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Chapter Text

Ruining what was once a glassy, clear view, the rain poured down like heavy drumming onto the window until Ithaqua couldn't bare it anymore. His eyes were half-lidded, and with only the slightest curl of his lips, Robbie and Jack promptly on each side of the window, shakily moved the curtains just enough so they could cover the cloudy sky that Ithaqua gave the most ficklest of frowns to. It wasn't a groan, not a snarl. But it was enough.

Robbie moved first. He rushed to step in closer to the other end of the curtain, gripping his half tightly in between his tiny fingers. Jack followed with a swift tug and a clean step. They bowed their heads only just a little slightly, and the curtains closed. It muffled the sound, shaded the tower from the light, and then there was the illusion of peace.

They had to be careful.

In Ithaqua's view, beauty and petiteness was fragile in his view. One simple move, one fickle mistake and you wouldn't just be dead. You would be served to his excellence.

Ithaqua didn't hunt sport. Ithaqua didn't dig his claws into his prey. He stalked, and he waited. Robbie and Jack were priests, and each kill they got was an offering.

They understood their role better than anyone. Each swing of their weapons, each step they walked towards their prey-- it all counted towards his goal. Robbie and Jack were not hunters anymore. They didn't serve just death, they served a holy offering smothered and molded from fear, deceit and blood.

And they fed him when he pleased. Not too much, he was not one for gluttony. Not too inconsistent, leaving him astray made him relentless. Dangerous. Hungry.

They learned this from past experience.

They remembered the shriek, that was neither man nor beast when his patience finally broke. Robbie could only remember the smell of thick iron in the air as he had a rather bad encounter with Jack after they had starved him for so, so long.

They couldn't afford to make that mistake again.

Jack held a platter full of whatever remained of the first hunt, with Robbie following right behind, clutching the edge of his coat. Jack was careful not to let the juices leak from the edges, to taint his suit a dark velvet. Robbie's boots left footprints across the floor as they ascended each level of the tower, and with each step their breath grew more heavier and heavier. The air grew colder, and colder, until they were panting, begging, gasping for air. But they both knew they could not act so weak in the presence of Ithaqua.

They made it. The doors softly opened.

Ithaqua sat before them, seated in his tall chair made of dark oak. His eyes, a dark shade of crimson, had finally lifted from the book that laid on his lap. Only a slight move from him made Robbie and Jack cower, but only inside their minds. Risking any physical emotion that was not dullness and simplicity could ruin not just one, but both of them in a blink.

They sank to their knees without any stutter, heads bowed and Jack lifted the arm that held the platter as if it were an offering to their lord.

And in a way, it was.

Ithaqua's eyes did not widen, but only a small curl of his lips into that of a clean smirk made the rooms air grow only so much thicker, and with a raise of his hand and a few minutes, the platter was clean.

From the outside, the harsh winter storm that had been previously muffled grew louder, as if on cue when Ithaqua licked his lips, and now it was that and the familiar scent of iron Robbie had grown used to.

The two would offer, offer, and offer until the manor reeked of fresh blood and flesh and rotting organs,

and Ithaqua would only feast.

Chapter Text

Morning came with no sun. Only the cold whisper of dawn pressing against the fogged windows. Jack and Robbie were already dressed for their jobs.

Black gloves. Pressed white collars, robes clean as if no blood had ever been near let alone on them. Their weapons lay close to them; Jack's blades were perfectly equipped to his left hand, and Robbie's axe dragged against the floor as they walked through the corridor.

Richard was the chosen offering today.

And, quite unexpectedly, he stood before time, right where the duo were headed. The pale light caught the silver of his hair, his white gloves immaculate as he took a pause, almost sensing the two. Swiftly, his gloved hand brushed the hilt of his sword, posture oozing with unfaltering elegance even though the dread that clung in the air was thick. Heavy. Hungry.

"Now, Robbie." Jack ordered sternly.

Robbie's head darted up at Jack, hands tightly clutching his axe. He was visibly nervous, but he nodded his head with determination. "O-Okay," he whispers, and steadies himself before Sterling.

Knight turned, unsheathing his sword and getting into stance, "Notice papers plastered around the manor. People disappearing out of thin air; it all had to do with you two, hm?" He asked, voice controlled.

Robbie flinched but raised his ace, "Sorry, Mister Knight, but Jack says it's time."

Richard gives a resigned smile. "Do not apologize, young one."

Then, they lunged.

The metal of their weapons clashed, the heavy scent of rain rung sharp in the air as Richard's blade met Robbie's axe. Jack moved behind Richard, striking his blades through the air. Knight deflected, boots skidding across the floor with forced grace, but the walls of the corridor were far too narrow for his own benefit.

Knight fell to one knee, sword making a loud clatter sound as it dropped on the cold, unforgiving floor. He sucked in a sharp breath, blood seeping through his once tidy clothing. His eyes blinked up clear yet defiantly to Jack, light in his eyes flickering as he met his slow end.

"Jack, make it quick," Robbie whispered, tugging on Jack's suit.

Jack met his gaze with an unforgiving aura in his eyes, before his blades swung one final time.

The kitchen's temperature was unforgiving while they worked. Chilled to an irritating limit, but the steam rose from the flesh and blood regardless. Robbie's small hands were steady now, humming a nursery tune as he separated Richard's meat from his bones.

"Mister Jack, do you think he felt it?" Robbie asked out of nowhere, turning to view the strips of bloody flesh in his hands.

Jack paused, wiping the blood from his gloves as he thought, "I do not know. However, he did seem pretty ready."

"He was really pretty."

Jack only nodded, grabbing the sliced piece of flesh and arranged them carefully on the platter, adding lavender petals and rosemary to mask the heavy iron scent that radiated from the mess.

Robbie folded Knight's bloody gloves as a sort of tribute, placing it beside the platter, and then the walk began. The cold followed them like a breath.

The doors to his room opened, the air cold enough to sting. Ithaqua sat in his tall throne, stilts kicked up to his armrest and fingers tapping a rhythm against the oak wood. His hair fell around his shoulders. Eyes half-lidded as if he were amused about the scent of the cooked flesh that reached him.

"My, my," He moved his legs off of the armrest, grin sharp, "you two really outdid yourselves this time."

Jack knelt quickly upon hearing his voice, lowering the platter before him. "My lord, Sterling has been—"

"—perfectly prepared! ～ " Robbie butted in, bouncing on his knees excitedly," All neat and pretty just for you!"

Ithaqua leaned forward, happily examining the display and plating of his dish. His eyes fell onto the blood-tainted gloves that lay beside what remained of him. He grinned, a hand swooping down to take a closer look at it.

"Neat and pretty, huh?" his grin widened, "Just like him. Let's take a bite and see if he tastes as beautiful as he looked."

He dropped the glove carelessly and took a piece of fresh into his mouth, sharp teeth tearing into it with a slow, exaggerated chew. "Mmmmm, oh."

"Um.. your lord, sir, what... what does he taste like?" Robbie asks, voice small, curious.

Ithaqua licked blood off his hand with a flick of his tongue. "Like a disappointment...—" He popped another piece into his mouth, talking around it, "—with a kiss of lavender! And a dash of that dignity he never shut up about."

Jack's lips curled into a soft smile. "My lord..."

"Huh? What?" Ithaqua smiled, leaning back into his throne and finally kicking his stilts back onto the armrest of it. "You know I like a bit of jokes with my breakfast."

Robbie's bloodied hands stood at his side. "He... was really fancy, huh?"

"Mm, oh, so fancy," Ithaqua said with a snort, "Really crunchy texture on the outside, yes—" he took another chunk of flesh in his mouth, smacking exaggeratedly, "—but such a delicate texture and taste on the inside. Little bland though, it lacks the fear I long for!"

Jack sighed, as if he failed his master. And in a sense, he did. "We will ensure no failure to get the perfect taste of fear you desire, my lord."

"Mmh, see that you do," Ithaqua purred, licking his hands clean, leaking streaks of red trailing, stained down his hand. "But, credit where it's due— he had a rather fine chew. I'll give him that, I suppose."

Ithaqua leaned forward once more, grin cooked, eyes glinting. "Now, you two, clean this up, and get ready. I'm already gleaming with excitement for tomorrow!"

Robbie stutters, swallowing hard. He made sure to think about his words before blurting his mind out.

"Um.. wh-who next?"

Ithaqua sighed, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other lazily, "Oh, surprise me. It's more thrilling that way."

The fog pressed closer. The cold deepened, and the hush returned right as Robbie and Jack rose, lifting the blood slick platter, the scent of lavender the man thought highly of, and the heavy scent of irony clinging to the air as they left the chamber.

Ithaqua licked the final taste of Knight's guts from his fingers, the air settling back into satisfied silence.

And the manor prepared itself for the next feast.