Post by Killian King on Dec 10, 2016 15:24:52 GMT -5
The Scarlet Letter
The club which had so much life during the evening was rendered almost unnaturally quiet in the early morning hours. Richard Nottingham walks the hallways perusing a newspaper as he moves, his path a vivid layout in his mind due to habit. A feminine giggle wafting through the door of Killian's room halts him on his journey, Nottingham backing up a few paces in order to stop and listen at the closed door, still flipping through the paper.
“Killian, that's... ridiculously big,” Eden's voice comes muffled through the doorway, Nottingham giving a chuckle at her words.
“It's not that big, is it?” Killian returns.
“Umm yes it is!! Where are you planning on putting that?!” Eden asks, her voice rising with the question. Nottingham raises an eyebrow.
“Well there's only so many options, m'dear,” he mutters to himself.
“I was thinking there,” Killian responds blandly.
“There's no way that's going there. It won't fit!” Eden exclaims, Nottingham's other eyebrow going up.
“Yes it will, you're being overdramatic,” Killian says emphatically.
“There you go, m'boy, let her know who's boss,” Nottingham nods approvingly, pressing closer to listen.
“No, it won't. I'm telling you. And really, shouldn't you be more worried about Donovan taking it from you than making it bigger?” Eden responds, Nottingham staring at the door in confusion. It's only then that he realizes he isn't alone, Jason Ingalls having stopped upon hearing the previous words, holding a saucer in one hand and teacup in the other, partially raised to his lips. He takes a sip from the cup and then places it on the saucer.
“Well this isn't any of my business, but I'm sure as fuck still gonna listen,” he whispers to Nottingham, moving closer to the door, Nottingham snatching the teacup from his hand. He gives the contents a sniff, frowns, then takes a drink, making a face.
“That's straight whiskey!” he whisper shouts at Jase.
“I know!” Jase whisper shouts back.
Nottingham shrugs and keeps the cup, the two of them now pressed against the door.
“Hastings isn't at all properly trained to handle this, love,” Killian assures her. “Besides, at least it's bigger than Fear's.”
Jase looks over to Nottingham.
“How would he know the size of Fear's?” he whispers.
“How the fuck do I know?” Nottingham answers.
“Yes, it's much bigger than his, but to be fair, that's the biggest I've seen! It's even bigger than Roberts'!” Eden responds. “And according to Donovan, he could take it in his sleep and barely notice.”
Jase looks to Nottingham.
“I've heard that too!”
“How does she know the size of the entire bloody roster?!” Nottingham asks incredulously.
“What does Jase think of it, have you shown it to him?” Eden asks.
“Of course, I showed it to him earlier,” Killian says.
Jase pulls away from the door, about to shout his denial, Nottingham swiftly placing a hand over his mouth.
“It was an act of sympathy, he's not likely to see one like it anytime soon, is he? I mean what with him and Rydell,” Killian continues.
Jase turns wide eyes to a speculative Nottingham who quickly removes his hand.
“I have no fucking idea-- I swear I wasn't that drunk. Was I?” Jase appears horrified for a moment. “No, fuck that, I was not that drunk. I swear to God man, I don't get down like that.”
“Well you were quite high a few hours ago..” Nottingham muses, Jase shaking his head emphatically.
“Nah, bro,” he raises his fingers, ticking them off as he names things. “Happy, hungry, sleepy. Nowhere in there does it say anything about that,” he points in the direction of Killian's bedroom.
“Where did you even learn about this?” Eden asks.
“Wallace showed me,” Killian answers, Nottingham and Jase looking at each other again. Nottingham points an accusatory finger at Jase.
“Another of your friends, you're the common denominator!”
“What?! No! They may get down like that but I sure as fuck...”
Inside the bedroom, Killian frowns when he hears a sound just outside the door. “Your Majesty's Most Beloved Grappler” lies on a heavy, ornate bed, a laptop situated before him as he peruses options to customize a championship belt. Eden Morgan lies on his back, peering over his shoulder at the screen.
“What's wrong?” she asks, noting the tension in his body.
“Would you mind terribly climbing off? I can't seem to think straight with you pressed against my back like that,” Killian says gently, Eden chuckling as she rolls to the side, her nudity hidden beneath a sheet. Shaking his head, Killian gets to his feet and walks to the door.
“What are you doing?” Eden asks from the bed, Killian holding a finger to his lips as he yanks the door open, Jase falling into the now open doorway, faceplanting with a thud. Nottingham remains upright on his knees. He looks everywhere but at Killian before finally settling on him, a look of astonishment crossing his features.
“Oh, dear boy, I did not expect to see you there,” Nottingham says.
“It's the door to my bedroom,” Killian responds evenly.
“And so it is,” Nottingham agrees, getting to his feet. Jase continues to lie on the floor, unmoving. Killian looks down at him.
“Jase, what are you doing?” Killian inquires.
“I'm not gay,” Jase replies, his voice muffled against the floor. “And I'm doing yoga.”
“That's... no yoga pose that I know of...” Eden supplies from the bed. Jase sighs and gets to his feet.
“Damn. I guess you're right,” he mutters, brushing himself off.
“Go,” Killian orders tersely, pointing a finger away from the direction of his bedroom.
“Very well,” Nottingham agrees, straightening his jacket as he moves away. Jase nods and starts to walk away and then comes back to speak to Killian.
“Still not gay,” he says emphatically and then moves off again. Killian stands in his doorway, a bewildered expression on his face as he closes the door.
“What the bloody hell just happened there?” he mutters to himself before returning to bed.
“Are they always at your door like this or is it only when you let them stay up late and watch scary movies?” Eden mocks, Killian grinning as he crawls onto the bed.
The next morning, Eden emerges from the elevator leading to Killian's quarters, shaking her head when she spies Jase lying on top of the bar with a drink in hand.
“Tell me you didn't sleep there,” she says, Jase not even looking in her direction.
“I didn't, I slept on the floor beside my couch. You know, the one you two defiled?” he says evenly, Eden rolling her eyes. She glances around and then leans in closer, almost whispering.
“You know, for an antique couch, I'm surprised it held up to the things we did on it,” she informs him nonchalantly. Jase closes his eyes and sighs.
“No respect for the couch,” he mutters and then finally turns his head to look at her. “Bitch, you have zero chill.”
Eden rolls her eyes.
“What's the big deal with the couch anyway?”
Jase lies back quietly before waxing poetic.
“It's fucking comfortable as hell, and it smells like... tobacco and smoke and bourbon and you fucking ruined it.”
“Everything around Killian smells like that. I'm surprised he hasn't bottled it and sold it as an aphrodisiac. His entire office smells like a Hemingway novel,” Eden says.
“That's because it is Hemingway's,” Killian announces as he approaches the two of them. Jase throws up a finger, indicating the new arrival.
“And that right there is why I live with him. He's a classy motherfucker, that Killian.”
“And here I thought it was because you have no prospects of your own and don't have the gumption to change that,” Killian says mildly.
“Yeah, that too,” Jase agrees. Eden looks to Killian.
“He had a couch, apparently, until we sullied it,” she says.
“Are you still going on about the couch, Jase? You do realize that this facility was, at one time, a brothel, don't you? In fact, I found that couch in the attic, from what I understand, several senators may have been conceived there...” Killian says, surprised when both Jase and Eden turn to him with disgusted faces.
“Ugh, eww!” they both exclaim almost simultaneously, earning a laugh from Killian.
“I did see to it that it was heavily cleaned and restored,” Killian assures them. Jase lies back once more against the bar.
“Yeah, can you do that again? You know what, nevermind, I don't think any amount of cleaning can help it now.”
Eden makes a face at him, Killian amused.
“You do know there are guest quarters here in addition to my own rooms?” he inquires, Jase sitting upright in shock.
“What? But Richard told me there was no fucking place for me here, his words exactly... he wasn't talking about room, was he?” Jase says with understanding, Eden pressing her lips together to hold back a laugh.
“And I stand by that! Get off the fucking bar!” Richard calls from the back, Jase glaring in that general direction.
“Alright, well as wonderful as this is, I need to get to my apartment and pack for the trip,” she turns to Killian, running her hand over his shirt and smoothing an imaginary wrinkle. “Thank you again for offering us the use of your plane,” she says, Killian smiling.
“It was the least I could do since I'll not be deterred from my intentions to abscond with you to London until our presence is once again required here. I'll be by to pick you up around two, and I'll see you off,” he says, leaning down and planting a kiss on her lips. Still on the bar, Jase makes a face of disgust and rolls off to the back, busying himself with making another drink as the two new lovebirds say their goodbyes. Eden departs thereafter, Killian pulling a stool out and taking a seat.
“Cheer up, Jason, it's not as bad as all that, is it?” Killian inquires, Jase giving him a sullen look. “Is this still about the couch? Dear lord, man, it came with the facility, I told you... you know what, let's go. Come on,” Killian says, Jase narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Where are we going?”
“There's more couches like that one in the storage facility out back,” Killian calls back, Jase quickly downing his drink and vaulting over the bar, jogging to catch up to Killian.
“Fuck yeah, getting a new couch!”
The two of them make their way to the storage facility out back, Jase's eyes widening at the size of the building.
“How have I never noticed this before?” Jase asks, Killian raising an eyebrow at him.
“Because you spend your time here either drinking or pissing and moaning about something.”
Jase gives a little shrug but doesn't dispute the claim as Killian withdraws a set of keys and unlocks the building, pulling open the door and going inside. The contents reflect what is likely an antique road show's wet dream. Couches, loveseats, fainting couches, beds, ornate mirrors, dressers, footstools, and the like occupy the confines of the building. Jase looks around in awe and then wrinkles his nose.
“You may want to let it air out some, it's a little stagnant in here.”
Killian shrugs.
“Antique furniture and, well, brothel,” he says, Jase moving his head in agreement. “All from the Storyville era.”
“Storyville era?” Jase asks, still looking around at everything.
“At one time, in an effort to keep prostitution and other unsavory vices off the streets, an area of New Orleans was selected as 'The District', an area where it was well known that anyone could come and indulge in whatever particular vice or fetish they so chose. The Letter was one such establishment. After a time, the area became known as 'Storyville.' There were even books sold for twenty-five cents, Blue Books, they were called, that listed alphabetically every prostitute in Storyville, where to locate them, and what race they were, the choices being white, black, or octaroon. I'm sure I don't have to explain that to you,” Killian finishes meaningfully, Jase grinning and shaking his head in the negative.
“I was born in the wrong era,” Jase says, Killian amused.
“I actually have one of the Blue Books in my office, displayed in a protective case, of course.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Jase says.
“I also have some salvaged wood from a tobacco warehouse from the same area. Some of it was used to rebuild any of the damaged walls in the Letter..”
“Yeah, you lost me when you started talking about prostitutes, bro,” Jase interrupts with a grin, Killian shaking his head as they move through the warehouse. “So what the fuck's this beef with you and Hastings anyway, what lead to all this?”
Killian raises an eyebrow.
“Talk of prostitutes makes you think of Donovan Hastings?”
“Don't judge me,” Jase responds.
“It's far too late for that,” Killian answers with a chuckle. “Your guess is as good as mine, Jase. Perhaps it was when I endeavored to ensure that his twin toddlers were more suitably dressed and sent a bounty of Killian King and Hugs and Fisticuffs merchandise. I hear they loved it. Perhaps it was the time I set up a Make-A-Wish meeting for his children because being his daughters is a terminal illness. Or perhaps it was when I was sitting in his throne, which is apparently a huge faux pas in Hastings Land. He even went so far as to burn it afterward in a fit of anger.”
“You cost the man his favorite piece of furniture. Yeah, I get that,” Jase says meaningfully.
“Shut up and find yourself another, there's plenty here,” Killian waves his arms about.
“You know, I heard rumors it was because you broke that star that used to be on the door to his locker room.”
“The damned thing was bloody obnoxious, and even Travis Roberts thanked me for taking it to task. It was a public service is what it was. Though I did hear that he had a small coffin ordered for it and buried the pieces. Apparently, her name was 'Charlene',” Killian answers, rolling his eyes. “Why all the concern?” he asks.
“I just don't think you've ever faced anyone who hates you as much as Hastings does,” Jase says, running a hand over the back of a loveseat.
“I'm not exactly concerned about Dononvan Hastings,” Killian says dismissively.
“You probably should be, the man has a list of accomplishments as long as my arm,” Jase warns.
“Then you must have particularly short and stubby arms,” Killian quips. “Honestly, Jase, this is the same man who thought it was a good idea to set a trap using a trail of crumpets.”
“Yeah, and it worked, even after I told you it was a trap, no, we still had to follow the fucking biscuit things,” Jase gripes. “Almost got my ass kicked by the Engine because of that.”
“Yes, I heard about your coming out of the closet ordeal,” Killian says amused. “However, what was I supposed to do? Who outside of a Looney Tunes cartoon does these things? I had to see how it would turn out.”
“Of course, because it turned out really fucking fantastic, didn't it?” Jase asks mockingly.
“Actually, I believe it did. Because of Hastings and Deimos' actions, Eden and I are now together. Perhaps I should thank him,” Killian muses.
“There ya go, why don't you make up for the throne he lost, give him one of these fancy pieces of furniture,” Jase says, indicating the contents of the building.
“I most certainly will not, they're priceless antiques and hardly something to be wasted on Donovan Hastings. He would probably color in one of them,” Killian says with disgust.
“Dude, you have plenty of chairs here, and half of them smell like an episode of 'Bang Bus' on a hot summer day.”
“Stories, Jason, they have stories,” Killian corrects him.
“I think you mean they have STD's,” Jase says, trailing off as he spies something out of the corner of his eye. “What's that?” he asks, making his way to a chair much larger than the others and covered in a clear plastic tarp. He starts to raise the tarp, Killian quickly stomping it back down. Jase looks a question at him.
“You know that smell that you say permeates this place? Well it has an origin, and it would be best if we didn't release it fully,” Killian warns.
“What?” Jase asks.
“If the Kama Sutra is the written account of sexual history, then this chair is the scratch and sniff sticker.”
Jase slowly backs away from the tarp with his hands raised.
“But dude, it's a fuckin' throne, it's beautiful. Is... is that holy water sitting on top of it?” Jase moves a couple steps closer, squinting.
“Yes, I had Lou Lou attend to the rumors,” Killian says.
“Rumors? Wait, is there a salt circle around us? What the fuck is that chair? Whose throne is that, Satan's? Why do you have Satan's throne?!” Jase asks.
“I was going to have it cleaned, but things seem to happen around that chair, unsavory things, and well, I felt better having someone look at it.”
“I didn't take you for the type to believe that supernatural crap,” Jase says in surprise.
“Normally, no, but that particular throne belonged to and is supposedly haunted by Mademoiselle Bridgette Lafitte, a young mulatto girl who came into riches extremely quickly and proficiently. You can imagine how. Rumor has it she gave a reach around to the dark one himself at a crossroads at midnight in order to achieve fame. She also invented the face plow while someone else performed the butter churner on that very chair.”
Jase looks down at a hand and ticks off fingers based on everything Killian listed, shaking his head and then backing away.
“It's fucking insane, but you know what, you should probably get rid of that.”
Killian stares at him nonplussed.
“Now who's being superstitious?”
“Nah, fuck that shit, that's bad juju. We don't need that kinda shit in our home.”
“Our home?” Killian questions, Jase continuing.
“Yeah, look, I see a couch right over there, we can just take it, and leave the Satan sex throne...” he trails off as he moves further away. Killian stares at the chair musing.
“You know, perhaps you're right, perhaps I should thank Hastings and maybe seek his forgiveness.”
Jase stops and stares at Killian.
“What?”
“The Lord of Pain is about to receive a new throne,” Killian says with a grin. Jase looks from Killian to the chair.
“What about the smell?” he asks.
“Get me some Febreeze,” Killian says with a shrug.
“So I take it you won't be working things out with him?” Jase inquires, Killian giving him a truly befuddled expression.
“Why would I do a thing like that?” he asks, Jase shaking his head.
“Delivery for Donovan Hastings!”
A delivery man stands outside the door of the Hastings compound, knocking on what appears to be a steel door. A smaller version of said steel door in the high center opens up, the well-known eyebrow of Donovan Hastings framed perfectly within.
“I'm not falling for that again!” he cries, slamming the smaller door shut. The delivery guy sighs and looks down, taking out a folded piece of paper that looks suspiciously as though it bears Killian King's writing on it.
“Candy-gram for Mongo?” he makes it a question, the little door opening once more.
“Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?” Hastings snaps, the larger door now opening to allow admittance. The delivery guy looks from 'The Lord of Pain' to the letter and then back again. He shoves the letter in a pocket and then pulls out a clipboard, holding it forth for Donovan to sign. Donovan's hands stay where they are at his side, the delivery guy waiting expectantly. Donovan rolls his eyes.
“What do I allow him to eat for, where is my Owen?” Hastings demands, the delivery guy shaking his head.
“You know, don't worry about it,” he says, scrawling an unreadable mess across the signature line, Hastings nodding approvingly.
“Yes, I can see you're a man who knows how to treat your betters,” Hastings says approvingly as several men start to unload a very large crate. Owen appears suddenly beside him.
“What's going on?” Owen asks.
“Obviously it's a gift from a fan, what else could it be?” Donovan inquires, Owen's eyes narrowing on the crate.
“The box says 'From the home of Killian King'. I don't think you should accept...”
“Nonsense! He's clearly finally come to his senses and is asking that I have mercy on him at Horizons,” Donovan explains, his mood lifted.
“Clearly,” Owen agrees. Donovan raises a hand to his mouth and gives a loud whisper.
“It won't work though.”
“You don't say,” Owen says, shaking his head as the crate is brought into the compound, the workers moving quickly to open it.
“Watch them carefully, Owen, they seem the light finger type. Shake each of them down before they leave,” Donovan orders loudly enough that the crew hears him and shoot glowers his way. Once the crate is open, a magnificent throne is revealed.
“Oh my,” Owen says in astonishment. Donovan stares in awe at the beauteous splendor before him, a lone tear starting to trek down from his eye, barely gracing his cheekbone before he glares harshly at it, the tear quickly reversing its track and re-entering the duct with a sucking sound.
“What? No! Get back in there!” Donovan orders, Owen watching him suspiciously.
“Was that a tear?” Owen asks.
“Not for Killian King or this... beautiful, astonishing, magnificent display,” he says, circling the throne. He finally notices the crew standing around. “What are they waiting for, Owen?”
Owen clears his throat.
“I believe, a tip.”
“Ah,” Hastings moves away from the throne, thoughtfully considering. He clears his throat. “Never buy a fur coat from a man being chased by a naked Err Bear,” he supplies with a grin. “I'll never do that again. And there is your tip of wisdom from The Lord Hastings himself!”
The men roll their eyes and depart, leaving Donovan with his newest acquisition. Wasting no time, Hastings takes a seat in the chair, a grin spreading across his face.
“This may be more comfortable than my former throne. It's hand-carved, Owen, the man obviously knows how to send an apology... what's that smell?” he inquires sniffing the air. “It's reminiscent of... patchouli and crab meat...”
Just then the lights flicker and then go out.
“What's going on with the lights? Did it suddenly get cold in here, Owen? Owen? Owen?” Donovan continues on saying Owen's name into the dark. “Ah there you are... wait you're obviously not Owen. Madame! Where is your hand?!”
The club which had so much life during the evening was rendered almost unnaturally quiet in the early morning hours. Richard Nottingham walks the hallways perusing a newspaper as he moves, his path a vivid layout in his mind due to habit. A feminine giggle wafting through the door of Killian's room halts him on his journey, Nottingham backing up a few paces in order to stop and listen at the closed door, still flipping through the paper.
“Killian, that's... ridiculously big,” Eden's voice comes muffled through the doorway, Nottingham giving a chuckle at her words.
“It's not that big, is it?” Killian returns.
“Umm yes it is!! Where are you planning on putting that?!” Eden asks, her voice rising with the question. Nottingham raises an eyebrow.
“Well there's only so many options, m'dear,” he mutters to himself.
“I was thinking there,” Killian responds blandly.
“There's no way that's going there. It won't fit!” Eden exclaims, Nottingham's other eyebrow going up.
“Yes it will, you're being overdramatic,” Killian says emphatically.
“There you go, m'boy, let her know who's boss,” Nottingham nods approvingly, pressing closer to listen.
“No, it won't. I'm telling you. And really, shouldn't you be more worried about Donovan taking it from you than making it bigger?” Eden responds, Nottingham staring at the door in confusion. It's only then that he realizes he isn't alone, Jason Ingalls having stopped upon hearing the previous words, holding a saucer in one hand and teacup in the other, partially raised to his lips. He takes a sip from the cup and then places it on the saucer.
“Well this isn't any of my business, but I'm sure as fuck still gonna listen,” he whispers to Nottingham, moving closer to the door, Nottingham snatching the teacup from his hand. He gives the contents a sniff, frowns, then takes a drink, making a face.
“That's straight whiskey!” he whisper shouts at Jase.
“I know!” Jase whisper shouts back.
Nottingham shrugs and keeps the cup, the two of them now pressed against the door.
“Hastings isn't at all properly trained to handle this, love,” Killian assures her. “Besides, at least it's bigger than Fear's.”
Jase looks over to Nottingham.
“How would he know the size of Fear's?” he whispers.
“How the fuck do I know?” Nottingham answers.
“Yes, it's much bigger than his, but to be fair, that's the biggest I've seen! It's even bigger than Roberts'!” Eden responds. “And according to Donovan, he could take it in his sleep and barely notice.”
Jase looks to Nottingham.
“I've heard that too!”
“How does she know the size of the entire bloody roster?!” Nottingham asks incredulously.
“What does Jase think of it, have you shown it to him?” Eden asks.
“Of course, I showed it to him earlier,” Killian says.
Jase pulls away from the door, about to shout his denial, Nottingham swiftly placing a hand over his mouth.
“It was an act of sympathy, he's not likely to see one like it anytime soon, is he? I mean what with him and Rydell,” Killian continues.
Jase turns wide eyes to a speculative Nottingham who quickly removes his hand.
“I have no fucking idea-- I swear I wasn't that drunk. Was I?” Jase appears horrified for a moment. “No, fuck that, I was not that drunk. I swear to God man, I don't get down like that.”
“Well you were quite high a few hours ago..” Nottingham muses, Jase shaking his head emphatically.
“Nah, bro,” he raises his fingers, ticking them off as he names things. “Happy, hungry, sleepy. Nowhere in there does it say anything about that,” he points in the direction of Killian's bedroom.
“Where did you even learn about this?” Eden asks.
“Wallace showed me,” Killian answers, Nottingham and Jase looking at each other again. Nottingham points an accusatory finger at Jase.
“Another of your friends, you're the common denominator!”
“What?! No! They may get down like that but I sure as fuck...”
Inside the bedroom, Killian frowns when he hears a sound just outside the door. “Your Majesty's Most Beloved Grappler” lies on a heavy, ornate bed, a laptop situated before him as he peruses options to customize a championship belt. Eden Morgan lies on his back, peering over his shoulder at the screen.
“What's wrong?” she asks, noting the tension in his body.
“Would you mind terribly climbing off? I can't seem to think straight with you pressed against my back like that,” Killian says gently, Eden chuckling as she rolls to the side, her nudity hidden beneath a sheet. Shaking his head, Killian gets to his feet and walks to the door.
“What are you doing?” Eden asks from the bed, Killian holding a finger to his lips as he yanks the door open, Jase falling into the now open doorway, faceplanting with a thud. Nottingham remains upright on his knees. He looks everywhere but at Killian before finally settling on him, a look of astonishment crossing his features.
“Oh, dear boy, I did not expect to see you there,” Nottingham says.
“It's the door to my bedroom,” Killian responds evenly.
“And so it is,” Nottingham agrees, getting to his feet. Jase continues to lie on the floor, unmoving. Killian looks down at him.
“Jase, what are you doing?” Killian inquires.
“I'm not gay,” Jase replies, his voice muffled against the floor. “And I'm doing yoga.”
“That's... no yoga pose that I know of...” Eden supplies from the bed. Jase sighs and gets to his feet.
“Damn. I guess you're right,” he mutters, brushing himself off.
“Go,” Killian orders tersely, pointing a finger away from the direction of his bedroom.
“Very well,” Nottingham agrees, straightening his jacket as he moves away. Jase nods and starts to walk away and then comes back to speak to Killian.
“Still not gay,” he says emphatically and then moves off again. Killian stands in his doorway, a bewildered expression on his face as he closes the door.
“What the bloody hell just happened there?” he mutters to himself before returning to bed.
“Are they always at your door like this or is it only when you let them stay up late and watch scary movies?” Eden mocks, Killian grinning as he crawls onto the bed.
The next morning, Eden emerges from the elevator leading to Killian's quarters, shaking her head when she spies Jase lying on top of the bar with a drink in hand.
“Tell me you didn't sleep there,” she says, Jase not even looking in her direction.
“I didn't, I slept on the floor beside my couch. You know, the one you two defiled?” he says evenly, Eden rolling her eyes. She glances around and then leans in closer, almost whispering.
“You know, for an antique couch, I'm surprised it held up to the things we did on it,” she informs him nonchalantly. Jase closes his eyes and sighs.
“No respect for the couch,” he mutters and then finally turns his head to look at her. “Bitch, you have zero chill.”
Eden rolls her eyes.
“What's the big deal with the couch anyway?”
Jase lies back quietly before waxing poetic.
“It's fucking comfortable as hell, and it smells like... tobacco and smoke and bourbon and you fucking ruined it.”
“Everything around Killian smells like that. I'm surprised he hasn't bottled it and sold it as an aphrodisiac. His entire office smells like a Hemingway novel,” Eden says.
“That's because it is Hemingway's,” Killian announces as he approaches the two of them. Jase throws up a finger, indicating the new arrival.
“And that right there is why I live with him. He's a classy motherfucker, that Killian.”
“And here I thought it was because you have no prospects of your own and don't have the gumption to change that,” Killian says mildly.
“Yeah, that too,” Jase agrees. Eden looks to Killian.
“He had a couch, apparently, until we sullied it,” she says.
“Are you still going on about the couch, Jase? You do realize that this facility was, at one time, a brothel, don't you? In fact, I found that couch in the attic, from what I understand, several senators may have been conceived there...” Killian says, surprised when both Jase and Eden turn to him with disgusted faces.
“Ugh, eww!” they both exclaim almost simultaneously, earning a laugh from Killian.
“I did see to it that it was heavily cleaned and restored,” Killian assures them. Jase lies back once more against the bar.
“Yeah, can you do that again? You know what, nevermind, I don't think any amount of cleaning can help it now.”
Eden makes a face at him, Killian amused.
“You do know there are guest quarters here in addition to my own rooms?” he inquires, Jase sitting upright in shock.
“What? But Richard told me there was no fucking place for me here, his words exactly... he wasn't talking about room, was he?” Jase says with understanding, Eden pressing her lips together to hold back a laugh.
“And I stand by that! Get off the fucking bar!” Richard calls from the back, Jase glaring in that general direction.
“Alright, well as wonderful as this is, I need to get to my apartment and pack for the trip,” she turns to Killian, running her hand over his shirt and smoothing an imaginary wrinkle. “Thank you again for offering us the use of your plane,” she says, Killian smiling.
“It was the least I could do since I'll not be deterred from my intentions to abscond with you to London until our presence is once again required here. I'll be by to pick you up around two, and I'll see you off,” he says, leaning down and planting a kiss on her lips. Still on the bar, Jase makes a face of disgust and rolls off to the back, busying himself with making another drink as the two new lovebirds say their goodbyes. Eden departs thereafter, Killian pulling a stool out and taking a seat.
“Cheer up, Jason, it's not as bad as all that, is it?” Killian inquires, Jase giving him a sullen look. “Is this still about the couch? Dear lord, man, it came with the facility, I told you... you know what, let's go. Come on,” Killian says, Jase narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Where are we going?”
“There's more couches like that one in the storage facility out back,” Killian calls back, Jase quickly downing his drink and vaulting over the bar, jogging to catch up to Killian.
“Fuck yeah, getting a new couch!”
The two of them make their way to the storage facility out back, Jase's eyes widening at the size of the building.
“How have I never noticed this before?” Jase asks, Killian raising an eyebrow at him.
“Because you spend your time here either drinking or pissing and moaning about something.”
Jase gives a little shrug but doesn't dispute the claim as Killian withdraws a set of keys and unlocks the building, pulling open the door and going inside. The contents reflect what is likely an antique road show's wet dream. Couches, loveseats, fainting couches, beds, ornate mirrors, dressers, footstools, and the like occupy the confines of the building. Jase looks around in awe and then wrinkles his nose.
“You may want to let it air out some, it's a little stagnant in here.”
Killian shrugs.
“Antique furniture and, well, brothel,” he says, Jase moving his head in agreement. “All from the Storyville era.”
“Storyville era?” Jase asks, still looking around at everything.
“At one time, in an effort to keep prostitution and other unsavory vices off the streets, an area of New Orleans was selected as 'The District', an area where it was well known that anyone could come and indulge in whatever particular vice or fetish they so chose. The Letter was one such establishment. After a time, the area became known as 'Storyville.' There were even books sold for twenty-five cents, Blue Books, they were called, that listed alphabetically every prostitute in Storyville, where to locate them, and what race they were, the choices being white, black, or octaroon. I'm sure I don't have to explain that to you,” Killian finishes meaningfully, Jase grinning and shaking his head in the negative.
“I was born in the wrong era,” Jase says, Killian amused.
“I actually have one of the Blue Books in my office, displayed in a protective case, of course.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Jase says.
“I also have some salvaged wood from a tobacco warehouse from the same area. Some of it was used to rebuild any of the damaged walls in the Letter..”
“Yeah, you lost me when you started talking about prostitutes, bro,” Jase interrupts with a grin, Killian shaking his head as they move through the warehouse. “So what the fuck's this beef with you and Hastings anyway, what lead to all this?”
Killian raises an eyebrow.
“Talk of prostitutes makes you think of Donovan Hastings?”
“Don't judge me,” Jase responds.
“It's far too late for that,” Killian answers with a chuckle. “Your guess is as good as mine, Jase. Perhaps it was when I endeavored to ensure that his twin toddlers were more suitably dressed and sent a bounty of Killian King and Hugs and Fisticuffs merchandise. I hear they loved it. Perhaps it was the time I set up a Make-A-Wish meeting for his children because being his daughters is a terminal illness. Or perhaps it was when I was sitting in his throne, which is apparently a huge faux pas in Hastings Land. He even went so far as to burn it afterward in a fit of anger.”
“You cost the man his favorite piece of furniture. Yeah, I get that,” Jase says meaningfully.
“Shut up and find yourself another, there's plenty here,” Killian waves his arms about.
“You know, I heard rumors it was because you broke that star that used to be on the door to his locker room.”
“The damned thing was bloody obnoxious, and even Travis Roberts thanked me for taking it to task. It was a public service is what it was. Though I did hear that he had a small coffin ordered for it and buried the pieces. Apparently, her name was 'Charlene',” Killian answers, rolling his eyes. “Why all the concern?” he asks.
“I just don't think you've ever faced anyone who hates you as much as Hastings does,” Jase says, running a hand over the back of a loveseat.
“I'm not exactly concerned about Dononvan Hastings,” Killian says dismissively.
“You probably should be, the man has a list of accomplishments as long as my arm,” Jase warns.
“Then you must have particularly short and stubby arms,” Killian quips. “Honestly, Jase, this is the same man who thought it was a good idea to set a trap using a trail of crumpets.”
“Yeah, and it worked, even after I told you it was a trap, no, we still had to follow the fucking biscuit things,” Jase gripes. “Almost got my ass kicked by the Engine because of that.”
“Yes, I heard about your coming out of the closet ordeal,” Killian says amused. “However, what was I supposed to do? Who outside of a Looney Tunes cartoon does these things? I had to see how it would turn out.”
“Of course, because it turned out really fucking fantastic, didn't it?” Jase asks mockingly.
“Actually, I believe it did. Because of Hastings and Deimos' actions, Eden and I are now together. Perhaps I should thank him,” Killian muses.
“There ya go, why don't you make up for the throne he lost, give him one of these fancy pieces of furniture,” Jase says, indicating the contents of the building.
“I most certainly will not, they're priceless antiques and hardly something to be wasted on Donovan Hastings. He would probably color in one of them,” Killian says with disgust.
“Dude, you have plenty of chairs here, and half of them smell like an episode of 'Bang Bus' on a hot summer day.”
“Stories, Jason, they have stories,” Killian corrects him.
“I think you mean they have STD's,” Jase says, trailing off as he spies something out of the corner of his eye. “What's that?” he asks, making his way to a chair much larger than the others and covered in a clear plastic tarp. He starts to raise the tarp, Killian quickly stomping it back down. Jase looks a question at him.
“You know that smell that you say permeates this place? Well it has an origin, and it would be best if we didn't release it fully,” Killian warns.
“What?” Jase asks.
“If the Kama Sutra is the written account of sexual history, then this chair is the scratch and sniff sticker.”
Jase slowly backs away from the tarp with his hands raised.
“But dude, it's a fuckin' throne, it's beautiful. Is... is that holy water sitting on top of it?” Jase moves a couple steps closer, squinting.
“Yes, I had Lou Lou attend to the rumors,” Killian says.
“Rumors? Wait, is there a salt circle around us? What the fuck is that chair? Whose throne is that, Satan's? Why do you have Satan's throne?!” Jase asks.
“I was going to have it cleaned, but things seem to happen around that chair, unsavory things, and well, I felt better having someone look at it.”
“I didn't take you for the type to believe that supernatural crap,” Jase says in surprise.
“Normally, no, but that particular throne belonged to and is supposedly haunted by Mademoiselle Bridgette Lafitte, a young mulatto girl who came into riches extremely quickly and proficiently. You can imagine how. Rumor has it she gave a reach around to the dark one himself at a crossroads at midnight in order to achieve fame. She also invented the face plow while someone else performed the butter churner on that very chair.”
Jase looks down at a hand and ticks off fingers based on everything Killian listed, shaking his head and then backing away.
“It's fucking insane, but you know what, you should probably get rid of that.”
Killian stares at him nonplussed.
“Now who's being superstitious?”
“Nah, fuck that shit, that's bad juju. We don't need that kinda shit in our home.”
“Our home?” Killian questions, Jase continuing.
“Yeah, look, I see a couch right over there, we can just take it, and leave the Satan sex throne...” he trails off as he moves further away. Killian stares at the chair musing.
“You know, perhaps you're right, perhaps I should thank Hastings and maybe seek his forgiveness.”
Jase stops and stares at Killian.
“What?”
“The Lord of Pain is about to receive a new throne,” Killian says with a grin. Jase looks from Killian to the chair.
“What about the smell?” he asks.
“Get me some Febreeze,” Killian says with a shrug.
“So I take it you won't be working things out with him?” Jase inquires, Killian giving him a truly befuddled expression.
“Why would I do a thing like that?” he asks, Jase shaking his head.
“Delivery for Donovan Hastings!”
A delivery man stands outside the door of the Hastings compound, knocking on what appears to be a steel door. A smaller version of said steel door in the high center opens up, the well-known eyebrow of Donovan Hastings framed perfectly within.
“I'm not falling for that again!” he cries, slamming the smaller door shut. The delivery guy sighs and looks down, taking out a folded piece of paper that looks suspiciously as though it bears Killian King's writing on it.
“Candy-gram for Mongo?” he makes it a question, the little door opening once more.
“Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?” Hastings snaps, the larger door now opening to allow admittance. The delivery guy looks from 'The Lord of Pain' to the letter and then back again. He shoves the letter in a pocket and then pulls out a clipboard, holding it forth for Donovan to sign. Donovan's hands stay where they are at his side, the delivery guy waiting expectantly. Donovan rolls his eyes.
“What do I allow him to eat for, where is my Owen?” Hastings demands, the delivery guy shaking his head.
“You know, don't worry about it,” he says, scrawling an unreadable mess across the signature line, Hastings nodding approvingly.
“Yes, I can see you're a man who knows how to treat your betters,” Hastings says approvingly as several men start to unload a very large crate. Owen appears suddenly beside him.
“What's going on?” Owen asks.
“Obviously it's a gift from a fan, what else could it be?” Donovan inquires, Owen's eyes narrowing on the crate.
“The box says 'From the home of Killian King'. I don't think you should accept...”
“Nonsense! He's clearly finally come to his senses and is asking that I have mercy on him at Horizons,” Donovan explains, his mood lifted.
“Clearly,” Owen agrees. Donovan raises a hand to his mouth and gives a loud whisper.
“It won't work though.”
“You don't say,” Owen says, shaking his head as the crate is brought into the compound, the workers moving quickly to open it.
“Watch them carefully, Owen, they seem the light finger type. Shake each of them down before they leave,” Donovan orders loudly enough that the crew hears him and shoot glowers his way. Once the crate is open, a magnificent throne is revealed.
“Oh my,” Owen says in astonishment. Donovan stares in awe at the beauteous splendor before him, a lone tear starting to trek down from his eye, barely gracing his cheekbone before he glares harshly at it, the tear quickly reversing its track and re-entering the duct with a sucking sound.
“What? No! Get back in there!” Donovan orders, Owen watching him suspiciously.
“Was that a tear?” Owen asks.
“Not for Killian King or this... beautiful, astonishing, magnificent display,” he says, circling the throne. He finally notices the crew standing around. “What are they waiting for, Owen?”
Owen clears his throat.
“I believe, a tip.”
“Ah,” Hastings moves away from the throne, thoughtfully considering. He clears his throat. “Never buy a fur coat from a man being chased by a naked Err Bear,” he supplies with a grin. “I'll never do that again. And there is your tip of wisdom from The Lord Hastings himself!”
The men roll their eyes and depart, leaving Donovan with his newest acquisition. Wasting no time, Hastings takes a seat in the chair, a grin spreading across his face.
“This may be more comfortable than my former throne. It's hand-carved, Owen, the man obviously knows how to send an apology... what's that smell?” he inquires sniffing the air. “It's reminiscent of... patchouli and crab meat...”
Just then the lights flicker and then go out.
“What's going on with the lights? Did it suddenly get cold in here, Owen? Owen? Owen?” Donovan continues on saying Owen's name into the dark. “Ah there you are... wait you're obviously not Owen. Madame! Where is your hand?!”