Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a warm night. Montague frowned. It never was this warm up here. He noticed how the snow didn’t quite have the strong crunch it usually did, and everything seemed to glitter with the damper of melted ice.

The trees were whisking in the breeze lazily as though controlled by a particularly fatigued puppeteer. The moon was raised into the sky, drawing its white claws of moonbeam down across the star-speckled sky. Lifting his head, Montague could draw out the swirls of purple and blue mixed into the expanse of black. He narrowed his eyes as a particularly loungeful burst of wind brushed against his pale skin. The clouds were few and far between. Snow was not forthcoming.

The path to Lavish Lair was quite unguarded, shockingly. The few guards Montague did see, though, were on high alert. He saw the holstered guns. He couldn’t contain a thin smirk as the closest one flicked their hand towards it, only to halt as he recognized the leader of the Society. He dipped his head, keeping his silence, in respect. Montague nodded.

His shoes hit the ground with quiet clicks. The stone path was familiar underfoot. The massive mansion Oscar owned loomed in front of him. He didn’t pause his stride as he rose the stairs. Lifting his gloved hand, he knocked harshly at the door.

“Ouvre la porte, Oscar!” He called out in his French accent, settling back. He spoke softly to himself, muttering under his stilted breath, as the door swung open.

It wasn’t Oscar, but rather Nisha, that opened the door. The two looked at each other in faint surprise, Montague cocking his head and raising an eyebrow.

“Really, Nisha?” Montague purred, settling his weight onto his left leg. He checked his watch, amusement flickering in his mix-matched eyes. “I thought you were… On simpler tastes. I also thought you were positioned back in Fencing Fields.”

Nisha seemed to bristle at his words, looking uncharacteristically aggressive. Her gray eyes glittered as she leaned back. “It’s not like that,” she hissed softly. Montague chuckled as he realized how much the prickly woman reminded him of a poised python. His mirth was seemingly unappreciated as it only made Nisha ruffle.

“Plans change. It’s simply business,” She said coldly, looking into Montague’s eyes with the coldness of her eyes, gray chips of ice. She turned, stretching the door wider. “Are you coming in?” She asked, her voice refusing to melt.

Montague smirked. He dipped his head to Nisha and walked inside. As she shut the door with a quiet slam, he basked in the warmth of a fireplace that exulted from the closest room to the right.

“Nisha? Who was that?” Oscar had poked his head out of the room. The Society leader took quick note of his galvanized fur, ruffled and bristling in places, and the way his ears pressed against the back of his head. His yellow-gray eyes landed on Montague and a frown creased his lips.

“Oh. You. Come in here,” Oscar hissed, drawing himself back. For a single moment, Nisha and Montague were left alone in the entrance room.

Montague looked at Nisha out of the corner of his eye. “Ladies first,” He rumbled softly, extending a hand towards the side room. Nisha scoffed, rolling her eyes at him, and stalked inside. He wasn’t imagining the tensed rise of her muscles, the anxious way her eyes darted around.

Montague found it quite amusing. He stood in the entrance room, his eyebrows slightly raised, amusement glittering within his blue and brown eyes. Mulling his thoughts over for a few more moments, he followed.

The room was warm from the fire brewing controlled within the fireplace. It was a circular room, below the large spire that Oscar had constructed for Valeria. A couch was pulled off to the side, while two comfortable arm chairs had been drawn up into the center in front of a coffee table, which oddly had two cups of tea set upon it. Lining the walls were bookshelves with books on any subject. Astrology, planets, history, anything you could ponder could be found here. Montague remembered Valeria’s excitement, her face glowing with excitement, as Oscar had presented it to her. He remembered the days he had sat in here with her, reading patiently alongside each other.

“That’s quite a smile on your face for such circumstances,” Oscar growled. Montague flickered back to reality, narrowing his eyes. He watched in silence as the muscular tiger settled into the further armchair. Nisha settled upon her own, flicking a hand towards the couch.

Montague walked to the couch and settled into it. He felt oddly out of place in what had used to be the place he used to visit every other week. Maybe it was because of Nisha and Oscar’s distance from him, and closeness towards each other. He remembered the youthful days he would share with each of them, a bond only the closest of friends would ever achieve.

He shook his head, barring away the thoughts. He tapped his fingers together, feeling their kinetic energy pulse for a singular moment. His amulet seemed shockingly cold around his warm neck.

“So? Why did you come here?” Oscar prodded after a few moments, raising his head. He had grabbed one of the cups on the coffee table and took a sip. He was surprisingly dainty with his licks for a tiger. Montague watched for a few moments before responding, keeping his eyes attentive.

“I wanted to discuss with you, particularly, the route we’re taking next. I hadn’t taken into account Nisha’s presence, as I thought you two had stopped this certain communication route.” He kept his voice light, airy, but his words precise. It had the exact effect he desired. Both Oscar and Nisha squirmed uncomfortably, embarrassed by his highlight of their closeness. “Let’s take in account you’ve both been lying to me and Valeria about this, unless it all emerged within the past hour?”

Montague chuckled. It amused him a faint bit seeing them wiggle. “Care to explain this? I’m not mad, I have no reason to be, just quite frankly confused.”

Oscar growled softly. Montague watched his fur bristle, his tail lash. Narrowing his eyes, he felt his fingertips relish in the familiar icy feeling of diamond covering. Just in case, he didn’t believe Oscar would lunge at such a faint remark, but lately he didn’t know much of what to make of him. It seemed like they had gone from something akin to brothers to something more so preferred to close enemies. He let the silence linger for a moment before turning his eyes to Nisha, raising an eyebrow.

The fencer reached a hand over, gently resting it upon Oscar’s forearm. He settled almost instantly, giving her a mellow look. He licked his chops, whiskers twitching, before he looked down at the small cup in his hands.

“It’s complicated.” He spoke in a cold voice that Montague recognized all too readily lately. The voice that asked for no more questions and often ended in a drawn gun and unsheathed claws.

Anger issues. Montague wondered why he had never taken that into account before inviting the tiger into the Society. Look at where it had gotten him, he pondered. With a faint smile, Montague pressed himself against the back of the couch. “Ah. So that means end of discussion, nothing else spoken? How ruly of you, Oscar.”

He watched him twitch, his muzzle drawn back into a faint snarl at the prospect of the prodding Montague was giving. It amused him dimly, but it was starting to fade, especially as Nisha seemed to stare right through him, past his remarks.

“Nisha, leave. Me and Oscar need to discuss something.” Montague purred silkily, crossing his legs. “I’m sure you can go relax in the bedroom he has set up for you here, unless he’s invited you into his very own.”

“Montague, enough,” Nisha snapped, rising suddenly. “Me and Oscar’s relationship is nothing you need to be bothered with as long as we do our jobs. You may be our leader, but to be frank, you are not our friend.” Her voice was a feverous hiss, dampered with only the least amount of respect possible to avoid further punishment. She tilted her head. Montague narrowed his eyes. Anymore, anyhow, was his answer.

Oscar gave a rough grunt, shaking his head. “Let me talk to him, Nisha. I can handle this.” He leaned into his armchair. With a scoff, rolling her eyes, she stepped out of the room. Montague was quiet, listening for her footsteps as she walked away.
Oscar’s voice drew his attention back to what mattered. “Well, Montague, this better be worth it.” The cat looked at his paw, of which he roughly unsheathed his claws. Each claw was outfitted akin to a blade, sharp and able to rip through skin like paper. Montague winced as he remembered. A reminder of more favorable times, anyhow, as Montague subconsciously felt aware of several scars lining his back and shoulders.

“Worth it? I think so.” Montague leaned forward. He stepped up and slowly walked over to the armchair beside Oscar. He watched those glinting eyes, unpredictable with every glare. He chuckled and sat down, melting the diamond upon his fingertips away. Montague knew Oscar saw, because he saw the fear widen ever so slightly. He wondered if Oscar really knew how much danger he possibly could be in if the time stuck right. With a frown, Montague continued with a soft voice, “And I think you know so too, why this is worth it and why I’m here in the first place.”

Oscar twitched. Years of watching his movements taught Montague lots of things. He knew when Oscar was uneasy. He could tell when he was lying, and as Oscar opened his mouth, Montague knew how this meeting would go.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Oscar’s voice was low. He seemed to be trying to keep his famous temper within check. His tail lashed and his ears flicked. “So let’s make this snappy.”

There was silence. Montague stayed silent. He looked at Oscar until the tomcat looked away. He kept staring until his colleague finally let out a low, rumbling, growl. “If this is about Valeria-”

“It is. Glad you came to that conclusion.” Montague cut Oscar off as quickly as he had started. Leaning up, tapping his fingers together in the familiar tic, he smiled. “This is exactly what this is all about, and I want answers.”

Oscar hissed, swallowing back a retort it seemed like, as he took a final sip of his tea. Slamming the cup upon the coffee table, the bristling tabby tiger gave a soft snarl. “I don’t have any answers. If you want answers, Nisha’s the one to ask-”

“And Nisha will have been spoon fed lies to tell me that you’ve instructed.” Montague continued over Oscar’s rambling. “Nisha won’t tell me anything, so that’s why I’m asking you.” He raised his head, feeling his smile start to slip. This was infuriating the second he stepped within the door. Oscar fell quiet. The fire crackled and popped in the fireplace. The warmth felt more so like a wax covering now, his skin crackly and rough. Montague let out a faint hiss.

He raised a hand, leaning his head against it. With an abrupt silence, Oscar watched him.

“Oscar, I would like to know what you’ve told her, and what exactly is going on. I don’t appreciate being lied to.” Montague purred. “Now, I’m not mad, I just want to know what's going on. Tell me, please.”

It was quiet. Oscar rose up from his chair, eyes narrowed. Those claws glinted in the warm light. He kept his jaws firmly shut.

Montague chuckled. He got to his own feet, dusting off his coat. “Really? Do you forget how much power I hold over you? Do you forget I could have exiled you just as quickly as I invited you in?”

With a sneer, Montague turned his head away abruptly. “But I guess I should have expected less from an Undergrounder.”

He turned. He was going to leave. But he saw an orange blur from the corner of his eye.

It was instant. The gun sounded with a loud crack the second Montague’s gut feelings kicked in. He was diamond within a millisecond, the bullet falling to the ground. At first, he thought he hadn’t been hit. Then he felt his body numb on the left side.

Montague looked at his arm. It was cracked, a thin and silvery liquid dripped out slowly. The diamond looked glittery. He would have felt sick if he didn’t look up to distract himself. Oscar stood there, gun in his paws, his eyes cold and furious, yet filled with a throttling fear. Fear as he just now realized what he did.

“That could have been… A lot worse,” Montague murmured, lowering his arm. The silvery liquid dripped onto the hardwood floors. It was barely anything, but he knew the second he returned to his normal form he would need medical attention. He shook himself, grunting. Montague felt as though he should feel angry. Feel something. Something other than the shock and hesitation he did now.

“Get out,” Oscar snarled. His voice was filled with venom. Terror lined it like the sun lined the clouds. For a moment, silence reverberated within the room. Silence that was only interrupted by a quiet drip of silver diamondblood onto the floor.
Montague tilted his head. He raised his arm to check the “wound” once more, noticing Oscar flinch, the gun still pointed firmly at Montague’s chest.

Montague slowly let the diamond fade from his face and upper body. He felt cold to the touch. He wondered if his eyes showed his emotions the way his pounding heart did.

Montague turned away. Nisha had rushed down, probably hearing the shot. Her eyes were wide with fear and horror as she noticed Montague’s diamond form encasing his forearms and legs, and moreso as she saw the crack dripping with that odd liquid.
“Nisha, I’ll see you another day,” Montague purred warmly towards the fencer, dipping his head respectfully to her as he pushed past. He walked towards the door, opening it, and stepped out.

He shut the door with a click behind him. Only then did he allow himself to look down at his arm and feel the bright fear that was there as he realized he wasn’t as invulnerable as he believed, and the anxiety that compelled him to realize how Oscar’s and his relationship would never be the same.

Chapter Text

It was a cold day. Montague narrowed his eyes against the brightness of the sun. He tilted his head up, the wind stinging his eyes. The clouds seemed to hang heavy in the sky. Perhaps it will start raining. Or thundering, as he preferred.

Reckless Railways was as busy as ever. Pedestrians scurried about, talking amongst themselves, and yet an eerie quiet surrounded Montague like a bubble. They stopped talking once he was within earshot, and continued once they were out. He could almost relish in the fearful anxiety that was radiated as he was recognized, Montague mulled to himself, examining a gloved hand.

He leaned against his car. The driver began to roll down the window.

“You have an hour before I send backup inside,” He grunted. Montague tilted his head to examine him a bit closer. Ruffled gray hair, sunglasses tinted black, he could almost be an undercover agent.
With a chuckle, Montague shook his head. “No, I won’t need backup. And most likely I’ll need more than an hour, if this goes according to plan.”

The driver rolled his eyes, pulling the window up. Montague felt a hint of surprise. Most of his drivers talked to him with respect, careful not to insult him. He quite liked the spark this one had. With a shrug, he leaned off the car. He adjusted his white over jacket, his personal favorite, making sure his amulet was in bright view.

As he began to cross the sidewalk towards his destination, he felt his arm’s dull ache seemingly intensify against the cold. He grunted, subconsciously laying a hand over where the bullet had hit. The wound hadn’t needed stitches once his doctors had seen to it, but the bandages felt constricting.

He hoped Oscar would rot in hell, he had to admit. Whatever past they had shared was a long time ago. It was obviously buried away, his focus now on Nisha, which was a whole different story that still made him twitch uncomfortably. He supposed that his old friends would remain a touchy subject to him.

Yet none touchier than the one he was only what he hoped a few minutes away from speaking to for the first time in almost a month.

As Montague approached the guarded gates, he exchanged fierce eye contact with the guard sitting at the booth. He paused, watching the guard rise and finger his holstered weapon before approaching.

“ Valeria made it clear she doesn’t want to talk to any of you until she’s ready.” The guard looked away, shifting uncomfortably. Montague raised his eyebrows, keeping his silence until the guard gave him an awkward look.

“Valeria will want to hear what I have to say,” Montague intoned warmly, giving the guard a soft look. “I know this is putting you in an awkward position, but I assure you, let me pass and I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.”

The guard seemed to become a tad bit more prickly at those words. “Money, isn’t it? That’s all you care about. That’s all that Valeria wants to avoid. She prefers loyalty over falsity.” The guard lowered his head. Montague narrowed his eyes, reading the name tag pinned to his chest.

“Kieran,” The name sounded odd with Montague’s rich accent. Their eyes met again, Kieran in fact getting much more uneasy. Tapping his fingers together, Montague let a low laugh rumble in his throat. He felt the familiar sheen of diamond cover his thinly gloved hands. He watched Kieran squirm, refusing to draw his gaze away.

“I can make this either very hard, or fairly easy. Don’t forget that you're still under my control, and will always be, until Valeria chooses to leave the Society.” His voice hid a vaguely-contained threat. Montague glowered at the guard until he finally shrank back, looking down upon the asphalt below.

“Go,” Kieran growled, “But if Valeria orders you out, I hope you understand that I will defend her quicker than I will defend you.”
“That’s fine with me,” Montague languished, chuckling, waving a hand dismissively towards the cowering form that was Kieran. Under his breath, giving the few guards littered near the fence line that still had the gall to stare at him a particularly fierce expression, he murmured, “...Lâche.”

He rose the stairs. He looked around. Valeria’s mansion always confused him, despite plenty of visits. He used to know this place like the back of his hand. Now, he seemed more like a stranger.

Eyes flickering to the security cameras that lined the walls, perhaps stranger was the right title. He knew he was distinctly unwelcome within the confines of Reckless Railways at the moment.
He walked to the door that led to the living area, where he knew Valeria spent most of her time, and knocked. A sharp, rapt, knock that echoed.

Leaning back, Montague looked at his wrist and tapped a small button on the top. A timer seemed to ding, and the front of it was plastered with a stop-watch counting each second that passed. Montague shifted his weight onto his right leg and waited.

It seemed like an eternity when the door finally creaked open. He caught a glimpse of red before, hesitantly, the door opened wider.

“Montague,” Valeria’s voice was tired, yet surprised. Those red-pink eyes he missed seeing so much glittered as she leaned against her doorframe. She wore that familiar white-red outfit he was used to seeing. He felt a lump widen within his throat as he realized just how much he had missed seeing her face.

“Valeria,” He responded. He tried to keep his face straight, but he knew he had a slight shift in his demeanor as he saw her. Watching her movements, Montague could tell Valeria was split.

“Can I… Come in? I promise, I only want to talk,” Montague continued, dipping his head in respect. He bit his lip, holding in the spew of words he wished to spill to her. He waited for her answer.

Valeria was silent for a few moments, looking Montague up and down. Her eyes flashed to the side, obviously looking for the other two members of the Society, before giving a hesitant nod. “Yes, you can come in. Only for a minute, though. I-I’m quite busy.”

She stepped aside, leaving the door wide open, and turned, heading deeper into the room. Montague stepped inside with a faint spark of excitement welling in his chest.

The room was lit only by a single oil lamp burning with a small fire, casting an ornery orange tint over the entire room. Valeria had walked into a side room he recognized as the kitchen. He turned and stepped over to one of Valeria’s plush white armchairs and settled in quietly, waiting for her return. His eyes danced over the room, trying to clock what had changed and what remained the same.

The bookshelves still covered almost every inch of the room, the books neat and organized. There was a small pile next to the farther armchair Valeria always used, one half-open across the arm of it. He couldn’t help but smile. Montague always admired Valeria’s keenness of knowledge and determination.

He heard the soft patter of her footsteps as she returned. Lifting his head, the two exchanged a reluctant smile.

“What brings you here?” Valeria asked softly, her voice guarded yet gentle. She held two wine glasses. She extended her hand, giving Montague one. He took it with a grateful nod, giving the wine inside a sip. It was light and bubbly with an aftertaste of berry. Flowberry, perhaps, but he thought Valeria had stopped importing from Nisha a while ago.

Montague decided to think his thoughts over a moment before answering, then decided that perhaps now wasn’t a good time to hide the truth. “I missed you,” He admitted. He turned his head, trying to gauge her reaction as she sat down in her armchair. She was silent, looking down at her glass with tired eyes.

“I want you back, Valeria,” Montague continued, trying his best to see how far he could push without Valeria’s usual flame coming to her words. Forgetting for a simple moment his decision of truth, he added, “I think we all do-”

“That’s a bold-faced lie. I never expected you, of all people, to lie like that to me.” Valeria cut him off, looking distinctly uncomfortable. She looked away. “You may have missed me, but I know Nisha and Oscar certainly don’t.”

“Can you really blame them?” Montague pressed, turning his head to stare at Valeria. He knew this questioning wasn’t the right way to go about it, but he had plenty of words on the tip of his tongue he wished to say. “I mean, you and your sister hadn’t quite-”

“I’m not in the mood to hear about how I messed up.” Valeria’s voice was commanding. Montague blinked slowly, biting his lip once more. She turned her vibrant eyes to him, flickers of anger in their depths.

“If I was, I would’ve told the others to accompany you here. I am not fully to blame, anyhow. Don’t forget Oscar had a role in this, too.” Valeria added, her demeanor not welcoming in the slightest. For the first time, Montague began to doubt his presence.

Awkwardly shifting, he raised the glass to his lips. The wine settled upon his tongue. Valeria held him pinned under her gaze for a few more moments before sighing, looking away once more. “I don’t want to come back. If I’m being honest, the Society has done nothing but cause harm to those I love. My sister was innocent in all of this. The only one we wanted was Jones. How did you ever get her mixed into this?”

“And you really think that you’re gonna save everyone with these ideas of yours?” Valeria asked, taking a small sip of her wine. Montague narrowed his blue-brown eyes. “These ideas that only seem to end in violence and pain?”

“Yes. Yes I do,” Montague hissed softly, gripping his own glass tighter. “And I want you to help me.”

Valeria was quiet, her eyes showing her doubt. He felt anger twist within himself for a moment. Fighting the urge to snap a retort, he tipped his head to the side. “Hope made the choice to try and defend that fool. She’s to blame for her pain, not you.” He crossed his legs, huffing out a short breath. With a clink of the glass, Montague set his wine down against a nearby table that held the only light source in the room. The oil lamp radiated a warm heat much more bearable than a fireplace.

“She’s still my sister. I made a vow to my parents that I’d protect her, and I failed.” Valeria’s voice was cold. She raised an arm and checked her watch. “Montague, please don’t tell me your still desperate to chase these idiotic plans of yours-”
“I am,” He snapped, quite ruffled by her choice of words. “I am, and I always will. It’s not my fault your sister decided to take this route.”

Valeria’s head shot up, her eyes narrowing. Her fingertips burned with smoke, Montague could see the hint of fire welling at the top. He didn’t realize that it would only take that much to send her temper flaring. “Don’t sit here and judge my sister because everyone she has loved has left her. You took me from her with your words and your great, grand, ideas, you took Oscar from her with bribery and riches, and now you're close to taking the only place she’s ever known, the island, from her. She’s young. She is barely 20 years old. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t react the same way if you were her age, in her shoes.”

Montague opened his mouth to respond, cringing back from Valeria’s sudden ferocity, but she talked over him, her voice dripping with flame, every syllable echoing like the deep chambers of nether.

“You don’t deserve any of us. You don’t deserve me, and you didn’t deserve Oscar nor Nisha, however I feel about them. It’s shocking to me that you even have the gall to wander to my home and speak to me this way. In fact, I'm quite offended. I should have turned you away the second Kieran radioed me to tell me you were here.” Valeria raised her glass and took a steady drink, attempting to calm her breathing. Her eyes never left Montague’s. Her lipstick left a familiar imprint onto the glass’ edge.

Montague was silent. He felt many things at the moment. He decided silence was a good way to be at this time. He narrowed his eyes.

Valeria scoffed after a moment, rolling her eyes. “Silent. You're always silent when things don’t go your way.” She checked her wrist-watch once more, taking a deep breath.

“Who am I to defend myself from the truth?” Montague’s voice was like a sliver of ice, cold and crackling. To his surprise, those words only seemed to make Valeria even more prickled than before.

“Oh, now here comes the pity party I’m so used to,” She snapped. Montague paused, taking a moment to look Valeria up and down. He felt amusement flash inside of him. “Pity party? I’m only agreeing with you-”

“Yes, to get me to try and sympathize, but I’m not doing that anymore. I told you before and I’ll tell you again, I don’t want to even be within the same room as you, let alone the same organization. I need to focus on me and my sister.” Valeria vociferated, cocking her head. Montague was honestly getting quite exhausted by how she put such emphasis on certain words.

Montague decided playing his silence was good once again, however much it irritated Valeria. He didn’t have much to say that he didn’t think would be met with her blaze.

After a few uncomfortable seconds of silence, Valeria exhaled, setting her wine glass down on her own accompanying table. She looked down at the open book she had let rest on the arm of her chair, gently running a finger with that beautiful red nail-polish along the spine. She closed her eyes, as though gathering her thoughts, then opened them with an exhausted grimace on her face. Valeria turned back to Montague, her eyes flicking from his eyes, to his amulet, and finally his left arm.
“What happened there?” She asked, looking at him quite intently. With a snort, Montague shook his head.

“What gives you any implication something’s wrong?” He asked, quite aware of the bandages that threatened to strangle his forearm.

Valeria narrowed her eyes. “Lying by omission. You’re left-handed. You used your right hand to drink. When you're anxious, you fidget with your amulet, which you are coincidentally doing with your right hand at this very moment.”

Montague lowered his hand, a flash of embarrassed heat running over him. Valeria let out an uneasy laugh. “Montague, I can read you better than I can read any book in my library.”

With a discomfited grunt, he pulled his left arm’s sleeve back. He heard Valeria give a sharp intake of breath as she saw the gray-white bandages wrapped tightly around his forearm, faint splotches of yellow-red where the wound had refused to stop bleeding. He frowned as he noticed Valeria’s sharp and vicious expression turn to concern. He both yearned for and repudiated the fact he wished for her concern, her gentle, blazing, warmth.

“What happened?” She asked, her voice showing neutrality. She raised a hand to tuck a strand of her red-pink hair behind her ear.

“What gives you any implication something’s wrong?” He asked, quite aware of the bandages that threatened to strangle his forearm.

Valeria rolled her eyes. She clenched her fists and let out a frustrated sigh. “Well, it doesn’t take much to get Oscar going, and I suppose he isn’t feeling fond of you anyhow. I guess I can’t be too surprised. Did he get you with his claws or teeth?”
Montague chuckled. “Bullet. He shot me.” He watched as those words sunk in, confusion flickering across Valeria’s face, then surprise.

“He shot you? How is your arm not… Gone?” She asked curiously, thoroughly looking worried for Montague at this very moment. A part of his liked bathing in her concern, boasting about his story like an arrogant school-boy attempting to impress his crush.

But the severity sank into him once more and he felt his body untense. With a sigh, Montague murmured almost in a whisper, “I managed to switch before the bullet hit, but if anything, that makes it more worrisome. He cracked my diamond form.”
Valeria gasped softly, her eyes widening. The room was silent for a moment. The oil lamp crackled in the corner. Montague noted it needed a bit more fuel.

“Was it… Did he perhaps get you as you changed? Was it a hit between formations? I thought…” Her voice was disbelieving. Montague shuddered weakly at the implications of what had happened, now that he had had a few days to process.
“Perhaps, but I don’t believe so. I think that his perfectly normal pistol was able to crack my full diamond form,” Montague observed, raising a hand to rest his chin upon. With a sigh, his left hand subconsciously raised to nuzzle his amulet. It was cold beneath his touch. He was bitterly aware now how much he depended upon it.

“That means your powers weakening, whether from your mental decline or from the power’s origin itself weakening.” Valeria noted, picking her wine glass back up and finishing it off. Montague saw how her eyes glittered, how she attempted not to care. “...I thought you were invincible in that form.”

“I thought so, too,” Montague added with a shrug, “But I think you're right when you say it could be my mental state. I haven’t been doing quite the best recently, since we lost you, anyhow.”
“Monty, you haven’t lost me,” Valeria whispered, her eyes fluttering shut. “You're changing the subject, anyhow. I thought we were arguing about my return to the Society.” When she opened her eyes, she looked at the empty wine glass in her hand. Her bottom lip trembled a bit.

Monty. His old nickname Valeria used to love adorning him with. He hadn’t heard it in almost a year now. The way his heart picked up as his ears heard it.

Dropping his hand to his side once more, Montague pulled his sleeve back. He gave a sigh. Avoiding the latter sentence she had said, he voiced his words. “I want to try and fix things with you, if you’d give me a chance.” He lifted his eyes to look at Valeria. “If you’d like to, anyhow.”

Valeria’s head stayed lowered, but her eyes flickered up to him. He took in count of her appearance, how she looked mildly disheveled, how she seemed to have lost a bit of weight. She wasn’t exactly eating right, he assumed, taking note.
“Come home with me. I’ll give you a room in Grand Glacier, we can attempt to patch things up.” He spoke without thinking, really. The words flowed out of him like melting ice. He smiled softly, his heart fluttering, as he looked at Valeria, attempting to gauge her expression.

Surprise, worry, anxiety, but more importantly, desire. Her eyes spoke so many words. Valeria hesitantly looked at him. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. Montague knew that this was a big choice right now, that she needed to answer without any more of his insistence.

“I… Montague…” Valeria looked at him, then away, then slowly, she nodded. “I would like to try. I want to try to fix things between us.” She got up, her eyes glowing with anxiety.

Montague gave a warm purr, his smile widening. He got up as well, rubbing the back of his neck in an anxious twinge. He felt a mixture of both worry yet excitement. He saw her eyes glitter the exact same.

“I’ll go get some bags, ready, then.” With a whisk of her hair, she paddered to the kitchen, which had a side hallway that led to her room. Montague stared after her, noting to himself that he was as hopeless as Oscar and Nisha were to each other.

Chapter Text

“So, that’ll have been what, the second time?”

Montague narrowed his eyes, aware of the click of gold against diamond as his fingertips brushed against his amulet. He didn’t know why Kieran had been so adamant to accompany Valeria as her personal guard here, but it’d have made him look bad to decline, so here they were.

With a frown, Montague thought the question over in his head. The room they were in now was his own office, of which Kieran had simply paraded in like he owned the place. The guard was wearing the usual thick Legion bodysuit, except he had taken his helmet off. He had dark hispanic tan skin with fluffy black-brown hairs, pale streaks of white-blonde run through as though it had been dyed. Montague, out of the corner of his eyes as he examined a multitude of objects on his desk, took a rough note of Kieran’s every movement.

His hands were diamond. They always were when he was within the presence of someone he didn’t know. He could throw a nasty hit with them. Montague looked up after a few moments, taking notice of everything in the office subconsciously.

The room was large, rectangular, with massive windows lining the wall opposite of the door, letting it a cold pale light that reflected harshly off the snow outside. His desk sat firmly in the middle, sporting an odd array of trinkets and extremely important paperwork he didn’t suspect Kieran would try to take. He had rows of bookshelves lining the walls, which Valeria had already stuck herself into earlier, which made them slightly messy. Montague didn’t mind that. It made him happy to see her so happy.

“Are you gonna stop smirking to yourself and answer me?” Kieran groaned, stamming Montague out of his thoughts. The armored guard now leaned against Montague’s desk, opposite of where the Society leader himself sat. It seemed both of them ignored the few couches and fancy chairs that he had had arrayed within the room.

“No, Kieran,” Montague let a hint of sarcasm leak into his voice. “This is the first time Valeria has stayed here for an amount of time.” He watched Kieran’s reaction. Prickly, at first, but then settled into a vague humor.

“You sure are uptight,” Kieran rolled his eyes, his gray-yellow eyes flashing. “Do you ever… Loosen up?”

“Sure, of course I do. Not around prickly little rats who have nothing better to do than bother me.” Montague snapped, rising from his sitting position. He turned and walked over to the window, looking outside of his room. They were roughly on the third floor. He looked out at the looming mountainous glacier he so loved to gaze at on the beautiful wintery mornings the hotel offered. The clouds grazed the light blue sky like a painter splashing a paintbrush across its canvas. It was quite starkly beautiful. He put his hands into his pockets. In his left hand, despite the numbing concoction the doctors had put upon his arm to dullen the pain, he could feel the roughness of a pocket knife he always carried in this particular dark jacket.
He didn’t realize Kieran went to stand beside him until he felt his quite irritable presence. Rolling his eyes, Montague stared out the window as he continued to speak. “Why didn’t you accompany Valeria down to the studios? I thought you came here to keep an eye on her.”

“I came here to keep an eye on you. Big difference.” Kieran grunted. He tapped his fingers against the glass. Montague noticed him risking a glance over. “I want to make sure Valeria stays safe with you.”

“Have I ever given anyone a reason to doubt Valeria would be safe with me?” Montague felt his throat sting as he spoke. Narrowing his eyes, he thumbed the knife in his pocket as he awaited Kieran’s answer.

“You have.” The guard didn’t miss a beat. “You’ve given everyone plenty of reasons to doubt her safety with you.” Kieran looked back out the window, his face’s expression marking uneasiness. Montague felt the diamond slowly start to envelop past his hands as he attempted to calm his growing anger.

“She should’ve left you when she had the-” Montague pulled the knife out. Slowly. He clicked it open, throwing it into the air with a spin. He caught the handle. He watched Kieran bite his lip out of the corner of his eye, cringing back.
The handle gave a satisfying thump against the palm of his glittery hand. Montague chuckled. He passed the knife over to his right hand, relishing in the snag feeling of the metal he felt a bit more accurately now. He snuck his left hand back into his pocket and flipped the knife again.

Montague smiled as he caught it once more. “Be careful who you’re talking to this way. I still control a majority of this island. I still maintain a firm hold on your fate. Say another word that way and this knife could accidentally find you tonight.” The words felt lacking on his tongue, although it seemed to work on Kieran. The guard kept that knife firmly in his eyesight.

“What matters now,” Montague continued, his voice as cold as the icicles currently latched on the windowsill he stared out of, “Is that I need to try and fix my mistakes. And what you need to realize is that I am not fully to blame. Valeria and her snake of a sister take just as much blame as I do.”

“Well, that’s a step forward. A narcissist finally realizes he’s wrong.” Kieran’s voice was like a gnat in his ear. Montague bristled, feeling sparks of diamond encasing his neck and small specks underneath his eyes. A low growl rumbled in his throat. Kieran frowned, looking away. His eyes flickered from out the window to the knife. Montague noticed his unease.

“You’re pushing me a bit farther than what I’d like. The only reason I haven’t fed you straight to Oscar right now is because Valeria thinks very highly of you,” Montague kept his voice clipped. He slowly turned his head to face the slightly shorter guard. His lips tilted into a thin smirk. “Keep talking, though, and I’ll have you killed fairly quickly. It’s between me and Val, and she has chosen to forgive me.”

There was an uneasy silence stretched across the two. Kieran looked anxiously towards Montague, then away. The Society leader slipped his knife back into his pocket, feeling the diamond begin to fade as he acknowledged Kieran’s restless defeat. Montague wondered if Kieran knew of his and Oscar’s split relationship.

“Val, huh? That’s a cute nickname.” Kieran murmured. Montague let out a snort. The two stood and looked out the window. They both seemed uncomfortable with the silence, yet Montague didn’t quite know what to say. “I’ve always called her Val,” He remarked after a moment of thinking. “Val, Valy, she used to always smile and laugh at bat my hand away and tell me to stop, because cheesy nicknames always got on her nerves.”

With a laugh, Montague rubbed the back of his neck. “I always know when she’s really upset, though, and she never truly was angry at me for calling her pet names.”

Kieran looked over to him. The guard remained tense, but gave an agreeable nod. “It’s very easy to see when she’s upset. She’s accidentally burned more than a few important documents and letters when she’s stuck up in her study doing paperwork.”

Montague blinked. He felt a small smidge of jealousy, not upon the first he had felt towards Kieran today. “Oh, really?” He asked, keeping his voice polite.

“Oh, sure,” Kieran narrowed his eyes. “She loves to have me in with her, letting me read letters for her and fetch her cups of tea to help calm her. She loves it when-”

Montague cut him off with a snarl, snapping his head to the side. “Go get me some wine, guard. Flowberry, the kitchens will have it.”

Kieran turned immediately, eyes flashing to Montague’s pocket, head low. Montague noticed the smirk on his pale lips as he walked to the exit of the office. As the guard retreated, shutting the door behind him, Montague grabbed the knife from his pocket and, clicking it open, threw it as hard as he could. How he wished it would stab into Kieran’s back, how he could reclaim his spot as Valeria’s favorite.

To his surprise, he noticed the blade glinting a low crystal blue as it stuck deep into the deep oak the door was made of. He looked down at his body, his anger fading as rapidly as Kieran had made it rise, and saw his entire body cased with diamond.

He had never really lost control like that before, Montague noted, as he did the walk of shame to unstick the dagger from the wall. He also noted that he was acting quite childish. Who was to say she preferred Kieran over him besides common sense?

The dagger was pure diamond. Montague forced his body to return to normal, his heart pounding despite his calm exterior. He grabbed it and pulled it out, trying to and failing to click it back inside of itself.

His amulet’s glow, which always glittered coldly in a spell of diamond, seemed to pulsate.

Chapter Text

It was almost midnight when someone knocked on the door.

It didn’t wake him at first, but after the third or fourth one, Montague lifted himself up, groaning. He felt as though his head was filled with honey. He had a headache that was threatening to smother him and his sight was blurry.
Raising his hands to his temples and rubbing vigorously in an attempt to clear himself, he weakly managed to raise his voice and holler, “Come in!”

He couldn’t control a dazed smile as he saw Valeria walk in. She had changed herself into her dark green and black outfit to sleep in. He remembered her phase when she had dyed her hair the exact same shade and tried to take a more intimidating look. He remembered how he gingerly held her and whispered into her ear how she’d always look so beautiful, no matter her hair color and no matter her outfit.

“Montague, you look terrible,” Valeria commented, leaning against the doorframe. “What the hell?”

“Well, you just woke me up. I was trying to sleep,” Montague grunted, rubbing his eyes. Valeria sighed and fully stepped into the room, shutting the door with a click. His room was a lot different than his office, much more messy and cluttered. He watched numbly as Valeria padded over to his bedside table and gave the scattered bottles arrayed there a scratching look.

“Montague, that is six empty wine bottles. Please do not tell me you drank six bottles of wine, because if so, I am getting you into a car and we are going to a hospital.” She turned that vibrant red gaze onto him, that look that made Montague feel like electricity was shocking him deep to his core.

“Nnnnnno,” Montague’s words were ever so slightly slurred. “I had two. Those other ones are old.”

“My god, Montague,” Valeria sighed and sat down next to him on the bed. “What am I ever going to do with you?”

The drunk flinched as Valeria raised her head and harshly sparked a few spires of flame from her fingertips, the light stinging his eyes. He pulled a blanket up over his head, grumbling to himself, as he heard Valeria giggle to herself.

“C’mon, the light can’t hurt your eyes that bad,” She purred, but Montague saw the faint glimpse of light he could see flicker out back into the comforting darkness.

“Says you,” Montague hissed, peeking his head out warily. “You're not the hungover one.”

“Why did you even drink so much? You're not normally a drinker. I mean, you take a glass every so often, but I have never, ever, seen you drink a whole bottle in a night, let alone two.” Valeria gave the bottles on the nightstand a rueful look, as though she was thinking a lot more about the cause of the drinking than the effect. “Let’s not even talk about the other four, huh?”

Her voice was teasing, but also sad. Valeria lifted a hand and laid it on Montague’s leg, which was hidden beneath the blanket. Her touch was warm, warmer than the average human hand because of her relic’s power. Almost as hot as fire, but a thousand times more soothing and loving. Montague couldn’t control a soft purr, settling a little bit more comfortably into the bed. He heard Valeria laugh, a soft sound like honey being slowly spooled off of a spoon.

“I was going to come in here to maybe talk to you about the obvious, but I think it’s clear you need to sleep this off.” Valeria made a movement as though she was to get up, but Montague let out a sleepy growl.

“No, no, don’t go,” Montague murmured sleepily, lifting his head to give her a sharp look. “I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you were to stay.”

There was an awkward silence as Montague shifted himself up, scooting closer to the middle of the bed. The two exchanged a look filled with way too many emotions. Confusion, anxiety, fear, and way too much more.

“Care to join me?” Montague asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He waved his free hand to the spot he had just cleared up. His heart seemed to pound so hard as Valeria got up and gently pulled the blanket back, slipping up beside him. Eagerly. She was eager. She wanted this too, then.

This wasn’t exactly how just friends act. Montague may have had his thoughts slightly altered by the copious amounts of wine he had chugged in his rampant depression, but the way Valeria covered herself up, adjusted herself comfortably, and looked into his eyes so warmly was not the mark of a friend.

“I missed you,” Her words were barely a breath, but Montague heard it so acutely. He felt like such a fool, tilting his head ever so slightly in curiosity.

“I’ve missed you so much, Mon Amour,” Montague snuggled himself closer, risking a chance to place his arm around her. His heart quickened and his lips traced a smile as she gave a giggle, pulling herself closer to him.

Valeria reached a hand to gently place against the back of his head. This was moving so quickly. Wasn’t it just yesterday, or maybe even this morning, he couldn’t remember, she was so anxious about being near him again? And here they were, looking into each other's eyes so needfully, like there hadn’t been a year bridging them.

Montague smiled. “For tonight, can we forget everything?” Drunken him didn’t quite think it was too much to ask. Laying his head against his pillow, he moved his hand to gently tuck a red-pink curl behind her ear. She smiled too. She smiled so wide.
For a moment his headache was gone, he wasn’t half-aware of his thoughts, he wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t enveloped into wine and depression and rage. Montague looked at Valeria like he had never looked at anyone before.

That was a lie.

“Oh, Monty,” Valeria’s eyes flicked between his eyes and his lips. She seemed so anxious. How he wished he could take that anxiety and fear and turn it to diamond like how he could everything else.
He leaned forward and he kissed her.

Montague hadn’t really kissed anyone since they had last been together, before the whole incident. He hadn’t really been close to anyone since the incident. He closed himself off and he shut the world out in layers of gemstone. He had kind of forgotten the feeling of a loved one being held so close and the warmth of her body pulsing underneath his own.

He supposed he took it for granted. He never really appreciated Valeria like he appreciated her now.

She let out a soft whisper of breath, no words could describe the rise his body felt as Montague pulled her so close and kissed her so passionately. She returned that kiss tenfold. It felt like heaven. The way her lips pressed against his and the way her body writhed beneath his made him feel like a wild animal, so desperate to just hold her and keep this moment forever. He prayed it wasn’t Nisha’s flowberry wine talking to him, that he truly felt like this.

When the two finally pulled away, they were both breathless. Their eyes, red-orange like the most beautiful sunrise and blue-brown like an iced-over forest, meeting each other. Montague felt Valeria’s lipstick on his lips, a vibrant shade of red he always felt adorned her perfectly.

She went for the second move, placing a hand on his shoulder and getting on top of him. Montague gave a shocked intake of breath, looking at the beautiful figure now on top of him. Her eyes were filled with desire and wants and needs, all of which echoed back to him. Her hands traced his neck, running her fingers up along his jawline and over his stubble of which he hadn’t shaved in quite a moment. Just the simple movement was enough to make him writhe, borderline begging for more of her.

Valeria bent down and kissed him, this time slipping some tongue in. It shocked Montague to his core, feeling as though his insides were diamond. He laid a hand on the back of her head and kissed her back, holding her close. The room was silent except for the sound of saliva and barely muffled whimpers. His heart beat so fast. Montague knew Valeria’s was the exact same way. The way her body grinded against his made him susurrate. Montague felt her body light up like fire.

When she pulled away, there was a string of saliva stretched between them. Montague tasted the aftereffects of the flowberry wine ripe on his tongue. He licked his lips, sitting himself up and settling Valeria into his lap. Montague let out a low, soft, growl as his hands traversed against her hips. She reared up into his touch, murmuring soft whimpers right into his ear.

Montague lifted a hand and began to trace her chest. He smiled. This was perfect. This was right.

Chapter Text

When he opened his eyes again, the headache was a thousand times worse. It was almost laughable, though, for the relaxation Montague felt was unchallenged by any feat.

His eyelids felt heavy as he looked over his shoulder to see Valeria nuzzled up perfectly against his back. She looked so at peace, eyes fluttered shut, sleeping so comfortably against him.

With a chuckle, Montague twisted around and laid a hand against her face, cupping it as delicately as he could. He was dimly aware of the fact he was shirtless, hickeys and scratches covering his neck and chest in pretty arrays. He kissed Valeria’s forehead, her warmth so comforting.

Montague wondered how long he could get away with simply laying there, gazing at Valeria’s beautiful figure, when he was answered by a knock on the door.

Groaning, he got up. His body ached. His head felt like someone had taken a sledge hammer to it. Last night’s events were a blur, almost gone. He couldn’t remember details, but as he looked at his body in the mirror, he smirked.

Picking a T-shirt up off of the floor and slipping it on, the person at the door knocked again. “I’m coming,” Montague growled between gritted teeth, as he walked towards the door and quietly cracked it open.

Shocker. Kieran stood there, eyes narrowed. The two glared at each other for a moment. “Is Valeria in there with you?” The guard asked, giving Montague a look that radiated quite clearly a great distaste towards him. Kieran looked at his arms, which Montague now noticed a tad bit late had faint bruises on them. Even the bandages patched around the gunshot wound seemed a little battered. He didn’t even remember what had happened.

Montague gave a smug grin, crossing his arms. “Yeah, she is. What’s it to you?” He knew the expression across his face spoke immense volumes. He quite enjoyed watching Kieran bristle.

“I’m just doing my job as a guard,” He hissed, turning. “Tell her when she wakes up, a letter has arrived for her.”

“A letter?” Montague felt curiosity pique him. He leaned his head out of the door. “From who? Wouldn’t it have been addressed to her mansion in Reckless?”

Kieran shrugged, shifting his head to give Montague a quite scatching look. “No clue. Just tell her when she wakes up to come to her room.”

Montague gave a dismissive eye roll. “Kieran, she’s here to relax and get away from all of that. I can handle any letters, especially if it contains Society business.” He let his arms fall to his sides. He chuckled as Kieran looked him up and down. “Yeah. Relaxing. Sure, Montague, that’s what's happening.”

“What? Jealous?” Montague hissed, smiling a tad bit wider as he watched Kieran shift uncomfortably.

“Fuck off,” The guard snapped, turning and walking off before Montague could threaten him with another fancy knife trick. With narrowed eyes, Montague watched him walk away. He was dimly aware of his fingertips glittering coldly with diamond. He frowned and shook his hands, whisking it away.

A letter, huh? That wasn’t anything to raise suspicion over, but why would someone send a letter to Grand Glacier for Valeria, and not to Reckless? And also, who else knew she was here? Who the hell told anyone she was here?
With a sigh, Montague stepped back inside and shut the door. He had his money stacked that Kieran was behind it, somehow. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but something rubbed him the wrong way about the guard. He seemed awfully close to Val, but then, he was her top guard apparently. That was his job.

He needed to stop being so possessive, Montague reckoned, as he glanced at Valeria's sleeping form. She wasn’t gonna leave him. Especially not after last night, he smiled to himself.

He walked over to his closet. Montague opened it, making sure to open it slowly so the dull creak did not stir Valeria awake, and quickly scanned through the clothes. Finding a dark blue-gray sweater, he took it down and slipped it on. Warm, cozy, he purred softly to himself and shut the closet.

First order on the list, painkillers. Something to dull this hangover. Then food. His stomach growled, reminding him numbly of the fact he hadn’t eaten much since noon yesterday. Third, Montague reckoned he’d get something for Valeria for when she woke up. He scanned his thoughts, trying to remember her favorite food as he walked towards the room’s door and walked out.

He heard the warm bustle of the hotel. Montague smiled to himself, hearing the chatter of rich and fancy guests downstairs and the murmurs and laughs of servants and maids working like dogs. It was familiar to the point that when he awoke in a place that wasn’t Grand Glacier, he often felt stabs of loneliness, despite whoever he awoke next to.

Today, the warm cacophony of sounds was a bit unpleasant traded to that headache, but Montague wouldn’t silence it for anything.

He walked through the dimly lit hall, stepping close to the wall and letting his fingertips graze against the warm whites and golds of the wall. The windows leaked a faint white sunlight from behind their drawn curtains. It was beautifully comforting.
Montague couldn’t control his smile as he turned the hall’s corner and came to the balcony that overlooked the main lobby. He saw the arrayed guests, sitting or standing and always talking to each other. Nobody spared him a glance. He was just someone else for a singular moment.

“Oh, sir! Sir!” A cheerful chitter came from his right. Recognizing the voice, Montague turned his head with a chipper wave.

Quail was one of the servants. One of Montague’s guards had come to him one day, telling him of his younger brother who had recently been displaced out of his home, and had begged for shelter for his brother in exchange for work for Montague. He had accepted, not expecting much, but Quail was quite the headstrong and determined little thing. He had ruffled ginger-brown hair streaked with caramel, gentle copper eyes, and quite the personality. He was overbearingly kind, eager to talk to guests, and could make an extremely delicious dinner if he had the right ingredients.

Montague was quite fond of the kid, allowing him to quickly rise up the ranks and work his dream job as a chef. In return, Quail gave near undying loyalty to Montague, and they had formed a fairly sweet bond with each other.
“Quail,” Montague murmured warmly, fluffing the younger kid’s hair as he gave a squeak. “How’s it been going?”

“Great, sir!” Quail chirruped, straightening his black-white tuxedo outfit. “I’ve been looking for you, though. I have news, unfortunately not the best news, though.”

Montague felt a hint of unease. Looking over the balcony, he stepped back and leaned against the wall. “Everything okay, Quail?”

The servant looked a little bit sheepish, twiddling his thumbs. Montague felt a prickle of unease and reached a hand out to gently place on the smaller one’s shoulder. He stayed quiet, letting Quail speak up on his own time.

“Salem didn’t want me to tell you,” Quail began softly, referencing his older brother, “But I knew you’d wanna know.” The brown-haired servant raised his head to look Montague in the eyes. “Salem thinks Jonesy and Hope are back in this area.”

The waterfall of emotions that hit Montague at once felt like a bullet. He barely pulled his hand away from Quail’s shoulder in time as his body turned into a thousand glittering pieces of uncontrolled and vicious diamond. Quail looked away, barely disguising his anxiety as Montague turned to face him with eyes burning like the bluest pit of hell.

“What did you say?” Montague’s voice was a cold hiss, sounding like ice slowly cracking across an empty lake, prepared to drag anything beneath it into it's dark, cold, depths of water.

Chapter Text

The sound of the coffee-maker going sent a purr vibrating through Oscar’s chest. His tail fluffed out as he adjusted himself in his chair. He snuggled a fleece blanket closer to himself, revenerbrating in the warmth.

Lavish Lair lived up to its name. Within his confined room, he could eye all of the gaudy decorations and paintings he had hung snugly. Snug. That was a good word for it, the tiger decided.

In directly the room over, he could hear Nisha work in the kitchen. Her cooking was spectacular. He had missed it quite a bit. His paws kneaded the blanket as he twisted himself restlessly around in the chair. When Nisha came back in, a warm cup of coffee in her hands, Oscar was positioned upside down on the chair with his head dangling off and his legs kicked up against the back.

“Oscar, get up,” Nisha’s words were stern, but her voice was anything but. Her smile was so sweet, he noted, and he set himself up.

“For me?” Oscar licked his lips, a purr rumbling deep within his throat as he extended his paws, taking the coffee. Nisha laughed, a soft sound like the waving of wind after a particularly warm summer storm. She sat down in the chair opposite of him, occasionally glancing over at the clock on the wall, watching him eagerly lap at the drink nestled between his paws.

“It’s late, Ozzie.” Nisha commented after a moment, crossing her legs. She gave him a long look. “You shouldn’t be drinking that.”

The tiger gave a playful growl, shaking his head. He crossed his legs and placed the mug in his lap. “And you’re gonna stop me?” His words were daring, but his voice was soft and loving. Nisha could only sigh and settle back into her chair more comfortably.

For a few moments, the two sat in silence. A silence that Oscar quite liked. He wanted to stay like this forever, the scent of coffee bathing his tongue and the warmth of fire and nustled covers blanketing him.
He went down to take a sip of the hot coffee as Nisha began to speak again.

“We need to talk about the Society, Oscar. You can’t run from that topic forever.”

Suddenly the coffee seemed cold.

Oscar flattened his ears against the back of his head, giving a low growl as his yellow-gray eyes looked down. His whiskers twitched. He felt a lot of confusing emotions. Particularly about Montague, which in the end, he had to admit were undeserved.

Forcing himself to swallow, Oscar checked his thoughts. How did he feel about everything? What did he even want to mention? The familiar anxiety crowded his chest. Placing the coffee back into his lap, he decided that Nisha deserved to be listened to.

“We do,” Oscar said softly, cocking his head. “What was on your mind?” He forced himself to meet her eyes, gray-blue eyes that seemed nowhere near as hesitant as his own.

“Particularly Montague,” Nisha seemed to be searching for a reaction to those words. She didn’t blink. Oscar didn’t outwardly react, but his bristly fur fluffed itself at his name.

He bit his bottom lip. Nisha stayed quiet, letting him talk. Maybe that was a good way to go about it; Get his feelings out in the open. Talk about how he felt, what he regretted, and what he missed. Confusingly, the answer to all three was everything and nothing at the same time.

Oscar’s ear flicked subconsciously. “Montague’s a bit of a touchy subject-”

“-After you shot him and learned that he wasn’t invincible.” Nisha finished that sentence by cutting him out. Pushing away a sharp frustration, Oscar nodded. He watched as Nisha delicately messed with a watch on her left wrist. “What does that mean for us?” Oscar murmured after a moment, moreso to himself than anything.

“It means that our medallion’s power could be failing like that, too. No matter how many times Montague rushed into battle, he was never damaged, yet you damaged him without much effort.” Nisha sighed, looking away.

Oscar, a bit shamefully, didn’t quite care about that first bit. He never used his powers the amulet had given him often. To cause a bit of intimidation, maybe, but he didn’t get glee in using them for the sake of usage. He felt his pawpads tingle with that familiar electric shock he had received ever since donning the medallion. It honestly felt quite… Scary. It felt scary having that power, hence why he preferred running and gunning.

Now, the second part of that he cared about quite a lot. Oscar didn’t know why he was so confused over everything. After what Montague had done, he shouldn’t care. He really shouldn’t. Yet, after everything, his thoughts immediately screamed at him with a cacophony of guilt and anger. Why had he done that?

He knew he and Montague would never be able to be in a comfortable presence with each other again. That night’s events had secured that. Atleast, that’s what he had wanted, right? Oscar didn’t quite understand why he didn’t feel much satisfaction.
Or maybe he did, and he just didn’t want to admit it to himself.

“How have your powers been?” Oscar asked, tilting his head downward to give his coffee a glance. Nisha’s medallion had given her extreme dexterity, stamina, and agility, which proved rather useful given her love for fencing. She sighed. Oscar narrowed his eyes, watching as her hands traveled to a thin gold necklace around her neck, of which the medallion hung hidden under her shirt.

Oscar didn’t quite understand the point of leaving a medallion across your throat. Didn’t most of your opponents go for the neck first? Atleast, those who fought with claws and fangs did. His own medallion, which was about the size of a quarter, lay implanted in a ring that nobody except Nisha knew about. Despite his reluctance to use the electricity that brimmed in his claws, he always kept it on him. It would be too much of an earful to listen to Montague rant about how he had gone through all that work to get it for him, only to lose it.

Although an odd twist in his heart told him maybe it’d be worth it to hear his voice again.

Nisha, however, had been talking as Oscar had been lost in his mind. “-Quite the drawback, but I honestly haven’t felt too much different. I’ve been as agile as always.” Her voice was filled with a hint of pride. The tiger gave a warm purr subconsciously. He loved her voice so dearly.

“Well, that’s something.” Oscar picked up the mug and took another sip, his whiskers twitching. “I feel the same, too,” He added, acting as though he had been paying rapt attention. Nisha’s eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, though, and he felt a splash of guilt. He always had a bad habit of never being able to pay attention to too much at one time, often preferring to retreat into his mind during boring meetings or paperwork. Sometimes, being important was quite intimidating enough to make him shell himself away. Nisha, atleast, helped to drag him out of his hermit every so often.

She sighed, dragging him out of his thoughts once more. Osar tried to root himself more firmly into reality.

“After what happened with Hope and Jones, and that wretched banana, we need to be more alert.” Nisha looked at her hands. “I trust that you have that thing still firmly locked away?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah, he’s currently off with Valeria. She quite likes his company.” His voice drew off as he noticed Nisha begin to bristle at his words, a frown cusping his muzzle as she narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t trust her,” She snapped, looking to the side. “Why’s he with her of all people? I’d rather have Montague watch that thing than her. Plus, don’t you forget who her sister is?”

Oscar fluffed his ears against the back of his head, feeling quite attacked by Nisha’s sudden snappiness. “Of course I haven’t forgotten, but me and her are still close, even after what happened. And on that topic, do you think Valeria wants anything to do with Hope after that?”

“Yes. Yes I do.” Nisha’s voice was cold. “Hope’s got a way with her words, as you would know, Oscar.”

Oscar didn’t respond to that one.

“Anyhow, what happened that night isn’t important-” Oscar unwillingly let out a low growl that Nisha immediately paused her talking for.

“You disagree, then?” She cocked her head, her eyes curious.

“That night is very important. It broke us all apart, made the Underground even stronger, and cemented the fact in stone that deep down, we’re all selfish pricks.” Oscar hissed.

“Montague’s nothing but a psychopath who doesn’t even care about how his actions affect us, Valeria’s too caught up in her ambitions and her emotions , you’re trying your best but you only think about your own security, and I guess I’m the only one who actually cared about anything that happened.”

Oscar’s voice was uncharacteristically shaky. He didn’t look up at Nisha once as he spoke. His paws gripped the mug hard. He felt the cup tense as unseen electricity throbbed through it. He was being selfish; Bratty, even, but he didn’t care much right now.

As Nisha was quiet, he risked a look up. Her face was unreadable.

“Montague almost killed that poor girl, Nisha. He almost killed her and he didn’t care. That night should have been one of the most important nights to you because it showed us who he really is.”

“I know.” Nisha let out a breath Oscar realized she had been holding. He felt guilt worm inside of him and he cringed away from her expression as she looked up.

Nisha stood up, adjusting her shirt. Her gray eyes were shockingly warm as she stepped towards Oscar and gently laid a soft hand over his head, her fingers gently entwining around his ears in a soothing pet.
“You still care about her, then.” Nisha didn’t ask a question. She made a statement.

“I do,” Oscar’s voice was soft as he realized he couldn’t lie. “I’ll always care about her. Maybe I’m no better than Valeria in that regard.”

“I don’t think I can blame you, even if I’m upset,” Nisha sighed, crouching down beside the chair. She laid a hand on the armrest. Subconsciously, longing for her warmth again, Oscar moved a paw from the coffee mug to gently rest along her wrist. He felt himself gently shock her and he winced, although she simply flipped her hand to hold his paw better.

They sat in silence, then, holding paw to hand in a comfortable yet tensionized quiet. Oscar knew that the topic was nowhere near close to being settled.

He closed his eyes, but all he saw was Montague drawing that gun, laying it right against Hope’s forehead.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘩𝘶𝘩?" 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯.

"𝘠𝘦𝘴. 𝘠𝘦𝘴 𝘐 𝘥𝘰." 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦'𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘖𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.

𝘏𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘳.

𝘚𝘰 𝘖𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦. 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘖𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

Chapter Text

So Montague wasn’t having quite the best of days.

First off, Kieran made him want to absolutely break any promises he ever made to anyone about keeping his temper in check and not randomly turning people into glittery statues. Just that smug expression and the way he seemed bitterly indifferent to so many of Montague’s attempts to rile him.

Hissing to himself, Montague laid a hand against his desk, although pulling away immediately as silvery fingerprints began to imbed within the top of the wood.

He frowned and stared at it for a moment. Then stared at his fingers. The tips were diamond and also seemingly turning everything they touch into the crystal at this very moment. Maybe it was time to invest in non-fingerless gloves.

He looked at his watch instinctively, finding it was also diamond. With a sigh, he raised his opposite hand and gently brushed his thumb against it, pulling the crystal out of it. It took a lot more energy out of him to change things back to normal rather than to change it to the familiar silver-blue crystal.

Montague looked up.

Quail was sitting in a nearby chair, writing something in pen on paper. Frowning, deep in thought, the smaller servant seemed ponderous.

“Where’s Salem, again?” Montague asked, feigning interest in a recently diamond-ified pen left on his desk.

“Out patrolling the border, as always. He’ll be back by tonight.” Quail seemed completely comfortable in Montague’s presence, his anxiety fading as Montague had calmed himself earlier. He had felt wriggles of guilt that only intensified as he remembered the servant’s terrified eyes.

That temper of his was gonna get him in trouble one day. He could feel it.

Had it not already, anyhow? Adjusting the collar to his ruffled overcoat, Montague leaned back into his chair with a muffled grunt.

He crossed his legs, waiting. He didn’t exactly know what for. Something to fill the gap in time, he supposed, but even then what was gonna be at the end of that?

Montague swiveled his chair around, turning to look out the window. The beautiful snowy landscape always managed to calm his nerves, although he had to admit that lately the snow seemed to be melting a bit earlier in the year than it normally did. Perhaps spring was just coming early this year. The cold drip of icicles melting from the gutters above the window made quite a ruckus in a room that was oddly silent.

Normally, he was a talker. Atleast, that’s what he did. Talked. Left spaces in words and let others fill the gaps. Get information. Quail was quite the victim to this, too. He would begin a sentence, draw off, and let the twitchy servant fill in the gaps with information that Montague didn’t even consider important, yet perhaps would end up useful in the future.

Right now, though, talking was something Montague felt would be less in his favor than preferred. Holding his tongue was probably going to allow less opportunities for his anger to spill out in word form, although the amulet glittering on his chest reminded him that his entire body could be an outlet now. Keeping his diamond-frosted fingers off of his chair and settled firmly in his lap, Montague decided maybe thinking would be helpful. Thinking about how he felt. Thinking about what everything meant. Thinking.

Jonesy. The Underground. Hope. He watched a pigeon land on the windowsill, settling itself neatly down onto the landing spot with a fluff of its wings. It had an odd frosty gleam of snow and frost upon it that reminded Montague eerily of diamond.

Jonesy. That smug bastard. He appeared out of nowhere alongside Hope and proved to be a worthy opponent. He fought like he had nothing left to lose, like he had centuries of fighting experience. It was honestly quite admirable. If only he had used that brain and saw that all Montague wanted to achieve was a small bit of power, maybe it wouldn’t have come to blows. His curiosity towards Jones was exemplified tenfold as Valeria had sat him down once long ago and told him of a few stories he didn’t quite understand how she had received them. Words about a mysterious Zero Point, something that held power far beyond even the medallions, which was by far the greatest power Montague had ever laid his eyes on. The pigeon shuffled its pink-gray feet, scattering soft prints in the snow where it laid.

Jonesy knew how to use that Zero Point. He may have even known its location. So, as would any intelligent person, Montague wanted that knowledge.

Moreso Valeria, in complete honesty, he admitted to himself. He was looking for ways to impress her and that snagged him like a thorn in a rose's stem.
Yet, as any idiotic person, Jonesy refused to give Montague that information. He quite remembered that meeting with Oscar, perhaps only a few days before they had fallen out with each other. He remembered the sly grin on that tiger’s face as they left, Montague’s anger and disdain fading into interest. Clearly, he could remember Oscar murmuring about how not to worry, he’ll get Jones to talk. Hadn’t it been that exact next day that he had shown up, having captured one of that Underground rat’s closest friends, Peely? Or whatever that banana went by. Montague smiled to himself, remembering how Oscar had boasted about it so eagerly.

Montague also remembered the fondness he had felt for Oscar, although he’d never admit that bit to himself. He preferred to pretend all they had been was close friends. That was it. As if his guilt spoke to him, he felt the hair prickle along his shoulders and back, right where the rough score of claws had dug in and scarred him permanently.

The pigeon got to its feet, those wings flapping as they shook show and ice off. Montague regarded it warmly. He always had a fondness for avians. They were quite interesting, when he was younger he used to study them quite attentively.
The Underground within itself was an issue. Founded by Hope shortly after Valeria had joined their ranks, their only goal was, annoyingly, take down the Society. He never felt fond of Hope, even when Valeria had first introduced them a year or so before the Society had even come into fruition. He remembered how she had narrowed her eyes and reluctantly shook his hand.

Perhaps she had known he was ambitious and would stop at next to nothing to take his dreams by the horns and conquer them. Perhaps Hope had been smart. She had come close to killing him quite a few times, however his medallion always saved him. Nothing could break through diamond, anyhow. Atleast, that’s what Montague told himself. He looked down at his fingers, trying to force the thin layer of diamond he saw away. To his quite helpless worry, it barely moved. His power was a lot more unstable now than it was a few years ago. If he were to be attacked at this very moment, would he be able to defend himself with his usual measures? Anyhow, he would now. He resorted to carrying an assortment of weapons wherever he went. A pistol normally holstered against his hip, several daggers aligning his belt, it wasn’t comparable to having the ability to summon a coat of armor within a second’s notice, but he had weapons. That’s what mattered. The pigeon gently preened at its plumage. If Montague dared to humanize it, he’d say it was trying to be as vain and pretty as possible.

Hope. That’s where all his issues were warping back to. Hope. Montague raised a hand and gently rested it on his face. He looked out the window. She, even if she didn’t realize it yet, had him cornered. The pigeon lifted into the air. He watched it go. He smiled slightly at the beauty and gracefulness of the bird. A flicker of red-white feathers sounded from the corner of his eyes. A hawk swooped down. He spotted the cruel points to that beak and those piercing yellow eyes. Its talons sank around the pigeon’s throat. He could hear the squeal of death escape its beak, even from the safety of his office. The hawk swiveled its head around, laying beady eyes into Montague’s own. He swore it was mocking him.

And with a blink, it was gone. Off to find new prey, perhaps.

“Montague?” Quail’s voice was quiet, unconcerned but curious. With a shaky hand, Montague adjusted his amulet and looked over his shoulder.

“Yeah, Quail?” He asked warmly, turning his chair back into the correct position and standing up. The world spun for a moment and Montague stumbled, the dizziness taking him like a viper’s poison. He didn’t even realize he was about to fall down until Quail was suddenly at his side, letting Montague lean against him. The younger servant’s weight lifting him was welcome, and with slow heavy breaths, Montague managed to grasp the back of his chair and support himself.

As Quail opened his mouth to say something, Montague lifted a hand and waved in his vague direction. He didn’t need echoes of the anxiety that rang in his head.

As though biding his words, Quail shuffled his feet and seemed hesitant. “When’s the last time you’ve eaten?” He politely asked, looking genuinely concerned, as Montague managed to sit himself up.

“Yesterday, maybe.” Montague straightened his overcoat, biting his lower lip. He cocked his head and looked out the window once more. “It’s almost evening, Monty,” Quail’s voice was a scolding whisper as he turned towards the desk and began to rifle through it.

“Hey, what the hell are you-” Montague was swiftly cut off as Quail brandished a granola bar that he had seemingly dragged out of nowhere in his face. “Eat,” Quail hissed, looking comically ferocious despite being almost a foot shorter.

Feeling quite intimidated, but not just by Quail’s stature, Montague took the granola bar and split the packaging open. The scent of the oats hit his nose, and despite feeling that any texture on his tongue would make him vomit, he bit into it.
It didn’t take him quite long to start scarfing it down like a wolf on death’s door. Quail watched him almost humorously.

“When did you hide that away?” Montague asked, crumpling the wrapper. He tossed it into a trash can shuffled off to the side, where it hit the bottom with an usually loud clinking sound. Giving it an inspection, Montague realized he had accidentally diamondified it.

Quail took a deep breath and began to take the gloves off his hands. “I didn’t put anything there. I just figured, knowing you, you’d have a snack hidden away. Anyhow, put these on, atleast. They’re fully covered.”

Quail put his gloves on the desk. They were the normal servant gloves, black with the Society logo emblazoned on the side. Looking down at his own hands, he realized that his fingers were indeed still glistening with silver-blue crystals.
Figuring it best not to argue as he felt exhaustion weighing on his mind and body, Montague slipped his usual gloves off, laying them on the desk and quickly adjusted Quail’s gloves on. They were a bit small, but they would hopefully work to help prevent his power from causing any serious damage.

Montague frowned. The tips of the gloves were slowly turning an ornery blue.

“That’ll keep, y’know, the dangers of turning granola wrappers into diamonds at bay.” Quail joked, picking up one of Montague’s gloves and frowning at it. “Really, diamonds on the knuckles, too? You have… Gaudy tastes.”

“Gaudy tastes that you certainly never complained about,” Montague fired back, pushing back a fond smile. He grunted and examined the new gloves he would adorn, trying his best to look as intimidating as possible as he balefully stretched his hand. “Thank you, anyhow,” He added.

“You’re welcome.” Quail rolled his eyes and walked back over to his chair, gently flipping through the book he had had closed against the arm.

There was an ache in Montague’s head that didn’t quite subside. Rubbing his temples, he felt safe enough at the very moment to step away from his chair. He didn’t want to quite admit he felt better after eating. His pride wouldn’t allow that, not even to someone he was as fond of as he was to Quail. “What were you gonna ask, earlier?” Montague decided to question.

“Oh, I was just wondering where Valeria was. Nothing important.” Quail murmured, folding the book shut and replacing it back to its rest on the arm of the chair.

Valeria. Montague paused. Where was she? He checked his watch, pulling his new tight glove back to see it easier.

It was 6:37 in the evening. His heart fluttered with excitement as he thought of her.

“She should be in the library, anyhow.” Montague purred, lifting his head. Quail frowned, as though the sudden change in demeanor was surprising. “She told me she wanted to read, as always.”

“Let’s go see, then!” Quail hopped up, his eyes gleaming excitedly. He rubbed the back of his neck, an anxious tic the young servant had adapted.

“Yeah, we can interrogate Salem later.” Montague purred. It’d be good to push the anxiety that was the Underground, Hope, and Jones out of his mind. Also perhaps the anxiety of what was wrong with him, because there was definitely something. He pulled his hands into his pant pockets, bitterfully aware of how his glove fingertips were noticeably colder.

As Quail walked to the door and turned the knob, Montague followed. As he prepared to leave, it was as though something tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his head, not truly expecting anything.

Sitting upon the windowsill was the hawk. It glared at him with those eyes. Those piercing yellow eyes Montague couldn’t shake away. Its pristine beak had a gleam of bright and vibrant blood on it. It fluffed its feathers and gave a low hiss, akin to knives on a chalkboard, that Montague seemed to hear through the frosted glass.

“Coming, sir?” Quail’s voice sounded from down the hallway.

“Coming.” Montague answered, turning and exiting the office. He slammed the door behind him.

Chapter Text

The library was a warm place, filled with welcoming lantern-light and books as far as the eye could see. Montague himself never really took much interest in putting a library in Grand Glacier, as he knew that Reckless always had any book he would ever need, but after Valeria began coming over more often a year back, he had insisted it be added in. He remembered how her face had lit up, how Nisha had snorted and gave Montague a playful look, and how Oscar had teased him for being so sappy.

“Wow, really? You made a library just for her? You’re one lucky lady, Val,” Montague remembered Oscar had purred, a smile spreading across his face as he recalled how she had blushed and shied away, turning to look at all the books with a warm expression.

The walk there was covered in a warm silence, Montague giving Quail an occasional look to check on the small servant. He seemed fidgety, although no more than normal. Anxious perhaps. Nothing Montague wasn’t used to, but he felt a hint of worry. Maybe something was different this time.

His headache hadn’t subsided, though, so he chose to not really put much thought into things. His stomach gave an uncomfortable twinge as turned a corner and faced the library doors.

The doors were a warm wood, oak perchance, lined with a silvery sheet of gold on the edges and the knob that made it seem welcoming and unforeboding in comparison to the rest of the hotel’s pale, cold, color scheme.

Extending his hand, Montague laid a gloved hand on the knob and slowly turned it, the warm scent of old paper hitting his nose. He took a step inside of the carpeted room and took a deep breath, instantly feeling himself relax.

The library was about two floors tall, with elegant staircases on either end of the rectangular room that lead to the second level. The first level was mainly couches, sofas, chairs, anything comfortable to sit on as well as a few tables, with bookshelves lining the back walls, while the second floor was filled to the brim with books and shelves and reading materials. Montague had even managed to secure a few computers to place on the back desks.

A few people lounged there, basking in the warmth, reading a book or two. Yet, as Montague eagerly flicked the place with his eyes, he caught no sight of Valeria.

No worries. She was on the second level, then. Or maybe not here at all; It was almost dinnertime. Perhaps she had gone to the kitchens to wait for the food.

Quail had also looked around, his soft curls of hair bouncing against his shoulders as he turned his head. Montague chuckled; he’d have to take the servant to get his hair cut soon if Salem didn’t.

Thinking of Salem, at the moment, gave him an uncomfortably prickly feeling in his stomach he was sure had no correlation to the hunger he felt subconsciously, so he chose to push that thought away.

“Check down here for me?” Montague rumbled softly in a gentle tone as he began to pad to the nearest set of stairs. Quail nodded and scurried off back behind one of the shelves, his eyes wide and searching.

Montague scaled the steps, briskly aware of how eyes turned on him no matter where he went. He supposed that was the price to being famous, for better or for worse reasons.

Nobody could confirm it except the man himself, but it was almost bitterly obvious Montague was responsible for the majority of major heists going on around the island. He had been taken into police custody a few times even, but with no proof (And he made bitter sure there was none), he was always released.

That didn’t mean people didn’t know it, though. They knew he was a dangerous man, and Montague quite liked that. Everyone across Helios would know his name and stare eventually. Eventually. Maybe if things actually went away for once.

He took careful time scanning the aisles, checking carefully for Valeria. He took every note he could, but eventually, Montague reasoned with himself she wasn’t there.

With a sigh, fidgeting awkwardly against the chain of his medallion, he turned, although only to almost bump into an extremely familiar form.

“Oh, watch it, you b-” Kieran snapped, stumbling back and almost hitting the bookshelf, before he recognized Montague. There was an awkward silence as Kieran shuffled up, rubbing his left shoulder as though it was aching, and he dipped his head with a grunt. “I didn’t recognize you, sorry.”

Montague simply only gave the rat of a guard a searching look, lifting an eyebrow. This was the last person he wanted to see right now. Well, he had to admit he’d rather see Kieran than Oscar or Nisha.

His forearm subconsciously pulsed against the bandages that still bound him, the wound hadn't fully healed in its course yet.

Kieran looked suspiciously unargumentative. He seemed submissive, almost, looking around as though he had places he needed to be rather than itching for a fight like he always did.

“Are you… Alright?” Montague asked, bitterly aware that he was acting unlike himself as well. On any other occasion he’d have taken the first opportunity to piss the shifty guard off, but he couldn’t help but reason to himself that Kieran didn’t look the best right now, with tired eyes and unkempt hair. Also, Valeria held a soft spot for him, so he should at least try, right? Plus, it was already glaringly obvious Val loved him and not Kieran.

Kieran gave Montague a distrustful look, the familiar spark of anger growing then fading as quickly as it came.

“I can’t find Valeria,” He admitted after a moment, his voice lowering. Montague frowned, feeling a prickle of anxiety start to well in him.

Kieran gave his head a nervous shake. “I checked everywhere in this damn hotel. Everywhere. Her room, the kitchens, hell even other rooms! I just remembered this place was here so I figured I’d check, but she’s not here. Do you know where she is?” Kieran gave Montague a hopeful look, his eyes narrowed.

Montague took a second to think. It hit him like a truck slamming into his head that even if Valeria obviously wasn’t interested in Kieran, the vice versa may not be the same. Well, looking at the obvious anxious demeanor Kieran held and the affection in his eyes, it was obviously not the same.

Oh. His heart did a weird flip in his chest. Montague felt awkward, realizing suddenly how Kieran felt towards Valeria was strangely close to how he felt. I mean, who wouldn’t feel like that towards her? He knew even Nisha had gotten close to her when they were younger. Valeria was beautiful, stunning, and everything Montague had ever wanted.

Kieran shuffled his feet, reminding Montague of the predicament at hand.

“No, I haven’t.” Monty cockedhis head curiously and pushed away the fragments of anxiety rumbling in his chest. He narrowed his eyes and examined the guard as he twisted to give his neck an anxious scratch.

“Well, before I came here, I decided to check her room.” Kieran seemed to have a hard time swallowing, as though something blocked his throat. “And I found this.”

He reached into the pocket of his hoodie, something Montague just now realized being that Kieran wasn’t even in his guard uniform; He hadn’t even changed. He pulled out with a shaky dark hand an open envelope.

Kieran handed it to Montague, unable to meet his eyes as shame burned in them. Feeling a lot more worried than he had before, Montague took the letter and flicked it to where he could see the addressing part.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her. This isn’t your fau-” He broke off with a deep intake of breath.

His first warning should’ve been an Underground stamp hidden on the top, which seemed hastily drawn. His second, and more anxiety-inducing, was the sender’s name. Hope. As in Valeria’s sister.

Montague raised his head to look Kieran in the eyes, their eyes both sparkling with sudden fear.

Perhaps for Kieran, it was fear of what was gonna happen to him, but Montague couldn’t care less to lay a hand or verbally berate the obviously anxiety-ridden guard. Maybe more so it was fear for what was gonna happen to everyone, because Hope and Valeria together could mean very few things and none of them good.

For Montague, it was genuine terror, because he knew that after what had happened, Hope might know that the greatest way to hurt him and to enact revenge was to take Valeria from him.

“Follow me, and you better fill me in on what this note says before we get to her room,” Montague hissed, handing the note back and almost throwing himself out of the library aisle to hit the ground at a brisk pace.

Montague hit the stairs, basically running down them. Quail had poked his head out from a first floor aisle, instantly joining Montague as he beckoned him over. He didn’t care about the eyes that turned to him and questioning murmurs.

This was serious. Serious and could end horribly, as Hope and Montague never quite got along for good reasons, although it ended about a year ago with him holding a gun to her temples and being prepared to blast her brains out. He almost wished he had done it, now swallowing a gulp as he slammed the Library’s main doors open and exited to the hallway.

Because if Hope had converted Valeria back to the Underground’s side, Valeria had valuable information on Montague now. Who knew what she would have dug up while here. His entire plan of controlling the island could be in jeopardy.

Montague gave a nervous, soft, laugh as the trio walked, clenching his fists. He felt cold. Eerily cold. He tried to tell himself it was just fear, but he looked down at his hands.

Hands that were pure diamond and shaky with the realization he may have just lost the last person he truly loved forever.

Chapter Text

This beginning sequence takes place before the current events of Intransigent and the break-up of the Society, about a year and a half ago.

Far, far away, a hawk let out a shriek, fluffing out it's wings, yellow eyes gleaming. The cold night developed shadows Montague always felt peace in. This place was beautiful on a snowy night. A frozen lake, surrounded by fluffy pine trees, the snow leaving crunches underfoot. Raising his head, Montague heard the violent call of a bird somewhere out in the distance. The distance, the night sky, stars and clouds scattered like a painter had taken a paintbrush and placed beautiful white speckles and gray whisps over a dull yet ever so vibrant midnight blue canvas.

Montague sat, knees pulled up against his chest, in the snow. A soft twist of wind sent flurries scattering across his face, letting twinges of cold starburst across his skin. The cold embraced him; Welcomed him. Giving a glance to his right, letting his gaze break from the sky, he looked over at Valeria.

She was gorgeous. Valeria. Her white outfit, blending so perfectly with the snow yet standing out so much against it. The way her fiery hair gently fluffed up against her shoulders, as she huddled into her warmth. Montague noticed dimly how as she shifted, her hands released soft tendrils of smoke, the snow disappearing at her touch. Her touch. Montague looked at her forearm, which she now lay her hand resting on the snow suspiciously close to Montague’s thigh.

He raised a hand, a hand covered in snowflakes, and hesitated to rest it on hers.

“It’s a beautiful night tonight, isn’t it?” Valeria’s voice was like the warmest spark against metal, cutting through the serene silence. Montague quietly pulled his hand back, wrapping his arms back around his knees.

He heard the hawk again, farther away. “It is,” Montague responded. It was a beautiful night. He always got views like this from the comfort of his office in Grand Glacier, but somehow, sitting here at this frozen lake, it was better. Prettier. Montague hid his face against his collar with a warm chuff of laughter. “It really is, Val.”

Valeria let out a soft giggle; She always did when he called her by her nickname. She always gave him that bashful expression and shied away. It sent flurries in his chest that perhaps seemed slightly reminiscent of the snowflakes scattered across the beautiful portrait in front of him.

With a shake of her head, Valeria got up and dusted the snow off herself. Feeling a small twinge of alarm at her sudden movement, Montague watched her with a raised eyebrow. He watched steam rise from the quickly melted snow, noticing that where she had sat had an absence of snow as well as slightly singed grass where her legs had stretched. He knew Valeria would never burn him, she always kept her powers in check, yet he made a mental note to be careful when approaching her with his touch.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly, getting up as well. Valeria simply sighed and stretched her arms, those eyes of hers, so gorgeous and flamed, seemed to stare right into his soul. Montague couldn’t control the soft shiver that ran across his body that was completely unrelated to the snow.

The cold never bothered him. In fact, he welcomed it, because more often than not he felt the familiar cold every time he shifted from one form to another. It had simply become a part of him, the way warmth and fire wrapped Valeria like spiderwebs. They were simply two opposites; Nothing Montague didn’t appreciate and admire.

He watched as Valeria lowered her arms and gave him a smile. “I’m fine. I just wanted to stretch, Monty.”

Now it was his turn to smirk and averse his gaze away. All of the sudden, the pine trees covered in blankets of cozy snow seemed appealing to his gaze.

He heard the patter of snow as Valeria took a few steps, but he didn’t register it until suddenly she was directly in front of him. Letting out a soft grunt of surprise as she wrapped her arms around his neck, Montague was forced to look Valeria in the eyes. Eyes like pools of endless fire, in the most beautiful way that he desired and loved.

Montague paused, then lifted a hand to gently lay against her cheek, rubbing his thumb against her warm skin. She melted into his touch, and with a rumbling purr he lifted his other hand to tenderly brush a strand of hair away.

They stood there like that for a few moments, Montague radiating cold like the sharpest mountain peak and Valeria radiating warmth like the most vicious wildfire, licks of gold and blood creating the most captivating rapture his eyes had ever seen. Was it just him, or did his body subconsciously lean closer?

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” His voice was steady in the beautiful silence of the forest around them.

“You never let me forget,” She responded. Val lifted her arms to wrap around Monty’s neck, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment as he felt her palms against his skin.

And for a minute it was just that. Montague and Val leaned into each other, their lips enticingly close. Atleast, until Montague felt a sudden warmth along the back of his neck.

With a yelp, Montangue sprang back, feeling the singe of smoke, before immediately erupting into a fit of laughter. Valeria had shot back as well, her eyes wide and an expression of guilt on her face as she looked at her palms.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to do that!” She gently rubbed her hands together, a soft hiss of fire fading and a lone strand of smoke flicking into the air. “Why are you laughing? Are you hurt?”

Montague was laughing, feeling so light and dazed. His neck singed lightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck, the faint scent of singed skin lingering on the roof of his mouth. “No, no, it’s fine, I barely felt it,” His voice was warm, no hint of anger, and that was genuinely how he felt. No anger at all. A mistake, that’s all it was. He gave Valeria a teasing look. “You normally have good control over your fire… Are you alright?”

He watched as Valeria looked away, her face slightly red and soft, her eyes soft and tangled with shyness he hadn’t seen in a long time. He cocked his head to the side, watching her. “Nervous,” She replied after a moment. “Y’know, it’s been a long time since we’ve come out alone like this.”

A long time. That was true. They hadn’t been out together in… Months. He couldn’t put an exact name to the time, but they’d been busy, with an island to run. Keeping Helios in check. Watching out for the Underground. Watching out for Hope.

Valeria hadn’t been okay, since her sister deserted. Hope and Valeria had been close, especially since their parents had passed when they had both been young, only a little bit after Montague had met them. He had helped take care of them after that, so they had all been close. He had viewed Hope as a little sister, even. They were close. He thought, maybe, they could all be a family together, him and his beloved and Hope.

But, of course, she went and betrayed him, talking about how he was some power-hungry monster and rallying up those who also hated him. And proved with each more moment that really, the only people he could ever trust, were the three who ruled beside him.

“You’re drifting off again,” Valeria’s words gently tousled Montague from the depths of his mind. He blinked, and with a sigh, he sat back down upon the ground, the snow crunching beneath him. He looked out over the lake, the night sky making beautiful reflections across the ice, and he heard Valeria sit down next to him, too. For a few moments, they sat in silence, until Valeria spoke. Montague could feel her looking at him with those vibrant red eyes.

“You can talk to me. I can feel something bothering you,” Valeria chuckled, and Montague couldn’t help but smirk. “You always get that tortured look in your eyes, and you sigh and look up at the sky and act like you're about to go into a monologue.”
He shook his head. “No, no, it’s just…”

Monty looked over at Val.

“You’re awfully pretty tonight.”

“Stop that.” Val gently pushed him, yet a smile creased her lips. “You said that a dozen times earlier, and I know that’s not what's wrong. I can feel there's something more. There’s always something more with you, I’m afraid, so talk to me.” Flicking her hair back across her shoulder and out of her face, she looked up at the night sky. Dozens of stars glittering coldly back at them, like the universe was asking something of them that neither could answer.

It took Monty a few moments to gather the words to speak, but he had a feeling Valeria didn’t mind that. He liked taking a few moments to think, to breathe, to let the words run over in his mind so he didn’t sound like a fool when he spoke. “I have an idea.” He said softly, the words hitting the crisp air like a fallen feather of a dove. “But I’m not sure if you’d appreciate it.”

Val gave him a look. That particular look. The cool, collected, calculating look she always gave when she was thinking about something grand. Large. Something that matched him perfectly, like a diamond in a beautiful cusp, grasped so gently and elegantly he wasn’t sure it would ever fit anywhere else. “Go on.” She said, looking down at her hands. Smoke gently lingered at her fingertips, warmth radiating so strongly.

“If we want to rule the island as efficiently as we should, we need law. Order. Something to… Maintain peace, if you will.” Montague looked up at the stars again, tearing his gaze away from Val’s, feeling the amulet against his chest pulse like his own heartbeat. “Especially with this Underground organization rising up. The island might panic, the citizens might revolt. We need our own faction, our own control, new laws in place to protect us.”

Valeria was silent. Montague didn’t look over. Just waited. With bated breath. Each star glimmered as coldly as he felt the night’s chill. But it was peaceful. And he knew he just had to wait.

“How would you go about that?” Valeria asked, and Montague finally looked over to her. His face was flat, serious, yet a soft sparkle lit both of his eyes. With a smile, their eyes met, and he felt a little tension relieved his body.

He extended a hand, and she placed hers within it. A sparklingly cold hand, glittering with the faint precipice of bountiful diamond, met with a disastrously hot one, unpredictable and all too warm yet all too predictable, smoke coiling from the fingertips. It was all too right and all too wrong. Different ideals, different paths, different everything. Toiling heat and blizzardous cold. One could only kill the other.

“Something to… Match the Underground. Help society. Bring Helios to greatness. Let's call it the… Society. Yeah. I like that. The Society. Four owners, ruling over a different fourth of the island. I take one, you take another, Nisha and Oscar can take the other two. We create order around Helios. Power. We snuff out the opposition and we take control. Real control. With these powers, now, I think we would be unstoppable once we put our foot down. We can fix this island. Maybe… We can even fix Hope.”

Yes. Fix Hope. Show her that they didn’t want to harm anyone. These things could be peaceful, beautiful, and easy. And that the island would be okay, even if a little bit of blood had to be shed in the process. They could show her they didn’t mean any harm. And Helios was safe. It always would be, under the Society.

Valeria was quiet. Her face wasn’t anxious. In fact, she seemed concentrated. Her expression was still, as always, vaguely unreadable. That was a consistent. Or perhaps he just wasn't good at reading people.

It took a moment, but Montague wouldn't push it. He held his tongue.

Off in the distance, a hawk shrieked. A soft, shrill, musical note. Far away, perhaps chasing prey. Distant.

“Leave Hope out of it.”

“What?”

“I said leave my sister out of it.”

Valeria looked sorrowful as she spoke of her sister. Pulling her body close to her against the snowy ground, she looked anywhere but Montague's eyes. Anywhere but him. “My sister is making a mistake, but I can't let her get hurt. If we fully erect law on the island, she'll come to her senses, but please. Don't hurt her.”

“I would never hurt her. She's like my sister too.” Montague said, all too quickly. “We just need her to come to her senses. Which, all we'll have to do is intimidate her a bit. She'll get scared and come running back, and we'll be okay again. Me and you, and Nisha and Oscar, and her and all of us. Happy. I promise, Val.”

The snow was cold. The wind was chilling. Valeria's warmth burnt it all away. She would burn it all away. Everything was okay as long as he had her.

Valeria was quiet for a few moments longer, then she leaned against him. Their hands still held. Their magic entwining, hissing, rejecting, anything but coexisting. Perhaps it was a hint to the future, a sign that perhaps…

“You promise?” Val asked.

“I promise.” Monty answered.

“Then let's do it. Let's help the island.”

So the two lean against eachother. Their bodies hissed as they touched. But they found comfort within eachother. Comfort that, in reality, should never be found. Words died on Montague’s tongue, but they were words he couldn't voice. Ideas raced through his head, too fast to count. He could save everyone. He knew he could. Even Hope. Even Val. He could do this.

As the two sat there, a large bird of prey landed upon a branch of a tree overlooking the lake. It's feathers were ruffled, shaken, yet a fire burned in it’s eyes.

Close, too close, it let out a shriek, yellow eyes gleaming.