure those men were no friends of his.
Did it matter that he no longer looked like him? Rem wagered not, he used the man's name, identity and even his clothing. People had heard his name, had seen him enter the building, all signs pointed to him. For once Rem didn't quite feel so confident.
So he looked at Callista and gestured his head out of the dining room. "Let's get out of here. I've had enough of all these people."
Being no fool, Callista followed Rembrandts gaze and she, too, read their lips. For how terribly she was treated as a person, Callista was a very well trained weapon. Those eyes that had been happy a moment before went cold and carefully, she tucked away that little piece of herself that felt the warmth of the dancing.
Get out?
"But..." Callista looked towards their table. At the white rose. That was her rose.
Those people were looking at them and she'd left Carn at home. Tucked in his drawer. Gently, she took his hand in hers and slowly, she led Rembrandt out of the dining room, holding his arm carefully and walking gently and slowly. With the cold look back on her face she tried her best to escort them away, keeping her eyes to the floor. It wouldn't do well to be caught.
"I have had enough of people as well," Her voice was soft and she calmly walked with him out of the dining room, avoiding eye contact. "Where do you suggest we go?"
Rembrandt was glad she didn't beg to stay. Not that he expected she would, she had proven herself to be trustworthy, if anyone had ever been in his lifetime. Rem walked out as casually as he could, keeping close to Callista as if she the jewel of his drunken eye.
Keeping her arm tucked inside his, Rem kept walking until they reached the stairs. "Up to my room," he said. "We'll make a hasty exit. But not out the door, they can't see us leave. On my balcony, there's some side work to shimmy down from."
The backpack.
Callista's head shot up and she looked back to their table.
There was no time for that. Maybe she could come back and get it later. With Carn. Licking her lips she followed Rembrandt carefully, moving to rest her head against his arm, so that she would look like she was tired. Perhaps feeling sick, and their hasty retreat wouldn't seem suspicious. Except they'd been stopped by the person who'd been serving them.
"Is everything alright?" Worry was on the servers face and Callista pressed her free hand to her lower stomach, wincing slightly but smiling all the same.
"I'm afraid the baby didn't approve of our dancing. We're just going up to our room to rest," Callista lied smoothly, brightening her face so that it glowed with the prospect of mother hood. The server's face cleared up and he gave them a small smile a nod and he went on his way. Callista dropped her hand and the glow disappeared, taking her skirts in her hand so she didn't trip on the way up, she cast a look towards Rembrandt and followed him to his room.
"I've never shimmy'd in a dress before," She frowned down at it, plucking at the skirts.
That was a close one. And he was thankful for Callista's quick thinking. And the server didn't seem to question it further. Whatever gear she had left behind at the table would hopefully be collected by the hotel staff. Rembrandt however had remained unaware of whatever else she had taken with her. And once in the room, he was sure to lock the door tight. Even moving a dresser in front of it.
"Don't worry, if you'd like, you can throw on some of Jon's trousers. Dresses really are impractical."
They were, but Rembrandt had said she was pretty and Callista found herself unwilling to put on another mans pants. For the first time, in a long time, Callista liked being pretty and she shook her head, watching him push the dresser in front of it. "I wore it for you," She plucked at the dress again - a pretty blue thing - and let out a careful breath.
Sneaking out of windows was more her element. After a moment she made her way to the balacony and leaned against the railings, looking down. They weren't too far off the ground, maybe sprain an ankle or break a leg at worst if one was to lose their footing. After estimating how much shimmying was to be done, Callista threw her leg over the railing and held tight, looking at the door when a knock echo'd through the room.
The thrill of getting caught.
She shot a wide smile to Rembrandt and moved to the side of the balcony, calm, collected, waiting for him to join her on the balcony before she made her way down the building.
He wasn't going to take anymore time trying to prevent them coming in, these men that clearly jad murderous intent. He quickly ran after Callista and threw his over the railing, holding on tightly. He admired her dress for a moment and shot her a grin. "For shimmying, darling, impractical for shimmying," he corrected, kissing her cheek briefly before climbing down.
It was not a far drop, and being a little taller than her, he was closer to the ground and dropped easily. He peered up at her, prepared to catch her. But he was quite sure she could land well on her own.
The kiss caught her off guard and she found herself smiling after it. That was nice. Another knock at the door and she watched Rembrandt drop down to the ground and she, too, carefully hung off the balcony. A little kick of her feet and she dropped down, landing in her shadow's open arms. Quickly she fixed her skirts and took his hand, pulling it under her arm before she guided him to the nearest darkest area.
"Did you kill that face, too?" Her voice was husky and low, her hand moving up to press against his cheek and draw her thumb along his lower lip. Callista had found that her favorite face of his was when he'd lost the other one. It was something about his eyes. They were... Nice.
A quirk of his brows, and he smirked. He tilted his head. "I'm quite sure he didn't survive. Not that anyone would miss him. You've seen the crowd he runs with." He chuckled and took her hand tightly in his and pulled them out onto the side of the street. It might be a good idea to dispose of Mr. Jon Gosselin, from where he lingered down in the lower levels of an abandoned warehouse.
It was quite a trek, and he was sweating by the end of it, and found the space in the door broken and boarded window where he got in. He slipped a bit in the dark, and lifted the dampened lantern that he'd used previously. It didn't give much light, but it was enough to lead them down the scaffolding that led down to the lower levels.
Callista tilted her head while she examined Rembrandt.
Would anyone miss him?
Besides her.
She already knew no one would miss her.
Quietly, Callista followed her shadow and was mostly confused. There was little that got her exhausted and by the time they got to where they were going, she was flushed and breathing a little heavier than normal. Still, moving around like this was normal, though there was a stinging at her back and she found herself touching her back, her fingers coming back red. At least that explained why her back felt so wet, it wasn't just sweat, it was blood, too.
A quiet sigh and she wiped the blood off on the nearest surface and continued on. "Why go through all the trouble of coming back here to dump a body? Wouldn't ... this be considered dumped?" Confused and for the first time a little hesitant, though he'd already told her he couldn't steal her face, part of her was worried.
"Technically, yes. But making a body more difficult to find would be better, yes? So, burying him deep and far would be the ideal solution. Anyone can stumble on an abandoned building," he said, finally climbing down to the level he needed. He set the lantern down and climbed over a pile of rubble he had thown the the body over. Or so he thought. Rembrandt paused.
"This isn't right," he said. The body was gone! And a trail of blood had streamed elsewhere. He felt his gut grow cold and he scrambled over the rubbled toward the trail. He snarled, seeing something move from the corner of his eyes. The crumbled still bleeding form turned abruptly, swinging a piece of wood toward him.
He couldn't speak, couldn't even see because his face had been slashed beyond recognition. Rembrandt stood back for a minute, narrowly dodging the blind swing. And he scowled. He was supposed to be dead!
Callista went cold and alert when Rembrandt proclaimed something 'wasn't right'.
Everything about her changed. Her posture. The way she held her face. What had been expressive turned into a cold mask and she watched for a horrifying moment as a dead man swung a piece of wood at her shadow.
It was at that moment that Callista learned she was very possessive. For the few things she got to keep, she cherished. It wasn't the horror of the kill - Callista already knew Rembrandt murdered. Already knew he would slash up their faces. The memory of Carn laughing hysterically at his messy kill had her lift an eyebrow and before she realized it she had moved to the man.
If Rembrandt didn't like to kill, if he just let his victims bleed out to die, Callista would do it for him. A long look at him as she silently made her way around the man, careful silent steps, out of reach. It was quick as a whip that she was behind the taller man, grabbing his shoulders and yanking him down backwards. It was easy subduing an already weak man and the snap of his neck was audible.
Callista held his crumpled form in her arms, the blood from his face dripping down her forearms onto her hands and she just stared at his mess of a face before looking up at Rembrandt and gently laying the body down. "Are you okay?"
[Lucky man Callista got to him and not Rem. He totally was going to stomp on his face.]
Rembrandt was just about to step forward when Callista took the lead and he peered at her for a moment, breathless. When his lungs hurt, only then did he shake himself out of it and inhaled deeply, the air here tasting of blood and dust. And he stared down at the dead body, eyebrows knitting together until he moved over to stomp on the head, just enough to make sure the job was done.
Not that he had any doubt about Callista's ability.
He nodded to her. "I'm okay. Thanks," he huffed a little and made quick work of his clothes. He took out the rose and handed it to her. "For safe keeping. I don't want to smash it while burying this finely diced gentleman." He grinned and turned back to the body, dragging it back to where it originally was and throwing rubble all over it. He had neglected to bury it before. And he decided then that burying a corpse would be best before leaving it unattended. Can't have crawlers ...well, crawling around now could he?
Once he was finished he was a filthy, sweaty mess and took off that dreadfully hot jacket and gestured to her. "Once more, we must vacate the premises. Time to be myself again. But at least I've got decent company. That being you," he said, smiling.
[So violent.]
Gently she took the rose and held it cupped between her palms, gazing down at it fondly while Rembrandt went about covering the body. It was all very odd to her, this style of killing. Never before had she killed for selfish reasons and Callista watched her shadow bury the first and - probably - last one. Still gently holding the rose, she stood stalk still and watched, glad that most of her jobs were 'leave the body looking like he fell down dead.'
Though her punishments were much more dire if she failed.
Though not more dire if he got caught.
Callista reached behind herself again to check the lashes at her back, sightly softly when she felt the pucker of an open wound. Still wet. Looking up when Rembrandt spoke Callista gave him a gently smile and brushed her bloody finger tips along the rose petals. She'd been careful to keep it clean of that strange mans blood, but now her blood was all over it and it was worse if anything.
"I like it when you're... You," Callista looked at his eyes again and held out the hand that wasn't cradling the rose, "Do you ever go onto the rooftops?" Her voice was soft and she looked up, as if trying to see the sky, "You can see... Everything."
Rembrandt noted the blood on her finger, and then now on the rose and his eyes widened. He shifted closer to her, taking her hand in his. For the moment he ignored her question, taking the lantern to ignite the back of her flesh and he audibly seethed through his teeth. "Gods, why didn't you tell me your back was torn up!" he hissed. "Here, this will slow the bleeding."
At least just a bit. He turned the coat around her shoulders, binding it around her middle, just under her breasts. "Well get those fixed up, darling. You're a mess. And we can't have that," he said, smirking a little and cupping her cheek. "No more bodies or messy business. Let's go see stars."
[Stargazers *nudges and snorts*]
[Go be stargazers. ; D eh eh eh?]
Callista stared at him, confused. "I didn't know you wanted me to," she said softly, "They only opened after the shimmying, I'm sorry." The apology was hollow and she frowned when he pulled the coat over her. If anything that would just make the blood smear more but Callista said nothing and let him help her, pressing her hands against the coat at the front she closed her eyes briefly and pressed her cheek to his hand. A soft sigh and she smiled.
"It was all your messy business," She teased, taking his hand into hers and leading him up. It was a trek, one she wasn't used to doing but finally, they were on the roof and Callista rose her arms to the sky and sighed.
Finally, Callista began to hum.
The lullaby that Carn had taught her, the one he'd said was from fell and to the lullaby, Callista danced. A slow set of moments and twirls, her arms posed just so. Suddenly she stopped, remember that she wasn't alone. "Carn taught me a lullaby. He said it was from fell," A few steps towards Rembrandt and she held out her hands for him to take, the rose he'd handed to her tucked between her breasts and top. "He said it soothed the nerves but you had to sing it to the moon."
Rembrandt didn't want to be in his stinky smelly messy clothes. He wanted to get back to his real room. The one in his own name and get cleaned, and clean her up as well. He paused because really she'd gotten into his mess, and she didn't seem to mind. Well, this was good. He didn't like to hear complaints over trivial things.
"A song from Fell?" he asked, curious and he took her hand. One then the other. "Something from such an ancient time. Did Carn say how he knows such a lullaby?" Rem's eyes flickered between the rose and she, such an odd juxtaposition.
"No. Carn doesn't really talk," She said simply, smiling again and looking at the sky, then she paused. "At least not to me," A far away look in her eyes and she ducked her head down for a moment, looking past him, looking down at herself and then at him. Callista turned to look up at the sky and sighed, having always enjoyed looking at the moon. Like the lullaby from Fell was supposed to, she'd always found herself drawn to it's quiet light.
"Do you have anything of your own?" she finally asked, turning back to Rembrandt, "Or do you just use the things that belong to other peoples faces?" Genuinely she was curious, there was no accusation in her voice. Even if he did only use what he stole, it was still more than she dared ever dream of having.
"I think a lot of people don't know how to appreciate the things they have. They see a picture frame and a portrait and they pass by them as if they're part of the wallpaper, nothing more than an object to put on a mantle." He grew quiet for a moment, expression solemn. "I want to appreciatet the things other people take for granted. The things they don't deserve. To see what they see. And...try to understand."
Rembrandt turned his gaze up to the stars and then back to her. "Why do you like my face so much? Just out of curiosity."
Things they don't deserve.
Callista looked down at the rose she'd tucked away. Things that other people take for granted. Again, her heart sped up and she looked down at their hands, her thumbs brushing over what flesh of his she could. There was a few moments of silence after he'd asked his question. Callista was too busy trying to think of something she took for granted.
What did that even mean?
"It's..." Callista looked up at him, tilting her head, "You're..." There was a moment and she looked away, "Like me." Gently she removed her hands from his, plucking the bloodstained rose from her bodice and held it gently in her cupped palms as if presenting something precious to him. "You're a shadow. It's not your face I like, its just... Your face is my favourite of the ones you wear." Looking up at him she smiled, "I'm glad you were Hendrick that night. I'm happy I know you now."
How strange. It struck him as odd that she would compliment his face. He'd never had anyone simply know him as...him. It was his turn to feel funny and he noted the attention she gave to his hands. He brought one up to his lips and kissed the top of her hand, eyes flickering back to her.
"Thank you," he said, his words solemn and genuine. "I've never had anyone know me. Or see me. But it doesn't feel so bad. I mean, not when you say it. I like when you say it." Another kiss, this time to her wrist, and he could feel her pulse there. Peering back at her, "Will you show me how to hum that lullaby?"
The kiss on her hand made her breath catch and Callista closed her eyes briefly. She watched him press his lips to her wrist and she knew he'd feel her pulse. Feel it pick up speed while he guided her down unfamiliar territory. "I can only teach you when you're sleepy," Callista whispered smiling, "and when my back isn't itchy, I don't want to ruin your coat."
Looking down at herself, the coat he's used to press against the open cuts at her back. One last brief look at the stars and she turned towards Rembrandt. "May I walk you home?"
"It's Jon's coat anyway," he grinned, but he soon nodded. Putting his arm in hers, he led the way down from the roof, back the way they came and looking out to see if the coast was clear. No sign of those cronies. He gave a soft laugh and they started down the road.
He was finally tired enough to actually want to lie in a bed of his own. He had enough money of his own to live comfortably, but it never hurt to have a little something extra. Rembrandt returned to the inn he was staying at, climbing up through the window because going in the front door would ask too many questions in the condition they were in. Slowly, he kept the window slightly open and lit the lamp.
"It's no hotel, but it will do, I suppose," he sighed.
The walk was easy and Callista found herself surprised when they ended up somewhere completely different. A curious look around and Callista foun herself smiling at the entry through a window of all things. Without invitation she followed Rembrant, and looked around.
Quietly she closed the window behind her, making sure it was closed and secure before she went about untying the coat around her waist. A roll of her shoulders, a sigh and the coat was on the floor. Callista's hands went to the ties of her bodice automatically, working at the knots while she tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. "You make me curious," she said idly, the one sides ties undone. The white rose she had was placed gently on the window sill.
A quick nibble of her lips while she went to the other side, "thank you for dinner, Rembrandt." A moment to look away and she found the colour rising on her cheeks, "and the dance."
Rembrandt sat on a chest at the edge of the bed, and he made quick work of Jon's clothes. He didn't want to keep them anymore than Callista didn't want to ruin them. Thankfully there was a handy fireplace for that, and none of his fashions would be missed. Because, really, Jon Gosselin had some god-awful taste.
Rem threw his own shirt and trousers back on, taking the ruined garments to the fire place, the bloody coat as well and throwing it onto the logs. He lit the kindling, letting the flames take the garments until they started to smolder. The boots too. Damn shame. Maybe the only nice thing Jon had. Too bad they had to go.
"You're welcome, friend. But, I can't have you falling apart. We ought to clean those lashes on your back," he said, looking at her from over his shoulder. He stood, visibly wincing as he examined them, and poked the tender flesh around the wounds. "I think I have something to help clean it up. It might sting though, so steel yourself."
And he pulled some of that brandy he favored so much and dampened a handkerchief with it, and carefully dabbed it on the edge of one of the open lashes.
With interest she watched her shadow change and burn the clothing. So much work to destroy evidence... For what? Callista couldn't understand. Probably didn't want to. The motives to kill were different. Her's because she was told to. His because it simply seemed to be part of his nature. Curious to want to do such a thing.
"Falling apart?" Tilting her head ever so slightly, Callista blinked owlishly and felt him poke at the opened wounds. The pain felt different. It wasn't being used as a tool to punish her - she had numbed herself to that long ago. It wasn't until he'd pressed a cloth to her back that held her breath and went tense. Concern drawing at her features and she dipped her head forward, making sure her hair was clear of her back.
Slowly she pulled her arms from the top of her dress and pushed it down to expose more of her back until her torso was naked and the dress was bunched at her hips. The wounds were only open in a few places but where they had open, the blood was crusty and caked against her skin. "When are you leaving again?" The words sounded far away, even to her, and small, a question she figured she already knew the answer to.
"I don't know," he murmured. "I didn't think how long I'd stay this time. I think maybe a while until things simmer down. The Company is rehearsing a new production of Aribella. I have to play Jous, Aribella's lover and confidant. You should come. I'll see if I can give you a ticket."
He moved to sit on the bed once her back was clean and smiled. "All better now. I'd patch you up, but your master might simply tear you open again. He doesn't appreciate what he has. He seems very, flighty to me."
Callista followed Rembrandt to the bed and sat beside him. The dress still to her waist to let the wounds dry. "I've been with him since before I remember," she provided the information unprompted, "I didn't know my place. I fought." Her hand pressed against her cheek and cast her shadow a moments glance, "there is nothing to appreciate. He can make another of me by buying someone else. I am expendable. The only thing I am worth is the time he put into me." Callista didn't look heart broken or emotion, just like she was stating facts.
"What's a lover?" She finally questioned, tilting her head, "and a confidant? Are they good things or bad things."
Rembrandt hadn't expected that explanation to come out so matter-of-factly. She was cold, no passion at all. Not eve. Hate, and he could only imagine anyone would at least feel hate for another that felt like they owned them. He'd never been anyone's slave, and had no immediate plans for that to change.
He tried not to think of it further, but a part of it bothered him. He glanced at her, the flickering flames of the fireplace reflecting in his eyes.
"A lover is...someone you make love to, have sex with I mean and care very deeply for. It is typically a good thing. To have someone you love, and want to give your heart to in a way that you don't with anyone else. A confidant is someone you can talk to, share your feelings with, your deepest secrets."
Perhaps if Callista had memories of being more than an object she would have resisted longer. Being abused and broken had left her guarded and closed off. It was easy to be told what to do, told what to be, than it was to fight back and convince herself she was still a person on the inside. Still, the small interactions with her shadow had chipped at the carefully sculpted person she'd been made to be.
It was safer to not be.
Though, now, little cravings of it gnawed at her. Callista wanted to dance again.
"Those sound like nice things to have," Callista shifted and she paused for a moment, standing up and going to stand in front of the fireplace, shifting her dress to pull up the front and fasten the ties at the sides. "You know my deepest secrets," She said after a moment, not that she had any deep secrets, just a secret life. "Are you my confidant?" She looked over her shoulder at him and gave him a brief lopsided smile, "Can I be yours?"
Rembrandt stood, following her to the fireplace. He grinned gently, an easy action that seemed to come only in her presence. Something about her put him at ease. He felt comfortable around her and with her. Placing an arm on her shoulders, he stepped in closer to her. "I think we became confidants without even realizing it."
Looking briefly at his arm around her, Callista found herself drawn to his warmth, wrapping an arm around his middle and resting her head against him. "I suppose though, now we've realized it," A smile and she pressed closer, eyes closed for a moment before she reached up and took his chin, guiding it down towards her. A hesitant uncertain look on her face and she searched his eyes for something. Callista didn't know what.
"May I kiss you?"
He peered down at her, searching her lips. Then back up to her eyes. He leaned in a little closer to her. "You may," came the answer, and his hands held her face.
[ His arms held her face. I am... Imagining some hilarity. Just... some elbows on her cheeks. I'll pretend them's his hands]
For the first time she can remember, Callista felt nervous. Hesitant. Still, when he gave her permission she smiled a little and leaned up, pressing a lingering kiss against his lips. Chaste. Simple. It was quick and hesitant and Callista leaned back, a pleased smile on her face. Then she pressed her lips to his in a second stolen kiss and leaned back and grinned. "That's the first time I've ever wanted to kiss someone," She confessed looking at the fire briefly, "It's nicer when I want to."
[Yes, I totally meant hands. Not arms. Whoops 8D]
Rembrandt didn't know what he expected. But that chaste kiss left a tingling on his lips and he reached fingers up to touch it. A smile touched his lips, just enough to be visible and he leaned in to kiss her again, this time at the corner of her mouth and let his mouth linger just a moment longer. "If I kiss you back," he whispered, letting his lips stay beside hers, "would you still want to?"
Callista smiled widely and laughed, giving him a surprised look. "I think I would," She replied softly, pressing herself closer. The mechanics were familiar to her, they were easy to do. Step one, kiss. Step two, undress. Step three, have sex. Step four, kill them. This was different though, there were feelings here and Callista found herself unsure of what to do.
Her hands roamed his chest, moving from his shoulders down to his waist, back up to his shoulders, down to his elbows. Finally, her hands rested at his waist, her fingers gentle and her grip loose. "I think I'd like it a lot if you kissed me back."
"Different kisses, or just chaste ones?" he asked, smiling so much his cheeks started to hurt. He leaned in, cupping her face in his HANDS and tilted his head, enough to kiss her deeply. His lips prodded hers apart, coaxing them until he could taste the confines of her mouth.
She still tasted of wine and the blood of steak and it made him move his hands down from her face to her own waist, pulling her up against him.
Different kisses?
Callista was confused for a moment, frowning at him before he kissed her. Easily she fell into the mechanics of the kiss, pressing herself against him, brushing her tongue against his. Still, there was a tingling in her belly. Maybe it was the curiosity. About him. About the kiss. What was it like to want more?
Wanting was unfamiliar and before long she found herself pressing against his lips with vigor, little noises escaped her mouth and she closed her eyes, wrapping her arms up around his shoulders. Up on her tiptoes so he wouldn't have to bend as far. Finally she pulled away, flushed, her mouth open slightly. "Was that a different one?" Callista whispered against his lips, eyes still closed, cheeks flushed.
The most telling part was the slight smile on her lips when she opened her eyes finally.
Rembrandt felt those flush cheeks, and his grin only turned curious. He was flushed himself, pulling away just enough to search her eyes. "Almost," he murmured, wondering if she'd ever had any other kinds of kisses. Now that killing wasn't involved between them - or so he hoped. Nothing killed the mood faster than killing.
He chuckled a little.
"Maybe you wouldn't mind getting kisses elsewhere," he murmured and let his hands work gently but deftly at the ties along her dress. When it was loose enough, he let it pool to the ground around her feet and his hands carefully lifted her from the ground to and carried her to the bed. He sat her down, kneeling before her and splaying hands out along her thighs.
"If you don't like it, just pull my hair, and I'll stop," he said and gave her a small smile before kissing along her lower belly, dragging his mouth down between her legs, pushing any obstacles out of the way, and tasting her.
"Almost?" Callista repeated, confused.
Those were kisses.
What other kinds of kisses were there?
Quietly curious she let him untie her dress. Where was else where? Again that racing pulse when finally she was naked and he carried her to the bed. Callista felt precious then, it made her feel weird and tingly and she rest her hands on her chest while she watched Rembrandt kneel and move her legs.
"Pull your hair?" Confusion laced her voice and she rose up on her elbows, frowning slightly. What was going on? The kisses on her belly had her smiling in amusement - those were indeed kisses elsewhere- but when he went lower a jolt went through her system and her legs closed around his head and her head tipped back with a startled moan.
Fingers clutched at the blanket and she just rose her head to stare at him. Licking her lips Callista flopped onto her back and pressed her hands to her face, flushed, confused. That felt... Slightly arching away from the unfamiliar feeling for a moment she opened her legs to not squeeze poor Rembrandt's head anymore than she meant to. A startled moan and Callista squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't understand," She whimpered, worry and confusion on her face, shifting her hips closer to his mouth simply because, "Oh... I've never... I've never felt... Rem, What are you doing." Another gasp and she pressed her hands to her face to cover it.
Her legs cramped around his head like a steel trap and for once Rem was very aware of the possibility of her snapping his neck like it was nothing. He stopped for the moment, but there was nothing he could do to tear his head from her thighs. His voice was muffled and he grabbed her legs in momentary desperation.
He pulled his head up, but only when she freed him at last. "I'm sorry! Was that too much? I was just experimenting. I-I didn't mean to startle you." Rembrandt hated himself for how flustered he was getting. He didn't get flustered.
"It's...it's, well the same thing you were going to do to me when we first me, except I'm, doing it to you. Sort of," he replied, looking up at her from between her legs still. Hesitant to continue. However, it was hesitance that lasted just a moment before he braved the waters again and gave and experimental taste. However, his head came back up, watching her face, and ready to spring in case she tried to break his neck again.
When he spoke she dropped her hands from her face and rose again on her elbows to look down at him, flushed. Callista looked worried at him, concern on her face. "I..." She went silent, "I don't have words." She didn't. There were no words. There were only sparks and lights in her head and she looked at his mouth for a moment, looked at his hands.
Another startled gasp and she clutched the blankets though the way he came back up and she watched him. Flushed as she was, naked as a jaybird. Callista wasn't used to being embarrassed or feeling shame. Still, at this moment, the look on his face. "I didn't..." She sat up, reaching her hands to touch at his ears to lightly brush along the edges, tuck his hair aside. Gently she chewed on her lip and moved her arms to cover her breasts.
"I ... Do you think I'll hurt you?" And like the words she spoke, the hurt in her voice was obvious while she sat there feeling strangely vulnerable and for the first time in a long time, as naked as she was. Her head dropped down for a moment, staring down and away from him, "I'll ... Understand. I..." A few shallow breaths, "I've... I haven't..." She looked at him, his mouth and then away turning several shades of red.
Still her arms covered her chest and she slowly shifted away from him. "You don't have to do this, not if you're afraid I'll hurt you." A moments pause and she tried to smile at him, "You're not who I was after, remember?"
Rembrandt crawled back over her. "No, no," he said, putting a hand on her elbow in reassurance. "It was a knee-jerk reaction. I get it." There it was again, that smile. "No hesitation this time, I swear." He leaned in to kiss her cheek, before heading back down again, careful not to give too much, but not hesitate between strokes of his tongue against her. Rembrandt relaxed into it, resting her thighs on his shoulders.
Moments later he emerged for air and chuckled, leaning his head against her hips and peering at her. "You're beet red."
Why was he reassuring her?
Callista stared down at him, making a point of not slamming her legs shut around his head. It would hurt him. She didn't want to hurt him. Her fingers brushed over the top of his head before she moved them to her thighs, reminding herself to still not close them. Small whimpering gasps, a quiet moan. There was nothing dark following this. Callista looked down at Rembrandt when he rested his head against her and she was indeed beet red.
Fingers trembling, she reached for his face as she sat up. With perhaps a bit too much gusto she pulled him above her by the shoulders. Carefully moving her legs to wrap around his waist she looked up at him, pulling him down for a deep kiss, tasting herself on his lips. Still as red as ever, a thing she hadn't been that first night. Tonight Callista was unsure of herself, the mechanics were unknown to her. There was blushing and hesitation as she reached up to tuck his hair away, noting that he was wearing clothes still.
"Before, you said make love..." Hesitant to ask the question, Callista closed her eyes and shifted her weight, letting go of his middle with her legs, "Is that... Different? Does it feel good like what you were doing before? I'm... I'm not used to anything feeling good." A pause and she finished meekly, like it was a secret, "I liked it."
He held himself above her, smirking a little triumphantly. He wasn't afraid she would hurt him, he was merely careful. He kissed her with vigor, deeply and wholly until she broke it. Eyelids hung low, peering at her just barely. "Making love...It's supposed to feel good, yes. Sex, but with someone you care about. Someone you actually want to share your body with. And not just you, but they. They have to want to share their body too. I know I do."
He tilted his head, curious that she should feel shy about admitting to liking something. Kissing her cheek, he tugged at the fasteners of his shirt and pulled it off of him. "Do what you feel. No need to be shy. If it doesn't feel right or good to you, don't do it. I trust you. Whatever you decide."
Callista felt her heart skip a beat and she watched as he removed his shirt. No need to be shy. Do what she felt. If it doesn't feel right or good, don't do it. Hesitantly she placed her hand on his chest, and she drew it down, her fingers trailing along his body. Nothing was unfamiliar to her, she'd seen him before and while it was different it wasn't strange. The situation of being allowed to want was strange.
Finally, her fingers rested at his hips, lightly brushing along the front of his pants before she drew them back up to catch his face and bring him down for another lingering kiss. By now, she'd be pretending to enjoy herself, wanting to get it over with so she could go home. It was odd, wanting to go slow and linger at places. Callista found she could probably spend an eternity exploring and discovering things, it seemed so new.
Beautiful in a way.
With perhaps a bit too much force, she urged Rembrandt onto his back on the bed, crouching over him she bit at his lip and trailed kisses down his body, stopping above the fastening of his pants. A kiss was pressed to the fabric and she watched him while she opened his pants, pushing them down his thighs, pressing her hand over his member and giving it a few gentle strokes. Gently she kissed it, a broad lick from base to tip before she went pale and sat back on her heels beside him.
"I..." Swallowing she looked away, ducking her head down before she got off the bed and sat on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs while she stared at the fireplace. "I don't know how to make love," Callista's voice was small and she ducked her head down, why were her eyes burning? "I'm nothing. I'm nobody." A watery sigh and she found her cheeks wet with tears, "I don't deserve to do something beautiful like that."
Discovery was great when both parties were mutually happy. And where this was going, Rem was clearly happy. He might've blushed if he was the blushing type as he watched her pull his trousers open and then...
Stop.
He sat up on his elbows, turning to her. His eyes searched her features, just looking for that enthusiasm, the kind she had when dancing. And his hand stroked her face. "Your name is Callista. Nothings don't have names. Maybe we're shadows but we have names." He held his hand out, palm up. "Why don't you try reading my fortune? I did yours, now you do mine."
Read his...?
Callista looked down at his palm. Gently she took it between her own, fingers just barely tracing the lines. What had she learned about him? He could read her so easily, but why drew one shadow to another? Her thumb brushed against his wrist, moving up to the palm. "You've been alone for a very long time, surrounded by people but... Alone. You're just a shadow to some. A passing face no one can quite recall." Callista swallowed, staring at his hand.
"You'll meet someone who's just a shadow too." Callista stopped looking at his hand to bring it up and place it against her collar, against her heartbeat. Both her hands pressed his there, "and if you're not careful you'll lose yourself to the disguises just as she had already." Slowly she dragged his hand up to her cheek, her eyes closed. "But you'll have more in common than you think. You'll be each others confidants and maybe..." The word 'lover' hung heavy in the air but remained unspoken.
"Can you be lonely if you're lonely together?"
"I think if you like the company of those you're surrounded by, you can't ever be lonely. Do I make you feel lonely." He leaned his head against her temple. "I don't feel lonely around you."
Callista wrapped her arms around Rembrandts shoulders and pressed their foreheads together. "I don't feel anything. But you make me smile and I liked when we were dancing," Callista kissed him after a moment and pulled away. "Can I stay here? With you?"
Rembrandt gave a gentle sigh. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed at her neck, nibbling on her flesh. "Please stay," he whispered into her ear. "We don't have to make love. I just like touching you, feeling you." He turned back to face her. "You're always welcome to be in my company. I say that to...so few people. Because you are right...I am lonely."
Callista pulled him down with her, to lay on the bed. Eyes closed, she'd moved herself so his head would rest on her chest and she could loop an arm to stroke he fingers through his hair. Curious. "Why do you isolate yourself?" Callista whispered to the ceiling, closing her eyes. "Is it in your nature to pretend? Or do you simply feel more safe when you aren't yourself?" Her hand rested at his jaw, fingers trailing down his neck. Finally she managed to choke out the question that had been lingering, since they'd dance.
"Why me? I can kill you."
That cradling move caught him off guard and he immediately stiffened, until she ran her fingers through his hair. The questions, they were prodding and he felt like his skin was being peeled back. He didn't know how to answer them, nor even the words to say if he did. Because nobody ever asked him that before.
"I...I guess...I figure I always could, so why shouldn't I. Nobody ever...bothered before," he murmured. But it didn't answer why he should. Or why he did. He nestled his head in against her chest, sighing gently as if she were a pillow. Until she posed her final question.
He turned his head up to look at her. "I think I would ask, would you? Would you kill me?"
Would she kill him?
Callista continued to run her fingers through his hair, staying silent for a while. Would she? For a moment, she imagined a situation. What if Rembrandt was the hit? What if she'd had to seduce him. Suffocate him. Pose it so it looked natural? Slowly she shuffled down so she was eye level with him, took her fingers and gently traced his features.
"No. I'd rather kill myself."
It was the truth and she pressed her lips to his, throwing a leg over his waist and closed her eyes. Gently she moved so she was straddling his hips and looking down at him, taking his hands and placing them on her waist. "I'm not tired yet," Callista said softly, giving her hips a wiggle against his own, "Are you?" Something familiar. Emotions weren't familiar. This was.
Rembrandt had posed the question in both challenge and curiosity, and he wasn't sure which one was stronger. If it came down to it, would he kill her, was what he wondered most. She was beautiful to him and the questions she asked peeled at his skin in a way that was both irritating and exhilarating. She too made him curious, to see what else she might make him feel.
He laid out on his back, as she turned to straddle him. "I'm not tired," he said, voice barely above a whisper. He stared back into her eyes before quickly rising up against her and kissing her. It was slow at first, swiftly turning hungered, and he bit at her lips. "Just kiss me," he whispered. "And see where it goes from there."
Yes, this was easier than feeling. A physical fall back they both could level on.
See where it goes.
It was almost violent, the way she pressed herself against him. The force in which she kissed him, the way her fingers dug into his hair and held him to her. Callista kissed him like she was starving for air, nibbling at his lips before she kissed her way down his throat to bite at his shoulder and lean back to smile. Her hands moving between them, she made to push his pants off the rest of the way freeing him into her hot palm.
"We both know where it's going to go," Callista teased, mirth in her eyes while she smiled at him. Tonight. Callista would have tonight. Worry about tomorrow when that happened. "I want you," she whispered, looking down at him, kneeling above him. Ready. Waiting.
Still, she didn't take what wasn't being offered.
Not when it's happened to her more times than she'd care to count. Hesitant, Callista pushed her fingers into his hair and gave Rembrandt another lingering kiss and whispered against his lips, her eyes closed and her forehead pressed to his, "May I have you?"
There was no longer any hesitation. Every kiss, even the bites drove him crazy. He couldn't remember how long it'd been since he had sex because he really really wanted it, and not simply because it was all apart of the games that he played, the lives he lived. Whatever partners they had, became his. It was all apart of the illusion.
But his was no illusion, however. Every touch was real. Every stroke so palpable. More skin being peeled back. He gasped a little when at last his legs were free of his trousers. Rem chuckled. Of course he knew where this was going. She could definitely tease, and tease well if she wanted to.
"Have me?" he murmured, nipping at her lips. He answered by prodding her entrance with the tip of his member, coaxing her body slowly down on top of him. "This seat is just for you. Okay, I know. Bad flirting. I don't usually do it as myself," he chuckled. A soft gasp upon entry, but it didn't take long for him to start moving.
Callista laughed.
It was a strange balm on her broken shadow to hear him flirt badly. Such an odd thing to remind her where she was, what she was doing. Whom she was choosing to do it with. For once she was lost in the niceness of it. There was no wanting to hurry it along so she could go home. The feel of him under her, inside her, had her gasping and writhing and taking biting kisses away from his lips. It felt different than that night, it wasn't a mechanical reaction, she found herself biting her lip and trembling above him. Around him.
Her dark hair was a curtain around her face while she rode her pleasure above him, stopping occasionally to kiss and bite. Callista's hands ran up and down her body, up and down his torso, squeezing at his hands, pressing them to her breasts. Beside herself. There was no goal here than to simply... Be. Each roll of her hips, each hushed moan, her head tipping back before she grabbed for his hand to press it against her chest. So he could feel the way her heart pounding.
She had no words to convey what she was feeling. It was different. A few rolls of her hips and she looked down at him, panting softly, her hair flung over her shoulder, the scars on her neck on full display. "I want you above me, Rem," Callista whispered, still moving her hips, their bodies flush together, eyes half closed, "I want to look at you when you finish. You have beautiful eyes," She whimpered, tightening her grip on his hand as she stopped movement and calmed herself down. It was always a peak, a wave of emotions she wasn't prepared to experience.
He could though, and she sought to at least give him that as himself instead of one of his disguises.
It was remarkably hushed. None of the usual cries or screams that came with bedding. And he was surprised at the fact that he didn't. There was something normal about it that was warm, inviting and he moved with her steadily, focusing on each palpable sensation, trying to make every moment last.
When she spoke again, he opened his eyes, staring at her. She wanted to see his eyes. In that moment he averted them, suddenly fearful. Why did she want to see his eyes? He didn't have beautiful eyes. They were ordinary, like everyone else's. She could see beautiful eyes anywhere else but his. But it wasn't a question she posed. It was a request, and his gaze flickered back to her, slowly turning her over and holding himself over her.
He didn't know if he could meet her gaze. But as he moved within her, without her, his arms cradling underneath her shoulder blades, holding her to him tightly as if their bodies might meld into one. His heart was pounding in his chest, in his ears, in the blood that burned through him. He fell into it with ease, and turned his head from cradling against her neck to shyly look at her face.
"My eyes aren't all remarkable," he panted, pressing his forehead against hers. "They're just green."
Callista closed her eyes briefly when she was turned around. Still, one leg was curled up around his waist and her hands drew up bad down his back gently. Urging him on to find his pleasure. With his forehead pressed to hers she smiled up at his gently. "They aren't remarkable, but they're your eyes." She pressed a kiss to his lips, thrusting her hips up.
"And I want to see." Callista nipped at Rembrandts lower lip before she felt the build up again and went still. Her legs tightened around his waist and she squeezed her eyes shut letting out a tense little gasp, "wait, wait, Remy. Something is..." Her head tipped back and a hand snakes it's way down between her legs, surprising herself at the movement even.
"Don't stop."
Callista finally whimpered out, looking up at him through hooded eyes, cheeks flushed, breath coming out of chapped lips in abortive gasps. Maybe this once she could have it. Where she was safe. With someone she trusted.
He had opened his eyes right when she turned hers away. Wait, didn't see... Oh, that's why. He gasped when he felt that familiar trembled, that shiver. The way she said it... Rembrandt did look at her then, his hips thrusting up harder. "You can have this," he whispered, whimpering and panting on his own.
His hips rolled deeper, harder to the tune and rhythm that he felt in her. "Together then?"
Callista had to work to keep her eyes open while she writhed and twitched under Rembrandt. Her blunt nails scored his back and the movement kept pushing her toward the something. Together? Pressing her lips to his she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on. Finally when she peaked her whole body tensed and she cried out, fingers digging into Rembrandts back while she rode out the unfamiliar waves, watching what she could of his eyes.
It was an odd mix of emotions. Pleasure. Safety. Neither of them very familiar so she was surprised when she found herself unable to let go of him and was even more surprised at the tears that made their way down the side's of her temples. Or the pleased flushed smile on her face.
He'd kept through it, determined to roll her through her peak and before he knew it, his own body made its physical affirmation.He tensed his back, ahshuddering until it passed and he panted hard in her ear. And it felt glorious. Rembrandt held himself to her still, until he turned to look at her.
"Why?" he whispered, "why are you crying?"
A quiet sigh as the last of the tension trembled her body. Idly her hands stroked his back and she pulled his head down for another kiss. Callista pulled back and smiled, "I don't know. They're not sad tears," she reassured, Callista couldn't remember the last time she cried. Soon after the first thing she can remember, she learned that crying accomplished nothing.
This was different though and her hands were draw to her face to wipe away the wetness. Callista finge combed his hair and closed her eyes after a moment. "Sleep," she whispered to Rem. Then she began to hum the haunting lullaby. To sooth her nerves. At least that's what she told herself.
Rem laughed, a genuine chuckle. He'd been a little worried that his performance would send her to tears. It had, in a way, but at least they weren't sad tears. Or so she said. He rolled off her and laid out alongside her. "What if I don't want to sleep? What if I want to spew out cheesy one-liners and resume my horrid flirtations?"
It was strange to talk after the fact and Callista found herself enjoying his voice. He wasn't dead. There was no looming job to do to end his life and she found herself throwing a leg over him and cuddling against Rem's chest, her head resting on his shoulder. She'd stopped her humming to smile at him and draw idle patterns on his belly.
"You can do that. I've never been flirted with before." Though her own eyes were closed and she snuggled closer to his warmth. "So that means it'll only be good flirting."
"Oh you flatter me so. You're the milk to my cookies. The wine to my cheese. Did you fall through the ceiling because your an angel. Oh that's now how it goes. Why am I talking so much? I don't know. But it's fun. Talk talk talk, talking. Fun fun."
Leaning back with her eyes wide, Callista stared for a moment before her hand moved up to cover his mouth to stop him from talking. "Are you nervous?" She whispered, moving her hand away. A moment of silence, "should I leave?"
Slowly, he dragged her hand away. "No. I...I think I'm strangely happy." And he smiled at her.
Callista smiled, threading her fingers through his, brushing her lips along his knuckles. "Me too," a surprised giggle and she pressed her hand to her face again. The tears were back. "And I feel safe and warm." And she would miss the feeling when it was gone because it would be. Soon it would be better to feel nothing again.
Tonight though. She'd feel safe and warm tonight. "I don't want to go back," she whimpered softly, tucking her face into the crook of his neck.
If this what it was like to feel normal, Rembrandt wasn't sure it felt so bad. Was this what he really craved? Someone to just...hold him? Was he really so cliche? Rem searched her features, struck a little by her statement. "Why must you go back?"
Callista frowned at him.
Why?
Still tracing idle patterns, nuzzling her face closer, eyes closed. The question confused her. What did he mean why? "Why?" The question was soft and she leaned up a little, searching his features, confusion clear on hers. "It's... My place." Callista laid back down, shifting as close as she could. Craving the touch, the warmth of someone who made her feel safe. "I ... I don't... What do you mean 'why'?"
He wrapped arm around her, pulling into the crook of his neck, and only able to look at her from the corner of his eye. But it was enough to read the confusion on her face.
"Is that your place because...he decided it was? Or because you decided it was? Have you ever thought about just...running away?"
Briefly her eyes closed and she sighed softly, trying to imagine a life away.
There was nothing.
"It's... Simply where I am made to be." Callista replied, opening her eyes and looking up at the ceiling, "Running away gets you hurt. You get caught and you get hurt. So you don't run away anymore."
"You mean you've never gotten far enough to imagine anything coming from it," he mused, looking up at the ceiling too. But when he turned to study her face, he felt an unfamiliar pang of sympathy and he reached up to stroke the wet paths that her tears had made.
"Maybe you don't have to run at all to run away. You can be somewhere else in your mind. Imagine yourself anywhere in the world. On an icy mountain. In a dark cave. In the countryside. Listen to the sound of the rain and imagine a song of your own making. When...when you're acting on stage, practicing a character, you have to imagine yourself as them. Become them, and sometimes they become a part of you. Think of the kind of places they'd visit, the things they'd see."
The ceiling was very interesting then and she tried not to flinch away from his hand. When it pressed to her cheek, she grasped it in her hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. Slowly she held his hand to her chest, over her heart beat again. While he spoke, she listened.
Practicing a character?
Become them and sometimes they become a part of you?
"I think that's why I don't have myself." She frowned down at him after a moment, pulling his hand up to press her scarred cheek to it and she closed her eyes for a moment. "Maybe I'm inside somewhere, begging to be let out," Which was a strange concept, even to her, "Maybe I've already run away and... I'm what she left behind." There was a strange smile on her face and she dropped his hand from her cheek, "Nothing but a shadow."
She was a shell.
He understood better now. Perhaps not the whole picture, but he figured that day might come. But only time would tell.
Rembrandt said nothing and instead captured her face in his hand, holding her chin gently and letting his fingers press firm enough to leave white traces on her cheeks. And he leaned in, close enough to kiss her, but holding back for a moment. "Am I yourshadow?" he asked.
A shell that wasn't fragile and ready to break. A shell built up over years of abuse and the need to be strong and unbreakable. So she was. It was either break or accept her fate. Fate was accepted and Callista thought she was stronger for it.
It wasn't until she'd met the strange Face Stealer who... Made his own Fate. Changed the fate of others. Sure their fate was an untimely demise for a few days of his own pleasure but... Callista looked at his eyes, his hand at her face. The hooded sleepy look in her eyes before she blinked it away and gave her lips a lick. "You're my shadow," She whispered, looking between his eyes and lips. The eyes that were sometimes different but always seemed so familiar.
"Then that is something you've decided for yourself. And something your Master can never take away from you," he said and kissed her deeply but briefly. He settled in once again at her side, turning that face grab into a stroke of her cheek and pulling her in beside him.
Callista's eyes brightened for a moment, like a candle had been lit and she'd never noticed the light before. The grin on her face was telling. The smile of a girl who'd never experienced having to murder. The smile of the girl who he'd danced with. She accepted the kiss fullheartedly, still smiling at the revelation.
She'd chosen that. A choice that her Master couldn't take away.
Unless he learned about it.
But who would tell him?
Callista closed her eyes and sighed, snuggling close. She'd have tonight. "Can I sleep here?" She whispered, and while she asked, her eyes were closed and she looked quite content.
Rem smiled.
"I thought the staying over was implied," he chuckled. "But yes, you may. I hoped you would, actually." Closing his eyes too, he plopped a pillow under his head and nestled in. To sweet? Perhaps. But he figured after a night like tonight, they both earned it.
"I..." Callista smiled again, feeling warm. Perhaps it was the body beside hers. The sense of being safe. That waking up wouldn't have her being in her room, with Carn in the drawer to sing a lullaby for her to fall back asleep to. "Did we make love?" She asked sleepily, using his chest as a pillow, an arm thrown over his torso so she could snuggle in closer.
"Maybe," he murmured, growing too tired to answer coherently. "Maybe we did. I think we did." He turned into her, laying his chin on her head.
Callista snuggled closer, smiling, "I liked it."
Then she began to hum. The lullaby from the rooftop. A way she put herself to sleep and she traced the idle patters against his chest and before long the lullaby had stopped and she was asleep. Content. Safe.
Rembrandt was always an early riser, and had left the bed quietly while Callista had slept. He was dressed, just barely, and had prepared breakfast. He'd never considered himself an exceptional cook, but he could make bacon and eggs like nobody's business.
The nightmares hadn't been content to stay away.
Whenever she woke up she couldn't remember them. Callista knew she didn't toss and turn. Didn't moan or whimper in her sleep. There was never sweat or tears on her when she woke up. There was just the sense of dread, like someone was waiting for her, looming over her. At first her eyes snapped open and she was cuddled in the bed, alone. His side was cold and it was understandable, Callista couldn't blame him for leaving. It may have been late, there were things to do besides sleep.
Still, she sat up quickly, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and fought down the nausea. It wasn't unusual for her to wake up like this, anxious about the day. The fast heart beat, the feeling of being empty. Usually she could keep herself from being sick. Usually she wasn't somewhere unfamiliar in someone elses room, usually Carn was there to hum her his lullaby. Something to focus on.
Everything was wrong today and the dread had her gagging and running for a chamber pot to retch and dry heave. It was uncomfortable and when she was done she crawled into the middle of his floor and curled up in a ball to tremble and calm down. Smiling faintly at her blue dress in a pile on the floor beside her head. Maybe she'd get to keep that dress. There were only fond memories attached to it.
It was then she realized the smell of food and gave another faint smile. Rembrandt hadn't left at all.
Rembrandt would've been alarmed at that gagging had he not expected it. He just hoped it wasn't in reaction to her find herself in a strange bed. Except that it was, but he didn't know that. What really worried him, however, was that she might not be able to keep any breakfast down! What a waste since he'd made breakfast for two.
He emerged from the small cooking area that had been built into the room. It was a nice touch since people didn't have to go downstairs to eat. It was a cozy homely inn, an aspect that had drawn Rembrandt to this place. A simple iron stove, a small pantry. The bacon was extra, but then everything in this city was.
Peeking out from the wall he gave a small smile. "You okay?" he asked. He walked over to her and held out a hand. "Come. Sit with me. I've got food if you're hungry, and coffee if you're not. If you prefer tea, I have that too."
Wiping at her mouth, Callista gave a sigh and closed her eyes after a moment. Making sure both hands were appropriately clean she took his offered hand and stood up. Callista didn't care that she was still naked, instead she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Still queasy from nerves she looked around the room in the light of day.
"I... I will have what you're having," Callista smiled before she stretched again, "I have dreams. I don't remember them but sometimes I wake up feeling sick." Her voice was hushed when she supplied the bit of information.
"Oh they sound like they were pretty wicked. Maybe it's better you don't remember them," he said, helping her to the table. He had a robe in there and draped it over her. Not that he minded her nudity. But merely for her own comfort.
"Let's get you settled." He went about domestic duties, setting food and coffee in front of her before taking his seat at her side."Does your master know you've been missing for long?"
It was always better that she didn't remember them. Callista bundled herself up in the robe, making a happy noise and nuzzling into it after a moment or two. Pleased, oddly so, Callista watched as he set out breakfast, a small smile on her face all the whole while.
Then he asked his question and he had the far away look in her eyes. "Yes, of course. He just doesn't know where I am or who I'm with." Callista frowned down at her plate, "I think."
"In any case, you deserved a day off, I think," he said with a smal smile, taking a few bites of his own bits of bacon. "If you can sneak away, would you come to the theatre again? You could watch us rehearse."
"A day off?" Callista repeated taking a bite of her food and a sip of the coffee, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. Callista gave Rembrandt a level look before she swallowed, pondering on this 'day off' concept. A day off from her life. It seemed like an odd thing to have.
"Of course I can sneak away," she said softly smiling at him, "I have Carn. I have to sneak away to feed him." Another bite of food and she gave a content sigh. Callista pursed her lips for a moment before she looked at Rem, a curious glance through her eyelashes. "Tell me more about your play."
"Aribella? It's an interesting story. A woman, her name Aribella, is married to a powerful lord in the Serenian court. He is a good man, but with no ambition. His wife wishes for him to be king, so that she would be queen. However, he orders her to refrain from speaking treacherous nonsense. In secret she meets with a conjuress, to give her the will and power to gain the throne for herself. She of course still has her husband very much in the way, but cannot get rid of him herself. She convinces her lover, Jous, to kill him, so that they might be together.
"She uses her newfound freedom to sway other houses on her behalf, and create a coup. Then...well, I don't want to completely ruin the story. But let me tell you this, plays like these rarely have happy endings." But excitement was painted all over his face.
Callista listened, enraptured with the tale and she watched his face. The expressions. The joy while he explaine the story. Callista ate while he spoke and she'd found herself with her plate cleaned off and her coffee almost empty. "You're to be Jous?" She inquired gently, tilting her head and tucking her hair behind her ear. Another moment of thought and she pursed her lips, trailing a finger over the scar on her cheek. "Does anything have a happy ending? Are tragedies your favourite?"
"I..I am," he said with a nod. "Tragedies do tend to be a favorite of mine. They are...moving in ways many stories aren't." He gave a soft breath, chuckling at the state of ber empty plate, as if she hadn't been fed in days. "Jous is quite a character, as well. He is deeply in love with Aribella, but he is also friends with her husband. When he is asked to kill for ber, there is no question as to his loyalty, but the aftermath of doing so leaves him dreadfully scarred. And nothing turns out as he hoped it would be."
Callista's face fell at the news of this Jous character. A pretend person, sure, but being broken and scarred was something she was familiar with. What would happen if someone she had to take care of was familiar? Would she be able to? Perhaps that's why Master didn't let her get close to anyone one but him.
Against Master's wishes, familiar with the strange man beside her.
"Maybe..." Callista licked her lips, "you shouldn't see me anymore."
Rem's smile faded at that, and he straightened slowly. "Why? Did I say or do something wrong?"
Callista didn't say anything for a moment, simply dropped her head down so her dark hair could act as a curtain. Slowly she looked up at him and she looked hurt. Wounded. Concern was in her eyes and she gave a quiet sigh. "No, never, you're wonderful. You're something like out of a dream," dreams she didn't have.
Slowly she reached for his hand, craving the touch of warmth. "I don't want you to get hurt. By being around me." The sloppy way he killed. Shoving bodies in crates. "You have too much to lose."
"And if I choose not to stay away?" he said, hardening his tone a little. "As if my life isn't already difficult, before you came along." He sighed through flared nostrils, spreading his hand out beneath hers, palm up. "You fear your master taking me away from you?"
Grasping his had, Callista intertwined their fingers and brought his hand to her face to kiss the back of it. "I imagine your life hasn't changed much since you met me," an idle comment but she sighed and held his hand to her chest, giving him a brief glance. "I..." Callista looked at him, a little lost, "Yes. I do fear that. I don't like it. I don't like being afraid."
"Don't be, then. You master might scare you. But he doesn't scare me. I might have offered earlier, but frankly it isn't my place. Who would miss him if he ended up in a little accident?" He frowned deeply, furrowing his brows.
At his frown, Callista also frowned. A confused look pressed her features and she let go of his hand after a moment. "Accident?" Tilting her head, giving it a shake, "I don't understand. I would miss him." Her mouth opened and closed, "Where would I go without him? What would I do?" Another pause and she stared at him, looking at his eyes. "Who would I be?"
Rembrandt paused, staring at his food. What was all this then? Could he really stay away? Why wouldn't he? He wasn't in love with this girl. The very idea of it was preposterous. But she fascinated him. He shook his head and his frowned only deepened. "You're right," he said. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."
He peered up at her again, tilting his head and stroking her cheek. "Are you sure this is what you want to do? Not, ever see me again?"
A small part of her was disappointed, which felt odd because she wasn't expecting anything. Callista had learned long ago to not be disappointed, to not expect anything of anyone. The hollow feeling in her chest could be easily avoided when she didn't... "I've been with him since before I can remember, I'm... Me... Because of him." Looking quickly between Rembrandt and the table, his hand, back to him.
"I want to see you again. I want to see you every day." Blunt and to the point, Callista had no reason to act shy or pretend that wasn't exactly what she wanted, "I just don't want you hurt. My Master is a very dangerous very powerful man." She went quiet and closed her eyes, "I've never told him about you. You're my secret. I've only got two."
He smiled suddenly. "I like secrets. It'll be our little secret to keep. I understand. But just come to my play, okay? Just one last time then we'll stay away from each other from time to time. I don't want you to get hurt either. There's no doubt he'll hurt you for not coming home last night."
Callista smiled at him, even laughing a little. "I haven't seen you in three months before yesterday." Though, for some reason she felt connected. Beyond simple curiosity. What he made her feel. The fact he stirred things in her chest that she'd never dared nurture before. It seemed safe to do with him and Callista found herself daring to try for more.
"I'll come to your play." Leaning in slightly she waited a moment before she kissed him on the lips, her hands on his cheeks and slowly trailing down his neck to rest at his shoulders, "Can I find you in your dressing room after?" She smiled and leaned away, the teasing sparkle in her eyes "Can we have brandy again?"
Callista chose to ignore the fact that she would probably indeed be punished for being away all night. It was worth it.
He smirked. She always seemed to summon those some way some how. His cheeks hurt again, the muscles twitching from all the grinning and frowning and the ups and downs of these strange sensations. He kissed her back, lips brushing against hers. They were so unusually soft, as if they'd never been properly kissed before.
"Yes. I saved the rest just for you anyway. Brandy is always better when shared with company," he said with a smile. He kissed her again, shifting his chair until he was close enough to pull her from hers and onto his lap.
Callista easily fit herself onto his lap, resting a leg on either side of his waist and sitting on his thighs. Gently she nuzzled her lips to his and finally pulled back, looking down at the robe which was doing little more than covering her chest and arms. "You saved it?" The small smile was on her face, like he'd given her some wonderful gift and she didn't know how to process it. Instead, she kissed him again, putting more pressure on it and being a little more bold.
"we'll have to enjoy it together. I like how it makes me feel warm and tingly..." Callista tilted her head and wrapped her arms around his neck, had a moment to ponder, "Sort of how I felt yesterday. I'd never felt like that before. Like ... I had no control of my body but in a good way." A moment to wrinkle her nose, "Is that how it's always supposed to be?"
Settling her against him, Rem sat back in his chair, smirking a little at how reminiscent it was of the first time they met. Who knew he would've survived beyond that night? That incident had caused Rembrandt to be more careful then. Because getting caught was already a bad thing, but the mountain could quickly become staggering if he'd let his guard down. In a moment, like this however, he didn't feel so inclined to be so sheltered.
"Only when it's really good," he whispered. A smirk played on his lips. "I hope maybe that won't be the last time we do something like that."
The comfort was unfamiliar and Callisra found herself pressed as close as she could get, resting her head on his shoulder, eyes closed briefly. Looking at him when he spoke she found herself blushing, looking away shyly and smiling. Even sitting how she was sitting - everything on display in a very not lady like manner - his words still warmed her. Biting her lip, she reached to the table to push the dishes to the side, opened the robe along her front and then moved from his lap to the table. On display for him, legs open, resting on her elbows so she could watch him, she was beet red. Her heart had picked up the pace and half of her felt silly the other half was getting warm at being on display for him. "I have to leave soon," she said softy, looking at the discarded dress for a moment before turning her gaze back to him. "Make love to me again? I want more nice memories wth you."
The sudden turn of events was not what he expected. And the thrill of it, turned him on immensely. Rembrandt had meant sleeping together in his dressing room later after the show, but this was good enough and he leaned into her body, a single hand was all that was needed to remove his trouser. Which was really the only article of clothing he had on.
It pooled around his ankles and he climbed over top the table, kissing the remains of bacon grease off her cheek. "Not gonna lie, you taste like bacon."
Callista grinned when he climbed above her, though she turned her head to catch his lips in a heated kiss. "Hmmm, and you taste like coffee." Her hands urged him to her, pressing along his back until she captured his hips between her legs. Gently her hands brushed through his hair and she closed her eyes. "Make me forget," she whispered her voice gone low, "just you and me and this table that might break."
Of course just because they were making love didn't mean this wasn't going to be as hot a moment as either of them could muster. And of course any damage to the table would come out of what was left over from Gosselin's funds. Until then, it held up and he moved deeply within her, feeling the whole of her body inside and out.
Soft sighs and moans, the occasional creak of the table. Callista clung to Rembrandt and gave her shuddering moan. Held him to her tighty as she writhed and moaned. When it was finished, Callista was a trembling mess, a plate - her's - was broken on the floor. His hands were held tightly in hers and she kept her legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him close. His name was a breathy sigh on her lips and she grinned up at him. "Everything will work out," Callista sighed, looking off to the side. "I should go..."
Rem chuckled. Could she really be serious? Oh, but she was, he reminded himself and he held himself above her for a few moments longer, letting lingering sensations stir between them as his hips slowly ground against hers. "So you make love to me, slap my ass, and then it's goodbye. Oh, darling, how romantic," he chuckled and captured her lips with his.
"I know I can't keep you forever. And you're already in a lot of trouble." He slowly dismounted and brushed hair from her sweaty face. "You should wash up though. You'll smell like sex."
Callista laughed, "I didn't slap your ass." The table was hardly a comfortable place to be but at the moment she was sprawled out on it like it was some sort of luxurious bed. It was the small things, she realized, that drew her to him. The little bits of contact. Callista leaned up on the table resting on her elbows before she started to shimmy off to the edge.
There was that feeling of disappoint when he said he couldn't keep her forever. "Do you mean to bathe me then?"
He hadn't meant it in a bad way, but he couldn't know it had affected her so. She couldn't stay in this room forever, and neither could he. But in the meantime, he would enjoy the pleasures of her company. And he stepped in behind her and pulled his arms around her, kissing at her neck.
"I think if I bathe you, I might just get you dirty again."
Leaning back, Callista closed her eyes and hummed. Slowly she turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck. A few shifts against his front and she played with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Is that an offer or a warning."
"Both maybe," he chuckled, holding her intimately. "Let's get that bath ready for you, though. We stand here too long, our feet'll go numb."
A wide smile and she took a step back, looking around the room. "Perhaps we should get dressed before we go and fetch a bath. I doubt other people wish to see what we have on display." Slowly she fixed the robe that was still hanging off her shoulders and tied up the front, she she gave Rembrant a lingering appreciative look. A quick glance around and she moved to stand beside her crumpled dress. "Hm. I forgot my bag," she nudged her dress with her foot, "I'll have to get that before I go home."
"A bag? Back at the hotel?" Rem didn't know why, but a pocket of cold burned in his gut. "I'm sure the hotel staff has it. We should be able to get it back. Well, you, specifically. We left it behind when we...ran off." He hoped the men that were after him weren't still there, looking for their target. But one never knew of things like that. And one could never be too careful.
"We?" Callista looked over her shoulder, tilting her head. Confused. "I suppose we did run off," She smiled, remembering the drop from the balcony. The dancing. She gave a twirl where she stood and stopped when she was facing Rembrandt, "I'll get it later with Carn." Slowly she pressed her hands into the rub, running along her front before taking a few steps closer, "Carn is very useful. Has a lot of tricks up his..." Callista pursed her lips and looked away after a moment, "Blade?"
"As apt a description as we'll get I suppose," he said with a laugh. She was right however, and they couldn't simply walk out naked. Well, they could, but Rem made a point of avoiding unwanted attention. He had to get back to rehearsal any how, and this getaway was nice while it lasted.
Dressing, Rem checked the ashes in the fireplace once more and when he saw that everything had burned, he plucked her dress from the ground, handing it to her.
After he handed her dress to her, Callista dropped the robe and stood naked while holding the dress out, examining it. "You're going to go to rehearsal smelling like sex?" She tilted her head curiously before pulling the dress over herself and leaving the sides untied. "What would people say about you?" She made some clicking noises with her tongue, before smiling and moving closer "or are you known for your womanizing ways."
Rembrandt refrained from blushing, though his expression was a little caught off guard. "Actually, I don't get out much, for reasons you can probably imagine. I often get preoccupied with...other people. And, not to add, but I was planning on bathing with you. I can't be stinky on stage. Even if I stink in every other sense. At least I smell good."
There was a deep frown and Callista tilted her head, fixing her dress to look at least a little presentable should anyone see her. "If you were bad at acting you'd be dead by now," She supplied helpfully. Someone would have noticed he was a Face Stealer. Someone would have reacted violently. Sort of like how he reacted when she tried to kill him. Grabbing his hand, Callista pulled herself closer and rest her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment before smiling up at him. "Do you give yourself so little credit or are you fishing for compliments?"
"It was my poor attempt at feigning modesty," he chuckled, hugging her like she would somehow melt into his body. "Compliments, darling, always." They were going to stand there the rest of the day or what. Not that he would mind, necessarily. Rembrandt pulled her in for another long, heated kiss. "Are we going to become statues? Fated forever to stand just like this?"
Could they?
Callista looked around after a moment, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, enjoying the way he made her lips tingle from his kisses. It wold be easy to say she'd never felt like this for someone before, simply because she'd never had the chance to. Reaching up to pull him down, she returned his heated kiss, smiling after. "Could we? We'd be a beautiful statue." At least he would. She looked around and smiled, "I figured you would lead us," She wrinkled her nose at him, "I don't know where you bathe and..." She bit her look and looked down, slowly moving to let go of him.
"I figured I was having a day off, so it would be okay if I didn't... Go looking." Frowning slightly she looked back up at him, "Should I be?"
"Not at all. If you're ready to go, we'll be off."
Callista gave him a moments smile and held out her hand, palm up, to be guided by. "Lead the way, Good Sir."
Taking that hand, Rem casually walked from the room and out toward the rear of the inn. It had its own private baths, where one was given fresh water, soap and towels to dry off with. He could afford the two, but one was enough and he tipped the clerk an extra coin for more water. Just in case they didn't get clean enough the first time.
"I'm warning ya both," he said. "I don't that kinda establishment."
There was a moment where Callista gave the old man a cold look, eyes narrowed. The look was a neutral one for her, but it was ice and the clerk gave both of them a long look. Still he frowned at Callista and at Rembrandt, wagging a finger, "nothin' funny or y'all are cleaning the whole bath room." Having sex in the water didn't seem like a good idea to her at all but being told not to made her want to jump on Rembrandt the moment everything was set up and the door was closed.
However, that was not the case and by the time the water was heated and put into the bath for them Callista's temper had cooled and she simply looked down at her dress, "you have to be around more people than I do, do you want to wash first?"
"I would love to. Thank you for being so kind," he said, and pulled off the clothes he'd so carefully put on moments before. Slipping into the warm waters, Rembrandt sighed and leaned back, enjoying the suds, because frankly it'd been ages since he could genuinely enjoy something as simple as a bath.
The few moments between Rembrandt undressing and heading into to the bath, Callista enjoyed the view boldly. Smiling slightly before she moved beside him and grabbing soap and a cloth. With no warning, she soaped up the cloth and reached past him and began to it over his chest. "I can wash your back and your hair, too, if you'd like," She said softly while she cleaned, though it was more clinical than anything else. Looking up at him through her bangs, she gave him a pleased little smile and held the cloth out, waiting for him to present her with his back.
For someone who had never experienced any sort of proper affection, she was extraordinarily attentive. It surprised Rembrandt, and he leaned forward in the bath, washing his legs as they stuck up from the water. Peering over his shoulder, he eyed her for a long moment and his expression softened. And something unfamiliarly warm twisted in his belly. He leaned up to kiss her briefly, feeling her lips so that he might savor their feeling.
"Thank you," he said again. "I'd like that very much. I'll return to favor." A soft grin flickered. "You're beautiful you know that?"
Callista went to his back to wash it, examining with mild interest how unmarred and smooth it was. Not having ever gotten a good look at her own back, beside the shallow wounds it had now, she knew that it was probably quite scarred. Idly, even after she'd finished washing his back, she traced patters on the smooth flesh. The kiss caught her by surprise and she blinked at him owlishly, eyes wide and confused.
Soon enough she relaxed and looked to his soft smile, returning it in kind. "I know." Was her simple answer before she leaned in, the tips of her dark hair falling into the tub of water while she reached to run her fingers through his hair, trace her thumb over his lips while examining his features, "What use is a prostitute if she isn't easy to look at?" The question was genuine and she tilted her head, pursing her lips after a moment, "You've never asked me about my scars, do you think they add to this... Beauty you see?"
He couldn't say he was an expert on prostitutes. He wasn't the kind of man that often frequented their company. But one thing he did know, "If a body is in need of sex, they are usually less picky of what the solution looks like provided they have the parts and talents desired," he chuckled. Another sigh, he was surprisingly relaxed.
Until she posed her question.
He turned in the water, examining the one on her face. "In a manner of speaking. They accent your face...but you shouldn't even have them. They're a part of you. I can't help but be fascinated by them," he murmured. "Do you wish they were gone? Do you think they make you ugly?
In need?
Callista frowned at him for a moment. Did the body require that? There was a long moment of silence from her, trying to recall the various people she'd had sex with. It was boring and all she'd been concerned about was them finishing so she could leave. "I see," She finally said before he turned around, there was a brief smile while she leaned at the edge of the tub.
"I do," Callista said, she nodded to his face, reaching her hand up to press it to his cheek before she drew it down his chest and pulled her hand back. " I have no concern for what I look like, what if..." The faraway look was back in her eyes and her posture changed, her shoulders slumped forward and she looked down at the ground between her and the tub. "What if someday I leave. I'll always remember, even if I want to forget." She pursed her lips, "I suppose I could avoid reflective surfaces..." Again she picked up the cloth and pressed it to him, "Lower yourself so that I might wash your hair."
"I can understand that. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," he mused quietly and ducked his head low. He sighed, laying his head against her leg. "I think they make you unique. And that is beautiful."
Callista wrinkled her nose at him, "They make all my smiles lopsided. I never noticed until I met you." Putting soap into her hand she washed his hair for him, instructing him to close his eyes when there was soap nearby and finally rinsed it out.
Which meant he was clean and it was her turn!
With his hair freshly washed she pulled her dress off, folding it neatly and tucking it somewhere dry and stood at the edge of the top with her hands on her hips. "Is it because you don't think you're unique? Because you can easily resemble other people?" A purse of her lips and she took a step into the bathtub, whether he was still in it or not. "You do have very lovely eyes."
He wasn't going to take up the entire tub when his turn was finished. He stood in the watet, letting him drip dry until she got in. When she was, he took a towel and dried off, wrapping one around his waist and kneeling beside her when sbe settled in.
"No...It's not that," he mused, taking the cloth she'd used and soaping it up. He brought it gently around her shoulders. "I think perhaps I tire of myself...I seek other lives to live. I don't know if I could be content with mine. I never tried."
Callista went about washing while Rem spoke. He'd never tried. Callista turned around in the tub to face him, tilting her head to the side. "Perhaps it's simply what you do," Calliara dipped her hair back into the water before raising up, scratching at a few dirty spots on her arm.
"You wouldn't ask a bird not to fly, would you?" Callista turned and presented her back, remembering a moment too late wha lt a mess of faded scars it was. The faded lines. The new ones that were still healing. "Someday you'll find something to be content with and you'll want to live your life as Rembrandt...." Callista looked over her shoulder for a moment, "what's your last name?"
Fingers traced along those scars and the places where her most recent lashings were scabbing over. He didn't touch those ones, but he touched the others all the same. They formed a picture for him and he smirked at that. Gently he scrubbed at such tender flesh, as if it were more fragile than porcelain.
"Maybe someday," he murmured back. He blinked, however at the question of his last name. "Highchurch. Why do you ask? Just to know it? What's yours?"
The fingers tracing over the scars on her back made her shiver and she quickly turned her head to look over her shoulder. There was a small smile on her lips and she simple rose an eyebrow at him. Then, his last name was said and she rose both eyebrows, a little shocked. The irony of his last name, Highchurch, was not lost on her and she simply shrugged. "I just wanted to know. I don't really remember peoples names or faces - there are too many - but... I want to remember yours."
Callista looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers in the water for a moment, rubbing at her leg. What was hers? "I... Don't know the real one." She offered him a brief small smile, "But when I was young I decided I would be Callista Rose. It sounded pretty."
"You decided that yourself?" He was a little astonished since it seemed most of those decisions were made for her. A name was a precious thing, it was more than what you were called, it was someone's personal identity, the very part of them that would face the rest of the world. Those that went down in history would give their name. Unknowns were not remembered. Shadows were forgotten.
"I like it," he said, wondering for a moment if he coveted the lives of others, or simply their names. What was the difference? He sat at the edge the tub and washed around her ribs, scrubbing gently the flesh beneath her breasts, cupping them softly and moving up to wash her neck. "It's fitting I think. A rose has many thorns, and is among the most enchanting flowers."
"Yes. For me." Callista closed her eyes for a long moment, "it was a secret. A piece of me I kept to myself. My outsides weren't mine. My inside's weren't mine." Callista placed her hands over Rembrandts and she pulled his hands around her, demanding a hug by giving one to herself with his arms. "I decided I'd give myself a name. One of my few secrets."
Slowly she turned around to face him, rising up on her knees and gave him a hesitant smile, "are you saying you find me thorny but enchanting?"
[Forced hugs! 8D]
Rem did hug her. And leaned his dry face against her wet temple. "Yes," he smirked at her. "Don't be flustered, those are both very attractive qualities, both separate and together.
Callista closed her eyes and smiled, "thorny but enchanting is the nicest compliment I've ever gotten." Leaning back to give him a kiss on the forehead she finally stood up and stretched her hands up. It was time to go. Rubbing a hand against her belly for a moment while staring at the ground, slowly she looked back at Rembrandt. "When is your play? Am I still allowed to come?"
"Two days from now. Yes, I would still like you to be there ," he grinned and squeezed her hand, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. He dried and dressed. The world would not wait forever.
Two days.
Callista smiled. Two days was enough time, maybe. Despite the fact they'd 'made love' twice, Callista found the little touches, the easy kisses on the cheek more intimate and she would smile to remember them later. The touches didn't put her on edge, they didn't make her want to flinch away with the anticipation of pain. Like Rembrandt, she stepped out of the water, dried and dressed, putting her hair into messy braids while tying up the sides of her dress.
A long sigh and she looked down at herself, happy to have brought her clothing with her.
It was a spur of the moment kiss, she grabbed Rem's shoulders and dragged him down to mash her lips against his and press herself against him and finally when she was out of breath she went to the door to open it. A brief look over her shoulder and she gave him a gentle, sad smile. "I'll see you then."
Then she left to go back to the flower shop. To her real life. This one, the one full of simple touches and soft kisses wasn't it, as much as she wished it could be. There were things to do. Plans to see through and events to put into order. Though Callista wasn't going back to the flower shop, not really. She was going back to that strange talking dagger.
Those intimate touches that sent shivers up her spine made Rembrandt's flesh peel away. All figuratively of course, pushing away to something untouched in a long time. Something that made him feel disgustingly human. Of course he acknowledged that he was mortal, and every crease in his aging flesh was a harsh reminder.
Within those two days, he did his best to lay low, knowing rumor would abound at the disappearance of a certain notorious gambler. Soon the night for the show came, and though he was certain his part was down part, he couldn't fend off an anxious knot growing in the pit of his stomach.
It had been with cool interest when she returned to the flower shop. In a dress of all things. There was no strange man though, so what Callista played off the hit as a long one. It took all night, Master. There was no good opportunity, Master. I deeply regret not being home to be here with you, Master. Pretty lies softly said tasted all the sweeter. Master accepted them, tucked some hair behind her ear, gave her a kiss on the cheek and she carried on with her day. The relief was visible and she crawled through the shop, to the living quarters and went to her room.
The deal was done, her master would be paid.
Callista pried Carn from his hiding spot in her drawer and he blinked up at her.
"Is it done?"
"Yes," She replied to the dagger in a hushed voice, pressing him against her belly, "I think so." The dagger grinned widely. Callista went to lay on her bed after pulling her dress off, stared at the ceiling and before long she was asleep to the light tune hummed by the dagger. The following days to the play were uneventful, there were no jobs for her to do and she simply worked in the flower shop and the day before the play, fed Carn on her way to the hotel to collect her forgotten things. He said he needed it. That it was important.
The night of the play came and Callista dressed herself in a lovely dark red dress, her hair up in coils and braids. For all intents and purposes, she looked gorgeous and carefully, she tucked Carn to a strap on her thigh, inside the dress. Of course he grumbled a little at the idea of being there but it was the only hiding place for him.
It wasn't stolen, not really, but Carn had used his skills to enchant a ticket from the ticketmaster the day before and there she was, seated close to the stage in her lovely red dress. Tonight was important. Carn had said it was very important. Insisted she bring Rembrandt flowers. White lillies, this time.
So, Callista sat in the audience and waited to see her friend. Anticipating the story that would unfold on the stage, the one that didn't get to have a happy ending.
[I am filled with dread. As I somehow feel I should be. D:]
He came out onto the stage in the fourth scene of the first act, meeting with Lady Aribella when her husband exited the stage. They embraced and kissed fiercely as lovers might that had not seen each other in the longest time.
The scene carried on as did Rembrandt and he spotted Callista in the audience, just long enough to make eye-contact before vanishing behind the side-curtain.
[Aww, you give me too much credit *handwave* It's not even that baaaaad.]
A pang of jealousy at watching him kiss someone else.
Another unfamiliar feeling Rembrandt brought out in her. Of course she knew it was acting. There was a nibble on her thigh and Callista smothered her dress between her legs, frowning down at Carn inside her skirt. "It's hot in here" he complained in a hushed tone. Callista ignored him, shoved his metal mouth full of fabric that she felt him spit out indignantly.
He could wait until the end of the play.
The play was far more interesting. She watched, as enraptured and taken in by it as everyone else though the emotions didn't play on her face and she occasionally shifted and glared down at her lap. As usual, her favourite parts were the ones with Rem in them - the only person she was emotionally invested in. When it ended, she'd get up and again be in his dressing room. No one would see her go there because she would be nothing but a shadow, moving in the darkness and thanks to Carn, literally she would be a shadow passing by people with perhaps a glance to their sides a soft comment on maybe having seen something.
Rembrandt pulled the prop dagger from his chest when he entered his dressing room. He spotted Callista and waved his hands. "Don't worry it's fake," he said, showing the dull point of the dagger and the spring in the middle of the blade that made it appear as if he'd been stabbed. He tossed it onto the table and sat down at the vanity mirror.
"Did you like the play?"
A tentative step forward and Callista watched the prop dagger with interest. Reaching past him when Rembrandt tossed it onto the table and pressing the blade in a few times, blinking at it. Neat. Another nibble at her thigh and Callista put that dagger down to attend to another.
"Yes," Callista said simply before she turned away and fluffed her skirts up to remove Carn from her thigh. She placed him on the table beside the prop dagger. Where he had been chewing on her moments before - no doubt leaving marks - he was just a plain on dagger now. No eye. No mouth. Callista fixed her skirts and smiled at Rembrandt, pausing a moment before going over to the lilies she'd brought.
"I brought you flowers." She said simply, finding things... Odd now. Perhaps because of what she knew she had to do. Though part of her didn't want to. Most of her didn't want to. Callista pressed a kiss to Rembrandts lips and passed the bouquet of white lilies into his arms before she took a step back and tucked her hands behind her back.
"I didn't like the ending," Callista finally admitted quietly, casting a look at the dagger. Stuck her tongue out at it for good measure. "I don't like seeing you die."
"Yes, well, Jous went mad with guilt, and I suppose he felt the only way he could make up for his sins was to take his own life," Rem replied. Examining the flowers he smelled them and smiled.
"Well thank you. These are lovely," he said. "Do they mean something special?"
Those were things? Callista frowned slightly at the idea of being mad with guilt. Making up for sins by taking their own life. A gentle lick of her lips and she reached forward, intending to run her fingers through his hair but as impulsively as she reached forward, she dragged her hand back, placing it on her leg. "They're mostly for funerals," She reached forward to trace a petal, "they represent the restored innocence of the soul after death. I knew it wasn't a happy ending."
Callista played with a curl of hair over her shoulder and looked down at Rembrandt before she licked her lips and looked at herself in his mirror, though quickly she turned away from it. A glance down at Carn and she finally smiled at Rembrandt. "Did you bring the brandy?"
An explanation followed by a head tilt. "Because of the play then? How very apt," he smirked a little, though his expression seemed a bit uneasy. Rembrandt leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Thank you."
He set the flowers down, moving to the cabinet in the corner and pulling out the decanter with brandy inside. And two glasses."Just for you, remember," he nodded, laying them out and pouring two servings.
"Other than the ending, did you like the play over all?"
"Of course I did," Callista said softly, going over to Rem and taking the glass from his hand. A sip to numb her tongue, a nose crinkle because it did taste awful and she placed it down. "I was pulled in, I even felt a little hollow inside when Jous died." Pursing her lips looked at Rembrandt. A tilt of her head.
"Is something wrong? Are you okay?" A gentle bite of her lip and she looked at the chair and then the vanity mirror. "I know a way to make you feel better if you aren't..." her voice got low and husky and she again looked to the chair.
Eyes met to her, considering saying no it wasn't. Rem felt uneasy inside and he glanced over to the dagger. "You brought him along? Does he like brandy too?" He smiled and stood up, moving toward a trunk in the back of the dressing room, he rifled through it producing a horn. It was wooden, and he presented it to her.
"One of Mepharis' horns. From the first play you came to see," he said, holding his hands behind his back.
"He turns me to shadows," Callista took another sip of the brandy, though she smiled at Rem when the topic of Carn drinking came up. "He... No. He doesn't drink." He feasted. Callista didn't want to scare Rem though, so she simply took another drink of brandy and looked to the present.
A gift.
Callista smiled wide, taking the horn between her hands gently, like it might break. "What's this for?" Curious she took a few steps closer, the intent to seduce him forgotten. Her face fell slightly, "where are you going after this play is done? Will you be gone long?"
"For...for... just because," he said with a smile. "Because I like you. And you came to the show. That made me happy." He put an arm around her and pulled her in for an embrace. An unusual action for one such as he, but he felt it called for it.
"I don't have any plans really. For once, I don't feel like being anyone else. Do you have any ideas on what we might do?"
The embrace was unexpected but Callista snuggled into it all the same. Her eyes were closed and she was content to just enjoy the fuzzy feeling the brandy gave her and the warm embrace of someone who made her feel safe. Then the words clicked.
"We?" Callista leaned back, looking up at Rembrandt, confusion on her face. "I... No." A quick glance to Carn who was still just a dagger, the mouth and eye little more then then steel. Giving them privacy, it seemed. "Drink more brandy?" A long pause, "Run away with me?"
"Run away? For the night? Perhaps to explore the city?"
Callista felt her bravado cool and she simply smiled and shook her head, dusted off imaginary dirt from her dress. There were things to do and they needed to be done. "I know the city," Callista took his hands in hers and she pressed her hand to the place where he'd fake stabbed himself. Where he'd died on stage. Maybe. Slowly she went over to Carn, taking the warm metal in her hands before she looked down at it. Carefully she held it to her side and reached out her free hand, the empty glass on the vanity table and the horn held in the same hand as the dagger.
"For the night." Callista could accept the deflection, could accept that no, he didn't really want to run away with her. One last desperate attempt to be free as subtle as it was to him, saying the words had set her heart racing. sent fear rushing through her. "I'll have you home by dawn," She smiled, gave her fingers a wiggle, ready to grab his hand and lead him away.
Seeing that gleam in her eyes cool from the simmer they once held struck him as curious. Rembrandt inwardly frowned and he straightened. He put that in the back of his mind. However, the offer to go out and wander the city was too enticing. For once he was content to do so and he couldn't imagine better company to do it with. "Home by dawn. Nice closing line," he said, grinning and kissing her cheek.
"Let's go."
They snuck out the back, and skirted down an alley and into the evening.
Callista tugged her companion along, though she didn't let go of his hand. If anything, she held it tighter, unwilling to let go. Before long she had his arm wrapped in her own and her cheek pressed to his bicep, frowning down at the ground, Carn tucked safely under her other arm, hidden behind her forearm. "There's something important I have to do," She said finally, looking up at Rembrandt nervously, "You don't have to do anything..." Her voice quieter and she pulled away slightly, loosening her grip, "But ... Can you come with me?"
Carn said it had to be done tonight. Everything was perfect and it had to be tonight. Callista blew out a careful breath, looking up at the sky.
And just then his smile faded. "Is something wrong? What is it?" Questions he knew she probably wouldn't, or couldn't answer. He frowned deeply and squeezed her hand.
Impulsively she yanked Rembrandt down and kissed him before she began to lead them to the flower shop. Already her hands were trembling, though now the dagger wasn't tucked and hidden, it was out in the open and Carn was awake. The yellow eye blinked up at the pair curiously, giving Callista a lingering look before his interest was taken away by nothing in particular.
"Nothing is wrong," She finally spoke, her voice was soft, hesitant. "I decided something and..." She licked her lips, "I want you to be there when it happens. You..." Callista continued to walk, moving their hands so the fingers were entwined, "You've become important to me. It's made my mind go places it's never went before, like... My future and... And... About me. About what I want." Another lick of her lips and she continued walking, taking the long way to the flower shop. The chances of Rembrandt recognizing where they were going were slim, but perhaps he'd recognize the few shops if he ever took notice of them before.
A moment to pause and she looked at him, frowning slightly, "The white lily's weren't just for you," She said softly, looking down at Carn.
What she was asking was extremely dangerous. Rembrandt stood there, eyes wide and stopped when he recognized where they were. "You're going to kill your master aren't you?" He remained there, standing his ground.
Callista tightened her hand around Carn and he briefly gave them a bored look. A shuddering quiet breath and she hung her head down, staring at the end of her dress. "Yes. I need to." For her. For Carn. It was important. A moment to breathe and she took a step away from Rembrandt, "You can leave. It's okay. I just... I just thought..." A brief glance down, remembering the white roses, a few more steps back.
"Don't you want me to be free?" The dam broke and tears filled her eyes, looking between Rembrandt and the dagger who gave her a cool look, not interested in her drama.
His feet remained glued to the ground. Clenching his jaw, he looked, over his shoulder as if others might be listening. And while she backed away, that cold stone reformed in his stomach. One that settled surprisingly quickly. He peered between here and the series of shops they were standing beside. "Don't cry," he said, reaching up to wipe the tears slipping over hwr cheeks.
"I never said I wanted to leave. I want you to do what you have to do. This is your life. Be free."
A moment of leaning into her hand and she swallowed thickly.
Be free, he said.
Callista gave Rembrandt a watery smile, grabbed his hand and kissed the palm for a long moment. "Carn," Callista said, staring at Rembrandt for a moment before she looked down at the dagger.
"Yes?"
"I'm ready."
"Good, I've been waiting so long."
A frown passed over her features and she looked back at Rembrandt. "I'll ... I'll be out in a minute. We can..." Callista took a deep breath, "We can keep going for our walk." Then she was a shadow. The darkness seeped up from the ground and like wind she moved to the flower shop, to her prison. Like a nightmare she seeped through the building, seeking her Master. There would be no time to turn on a candle and the only telling noise would be the smash of a vase. Silence.
It wasn't until she was back at the door, blood splatter up her neck, a lost look on her face. Carn was in her hand still, the yellow eye glowing. It was a simple task, really. Master hadn't been expecting it. This was needed, Carn required her to do this. It would free her, he said. Free the both of them.
"Rem... I..."
"Callista...!" The dagger said, it's smooth masculine voice cutting through the darkness. Demanding. "Now."
Still, she only had eyes for Rembrandt and she reached for him, looking at the way the moonlight illuminated her hand for a moment before she stared at her face... Then plunged the dagger into her belly. The dagger didn't come out though, it sunk into her, easily disappearing, black tendrils wrapping around her abdomen while the blood dripped down her front.
Down the red dress to her feet.
All the while she was humming the lullaby under her breath.
Rembrandt stood back while she took care of business. He didn't want to be in the way, and a part of him didn't quite understand why she wanted him there while she slayed the man she called master. What was he getting into, but something told him it was dark and dangerous. So across the street he waited, and crouched into the shadow.
He waited...until.
"Callista!" he breathed, emerging from the darkness and seeing blood drip all the way down her body. "What...What!? Callista!!!!"
It hurt.
Callista wanted to curl up and try to sooth the fire in her belly but instead she took unsteady steps forward, leaving a trail of blood while she walked. A gasping sob and took abortive panicked breaths.
"Carn said it would free us," She tried to smile, "I don't want to be a prisoner anymore, I'm tired of here." Her voice was soft, almost serene despite the pain she was in.
"I didn't..." Another small gasp and she looked down at her hands, covered in her blood. The black tendrils were still there, seeping out of the wound at her belly. The pain. If she were anyone else. Anyone less disconnected from herself moving wouldn't be an option. Talking would be little more than cries of pain. "I didn't want to be alone," Looking up at the moon, she blinked back the surge of pain. The cramps. Finally when she was closer to Rem she fell to her knees, a gush of blood seeping down her front, onto her hands.
"The flowers..." She looked at him, wincing "The flowers were for me, just in case. It hurts so much, Rem. What if this doesn't work? What if Carn lied?" She'd know soon.
"Free you!? Free you how!? By killing you?" he sputtered, scrambling over to her and pausing just short of touching her. But he braved the tendrils and snatched onto her arms.
Just as she fell to the ground. He was at a loss, watching in horror the tendrils seeping from her body. This was absurd madness.
"You're dying..." he breathed. "There's too much blood."
If it was possible for Callista to go even more pale, she did. Her hands clutched at him and she closed her eyes briefly, opening them wide though sleep wanted to claim her. It was just a nap right?
"There needed to be blood," She whispered to him, eyes closing. Tired. The pain. Another wince and she gasped softly, pressing her hand to the tendrils again. The touched her fingers, twirling around them and tugged her hand to her stomach, feeling the blood gush from the wound. "S'the price, he said. Pain and blood. I needed his help," The tendrils kept her hand on her belly, and she leaned forward, giving a sharp cry of pain. "I have to pay him."
Slowly the tendrils moved around her abdomen like a lovers caress and slowly, the bleeding ebbed away and all that was left was bloodstained skin a bloodstained dress and a very very tired girl. The wound was closed and she crumbled down, awake, but tired, giving deep gasps and shuddering. "I didn't want to be alone," she trembled, speaking in a whisper, she kept her hands to herself, not willing to cling to him, just in case he wanted to run away. Callista wouldn't blame him. She wanted to run away.
There was only so much horror with which he could watch her bleed out as much as she did. He was certain that she was going to die. After the mess Gosselin had made, this was child's play. Rembrandt put his hands on hers, where the blood still seeped out and put pressure on it, trying to contain himself, and letting out cool steady breaths.
"Blood for blood," he hissed, as the saying went. No words would come now. Nothing needed to be said. If she died, at least she wasn't alone. That was always a sad way to go.
And then...just like that, the bleeding stopped. Rembrandt sat back, pulling his hands back and staring, words unable to form.
So tired.
Callista closed her eyes, giving an occasional twitch of pain. The dress was ruined. Carn was gone. Even if it wasn't rejection, Rembrandt pulling away from her was noticed and she felt herself go cold. Perhaps from the blood loss, or maybe something else? With great effort she got onto her hands and knees, looking at the flower shop. "Carn ate him," She said simply in a hushed voice, looking to the flower shop.
Dagger was gone.
Evidence was gone.
Except for the pool of blood.
Her lips were dry and she had a cold sweat covered her face but Callista squeezed her eyes shut after a moment, another strange feeling in her abdomen. "C...Can you take me to my room?" Her head ducked down, hoping against all odd's he'd remember where she spoke to him that last night all those months ago. "Just... this one last thing. I'm so tired." Callista sighed and tried to smile, "I'm sorry I ruined our walk."
Rembrandt was having trouble understanding all of this. It was a lot to take in. But even so, he wasn't going to leave her out her. "Don't tire yourself more," he muttered and crawled over to her. He wiped the blood off on his clothes, and then carefully helped her up. "I don't know if your room is the safest place for you to be right now. But there's no where else that's closer."
And with that he lifted her up into his arms, unsure if the bloodloss would even allow her to walk. He remembered where it was, just enough to move through the back of the shop until he found it. "Don't talk nonsense, Cal. You speak before I even have a chance to respond. Why didn't we just run away...?" He clicked his tongue against his teeth like a disappointed parent to a child. "I guess you meant to literally run away. It's okay, we can run away still if you yet survive."
Callista smiled slightly at the shortened name. Then again with the we. A sleepy smile and she nuzzled into his chest while he took her to her room, not delirious but cold and shaky. Once in her room she struggled from his arms to peel off the dress, leaning heavily on a dresser with a basin of water and a coarse cloth. Messily, she cleaned herself from the blood. The water spilled and she tugged Rem closer so she could wash the blood from his hands.
The mirror was old and not taken care of, but for a few moments she stared a her reflection, the smooth skin where the dagger had plunged in. The pang of loss was real and for a moment she looked like she was about to break down. "It took," she said softly, tracing her fingers over the area that had just been gushing blood. "I'll be fine," though she sounded uncertain.
Naked now with the bloody dress in a pile in the floor she looked to her bed and back at Rembrandt. "Will you sleep with me tonight?" Her hand went out to touch him but it quickly dropped to her side, "the morning. I can... Try to explain in the morning."
Rem watched the water splash between his fingers, the blood washing away. Except it wasn't his blood or the blood ofsomeone he was going to bbecome, just another face to take and a life to steal. This the life of a friend, a shadow friend that he discovered he didn't want to die. Not right away, at least.
"Thank you," he mouthed.
Rembrandt just watched her. And at her naked form, his arms went around her and he hugged her tightly to him. "You scared me," he murmured in her ear. "I didn't want you to die. I'll stay. Just don't scare me again."
Snuggling into his arms, Callista closed her eyes and loosely wrapped her arms around his waist. Resting her head against his shoulder. "I didn't want to die either," she whispered, surprised at herself. Her voice was sleepy and she clung to what she could. Callista couldn't tell Rem the real price she paid. That would stay a secret for as long as she was able to keep it. "What do you mean scare you?" She nuzzled closer, voice soft, "would you miss me if I was gone?"
"I think you've grown on me a little." He chuckled. "Like a tumor. Just kidding." Another laugh and he felt the scars on her back for they too seemed to have healed over.
"Scare me as in...I would never see you again. Let's get some sleep. That sounds good right now."
Callist scrunched her nose at Rembrandt when he compared her to a tumour. Giving him a nod, Callista made her way to her bed. It wasn't fancy, comfortable but it looked like it could barely fit the both of them. His words warmed her and she climbed onto the bed slowly, eyes dropping closed for a money. "Can you hold me?" Callista said softly, looking up at him from her place on her bed, arms out. "You can see me in the morning."
"Hold you? Like a child might hold a blanket for security?" He laughed a little for honestly the thought amused him. However, he crawled into the small bed beside her, laying carefully on the mattress and curling up beside her.
"Come here," he murmured and pulled her in close to him. "It's a small bed, we have to hold each other anyway." And he smiled, brushing her hair back with a stray hand.
It was odd, feeling content and safe.
Callist snuggled into Rembrandts arms, her eyes closed and she gave him a sleepy smile. "Thank you, Rem," She finally murmured, half asleep. "Thank you for staying." Finally with her face pressed to his chest, she slept. Ignoring the remaining cramps and aches. Constantly she made noises through the night, giving little gasps of pain, the expression on her face being one of pain. Still, she clung to the warmth Rembrandts body offered.
Rem had slept little that night, and he watched the sky lighten as the dawn started to rise. He squeezed Callista to him, but he didn't move to wake her. She needed her rest, as restless as it was.
She woke up slowly, feeling warm and floaty.
Light.
Callista had never felt light before. There was nothing to weigh her down. Well, there was someone beside her on her bed, which instantly had her tensing up but... It was Rembrandt, she remembered not long after. Callista blinked a few times and snuggled closer, nuzzling against his neck and giving a sigh. "You're still here," she said, sounding a little surprised.
Rembrandt grinned down at her and kissed her brow, brushing away the hair that had been fussed over by her constant restlessness. "I am. Are you so surprised? Thought I would slip away in the middle of the night?"
Never being one to lie (much) Callista returned the smile with a sleepy one of her own. "Yes," Her hands moved to her stomach and she rubbed her hand along where the wound had been the night before. "I wouldn't blame you," She said softly, moving her arms to hug Rembrandt. "You don't owe me anything."
"You don't. Nor I you. Doesn't that make it better?" he asked, his smirk turning wry. "That we can still lie here of our own volition. Besides, I had to make sure you don't die on me. Not yet anyway."
Callista leaned back to pout up at him.
"Not yet?" Her words were sleepy and she gently flicked her fingers against his arm, "That isn't very nice." Still pale, still shaky, she frowned again at the cramping in her stomach. Carefully she tucked her face against his chest to ride out the cramps, lingering pain from the night before no doubt. Taking careful steady breaths she leaned away to look up at him again. Reaching up she pushed some hair from his face, tracing his cheek bone, drawing her fingertips over his lips.
"I won't die on you," She said smiling gently, "At least not yet. You're not allowed to either. Not yet. No getting your face stolen."
"That would be something. To run into another one of me, huh? Weird, yeah." He chuckled and kissed at her fingertips. "You know... I don't talk to people often.... I." He paused and frowned a little. "I don't have...friends. I don't need them. But, despite that, I'm glad I met you. You're...different somehow. I think we're more alike than we realize. I've never experienced that before. It's so...different and exciting and....strange. In mostly a good way."
Callista smiled at the kisses and she listened to him, enraptured. Confused.
"Even I needed friends," She said softly after a moment, moving a hand down to where she'd plunged the dagger. The price to be free, he said. Was it worth it? Callista didn't want to regret it, didn't want Rembrandt to know. Would he be sad if he found out? "Maybe you'd have more friends if they tried to kill the face you're wearing," she said simply, offering him a smile. Another cramp. Another grimace. Callista mostly ignored it and leaned up to give him a lingering kiss before leaning up on her elbow.
"Strange," Callista repeated quietly.
"Have you always been able to change your face?"
"Yes," he answered, though he'd noticed her tension. Perhaps now wasn't the time to comment on it, but it did make him curious. "I didn't know it however until I met an older woman that confused me with her late husband. One touch, and I was able to see her memories of him. In time, I became him. And that was the first time I enjoyed life as someone else. Eventually I got bored, and moved on. As did the older woman. Natural causes mind you."
He snickered and laid a hand down to trace between her breasts, caressing her side and gently playing around the place where she'd wounded herself. "You're tense."
The skin was sensitive and Callista caught his hand, bringing it up and twining her fingers between his. A frantic look up and she shook her head, "It aches," she said gently, barely above a whisper. "The dagger went deep," She said, perhaps a cryptic answer but it was indeed the only one she had. It had gone deep and stayed there. Bringing his hand up to her face she examined it and looked between it and him.
"Can you see memories?" She gave the back of his hand a lingering kiss, trying to change the topic again. A moment to lean back, "Are you a mage?"
Rembrandt leaned his hand against her cheek, noticing the change of subject but he didn't press it. It was something she didn't wish to discuss and considering what she'd just been through, distressing her further didn't seem like it would be a good idea.
"I can see some memories. If I clear my mind, and you let me in, I can even feel them. How you were in certain moments. How you felt when you did something. I don't think it's magic. I don't think it's even psychic. I don't know what it is. Just my gift, something that's been in my family for a long time."
"It sounds very empathetic," she said softly, though his last words had her lift her eyes up to catch his. If it was possible she went more pale and she sucked in a breath. "Is it... Can your children do it?" A small frown crossed her features, "Did both your parents do it?"
"As far as I know, I don't have any children." He tilted his head, burying it against the pillow. "My father could do it. He used to tell me stories of what his life was like before he was stuck with a son to raise. I never knew my mother."
Callista shifted up the bed so they were eye level, head resting on the pillow beside his. A chill washed over her and she snuggled closer to Rembrandt, wrapping an arm around his chest and shifting her legs closer to his. "You never knew your mother?" Callista tried to offer him a smile, "Me neither. I don't remember my parents. I... I don't remember much of anything." A frown and she shook her head, "I just remember here and what happens to you when you try to run away."
Not that running away would be difficult anymore.
Except for the money problem.
Callista paused for a moment, realizing she knew where everything was. That would come in handy. "Did you like your father?"
He watched her expressions with interest. "I think I did. But I knew from early on that you couldn't rely on people to take care of you. You've got to learn to fend for yourself. He wasn't a bad man. He just...didn't seem like he wanted to be a father. But did so anyway. Maybe that makes him a better man than me," he mused and pursed his lips.
"What are you thinking about?" he wondered.
What was she thinking about?
Callista looked sad for a moment. "I had to give Carn a body," She finally said, staring down at Rembrandts chest. "That was my part of the deal." Her heart picked up, not sure why she was telling him this. He didn't need to know. It wasn't important to his well being. Then she realized, it was simple to tell someone. There was nothing to be done about it now. No way to make it go away.
"So the solution was to give him your body?" he asked gently. "You couldn't find someone else' body?"
Callista's hands started to shake and she quickly clenched them into fists. "It is someone else's body," She said simply, her voice small,"It's just... Still inside me."
"The tension then. The blade is still inside you," he murmured. "That would explain the pained expressions."
The panic rose up and she curled and uncurled her hands, moving one down to her abdomen, to press against where Carn had gone in. Another quick panicked breath and she squeezed her eyes shut. "You helped me do this," she didn't want to spit it out, "There..." A look away and she turned away from him, maybe it would be easier to say if she couldn't look at him.
Callista curled up, tucking her knees closer to her chest and wrapped her arms around her middle. "When we..." swallowing she just stared ahead, "I ... I used you. Everything I felt was real but I used you to help me make a new body for Carn." No tears came and while she felt guilt, possibly for the first time, there was just enough of her that was selfish to not feel bad about it.
Rembrandt shifted up, sitting on the edge of the bed, growing silent. He stood and moved toward the window, looking out it. "So what comes next then?" he asked, looking up to the brightening dawn.
Callista didn't sit up. She didn't say anything. Closing her eyes for a moment she grabbed the covers and pulled them over her shoulders. "I don't know," She mumbled into the blanket, staring straight ahead. "I didn't want to lie to you," A quick shuddering breath and she'd found her eyes hot with tears, "Not anymore." Callista snuggled deeper into her bed, not looking at him "It's too late now but... I'm sorry." There was a long pause and a few quick breaths, "You can leave if you want to, I don't blame you."
"How do you know the seed took?" he asked gently, peering at her from over his shoulder, but unable to hold the gaze for long. Instead he peered out the window once again.
Callista winced, "Carn. He could... Feel life. He wouldn't have had me... Do what I did if it hadn't taken. I would have died and he would have had to find...." She trailed off, squeezing the blankets in her hand until they were white knuckled and she was angry, "Some other... Stupid lonely girl to steal him away and..." Self reflection was hard, apparently, because she pressed a hand to her face, the gravity of what she'd done slowly sinking in. "Before..." She licked her lips, "Before Master was gone it seemed like the only way out."
"Then who were you really setting free? You or him?"
It was like a punch to the gut as Callista stared ahead. "Oh gods," her hand went to her mouth, shaking. The other went to her abdomen and she pressed a hand there. "I... I thought it was me." Facing away from Rembrandt she looked down to her stomach after she climbed from the bed, she pulled her hand away and shook her head. "He..." A gasping breath and hot tears spilled down her pale cheeks, "he used me. And... I used you." Another few attempts to keep herself neutral, to keep the tears at bay. "Oh gods. Rembrandt, what have I done? To me? To you?" Finally she turned to look at him and held her hands to her face.
"You... Don't have to get involved anymore than I've dragged you," she took a wobbly step closer to him and brushed the tears from her face. "You can go on acting and being other people, living lives that are better than your's." Then her hands were to her face and she was on her knees, taking deep steadying breaths, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
In truth, Rembrandt didn't know how to quite react to this entire situation. He was going to look out for himself. Nobody else was going to. He didn't want to end up like his father, and what would this child be but an abomination. Because the dagger had so carefully tendered her to its every need.
"Why are you sorry?" he asked, tone a little cold. "I brought this on myself. I trusted you... I don't know why I bought into it." He looked down, feeling suddenly so foolish and hating that he was so ashamed of himself.
"Callista, you cannot have this child. You'll hate yourself for it. And you'll hate me as well."
"Bought into..." Her eyebrows drew together as she lowered her head, "I don't want to be a slave anymore." Callista stood up and angrily went to her dresser, pulling out a loose white dress and tugging it on before taking careful steps forward. Her hands went down to her abdomen and she held them there for a few moments.
"It's not a child," her tone also turned cold, "It... He won't be a child... Carn said... He just needs me to... To make the body. Then he'll take care of the rest." Her head ducked down and she stared at her feet, "I couldn't make one by myself."
"You can hate me. I won't blame you. I betrayed your trust and... I understand that sometimes choices come with consequences." Her tone took a steely turn but she didn't raise her head. Didn't look at him.
Rembrandt tilted his head. "So what's going to come out of you? A grown adult? Is he going to possess you?"
"I don't know." A few steps back and she shook her head, pushing her hair from her face. "Why haven't you left yet?" Callista wrapped her arms around herself and stared down at the ground. "Carn said you'd get scared and you'd run and..."
"It won't be a child. It will be Carn and I'll be free." Still she finally looked at him, "you're supposed to run away and never see me again. That's what he said."
Rembrandt was surprisingly somber in that moment and he slowly walked over to her. No words would come, only lips that gently met to hers, kissing her until he pulled away with an audible smack.
"I don't run darling. I swagger." He gave a grin and stepped toward door, slipping through it. And shutting it gently behind him.
Relief.
Callista pressed her finger tips to her lips and closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of the kiss for a long moment before she finally watched him swagger out the door. Carn hadn't lied. He'd said Rembrandt would leave and relief washed over her when the door shut. That was it. A small part of her felt guilt for using him, a larger part wanted to chase after him and ask him not to leave.
Wanted to tell him that she was scared and alone now.
It was easier to tell herself she just used him to father the body for Carn.
Why did her chest hurt? What was that awful hollow feeling?
Callista found herself walking to the door, her hand out and at the last moment, instead of wrenching the door open she turned the lock with an audible click.
It was done. He was gone and Carn hadn't lied to her. She would... Make him his body and she would be free. Finally she was back in her room and she found herself holding that little horn Rembrandt had given her just hours before, her fingers traced the wood and she stared down at it.
A deep breath and she held the horn to her chest, tucking it close to her heart before Callista crawled into her bed and stared out the window to watch the sky. The cramps came back and she snuggled into the side of the bed Rembrandt had been on, realizing slowly that for the first time in a long long time, she was really alone.
Sort of.
Rembrandt would not return to Arca for the better part of a year. Life went as it'd always had for him and his mind was at ease with the life of his own choosing. For now anyway. Such feelings never lasted long. Such things were as fleeting as emotions. Only temporary and ultimately meaningless.
Rem did return to the flowershop. Instead he lingered in taverns and inns here and there, entertaining what lives he might yet live.