The first impression Cassian had of M'Lord Cassandra Gladstone was that the man was a pervert. He had not appreciated the accessing and predatory gleam in the man's eyes when he studied him from beneath dark lashes.
Looked down at him rather.
His second impression of Cassandra Gladstone had been that he really disliked the man. Cassian hated serving him but he'd worked under people he detested before and this was just another job. Actually, it was more important then just a job, this was his chance to prove himself. To guarantee his place inside the ranks of Delilah and if he had to work with a pervert and as snake, so be it.
"So you're Cassian," Gladstone remarked silkily after Dr Zenopia, the man who'd sponsored Cassian's admittance into Delilah had left. The tiny doctor had thought Cassian worthy of Delilah's notice and the dark-haired man intended to see to it that he was accepted no matter what.
"Yes," Cassian murmured, dropping his eyes submissively. His hat was already held in his hands and clutched tightly before him. Because of his averted gaze, Cassian missed the dangerous narrowing of Gladstone's eyes.
"You will kneel and you will address me as 'Yes, my Lord' when asked a question." The aristocrat's voice cracked like a whip and it took Casssian a moment to process the realization that his cheek stung. That he'd actually been hit with a whip!
"Bastard-" Grey eyes flashed up, hot and ready for a fight only to meet Gladstone's smirking face. He tapped the riding crop he'd carried into the room against his gloved hand in a silent message of unspoken menace.
"Kneel, commoner," he commanded imperiously and raised the whip once more. It smacked across Cassian's other cheek this time, leaving the pale skin red and angry in the face of such violence.
For a single moment, Cassian knew instant and absolute hatred. He knew that for one moment, he would have gladly shoved his knife through this arrogant sadist's throat and not regretted a thing. Unfortunately, Cassian's more pragmatic side won out and he reminded himself grimly that this was not the first time he'd had to serve under a whip-happy psychopath.
It was a cold comfort and he toyed with the thought of just up and leaving for a moment. Surely if this was his introduction to this strange society then he couldn't expect much from them. Delilah's promises to Cassian were tenuous at best but sadly, the best options he had thus far.
It didn't help him swallow his pride as he grudgingly lowered to one knee and shot a venomous glare up at Gladstone. "Like this, my Lord?" he spat, disgust coloring his words even as Gladstone smiled in an unpleasant manner. He enjoyed a challenge after all. And the thought of breaking this one was a tempting one indeed.
Especially when those grey eyes flashed and sparked with such pride and temper. The nobleman could already picture how fetching this hot-eyed man would be broken to his will.
Cassian grit his teeth and curled his hands into tight fists as he knelt there. Counting to ten did little to calm his temper so he tried counting to twenty and had barely made it to twelve when he felt the touch of the riding crop tap him under the chin and guide his rebellious gaze upwards.
"We've got a long ways to go, I fear." He was smiling with such cold anticipation that Cassian felt vaguely ill to his stomach. The human body could put up with a limited amount of tortures before it gave into the inevitable. The human spirit was a far more tricky thing to break. It could break long before the body itself was damaged or shattered long after the form lay broken.
Cassian was of the later category and in the coming weeks, even Gladstone himself found himself with his hands full when dealing with the sharp-tongued ill-tempered sprite. He had not counted on Cassian's sheer amount of stubbornness or the man's refusal to take the drugs he tried to slip into his food.
When he tried to force the man into one of his specially tailored dresses and body irons, Cassandra had ended up with a broken wrist and wounded pride. He'd whipped and beat the dark-haired 'boy' within an inch of his life for it. Cassian probably would have died if Cassandra's ego hadn't demanded he live long enough to extract yet more pain and suffering as payment for his wounded arm.
Ego was what had driven Cassandra into summoning a second tier doctor to tend to the man's broken form. It was pure arrogance to assign such menial work to someone a mere tier beneath him. Gladstone had no idea whom he had summoned when he demanded the only available doctor attend his dying 'servant'.
Nor whom his father was.
Ego and pride had always been Gladstone's most telling faults. Pride demanded he was not present when the doctor arrived, but it was his ego that told him he'd get away with his crimes against a fellow Delilah member without a word of reprisal.
Jezebel had taken one look at the shallow-breathing lump of meat that had once been a human and sniffed. He could see at first glance that one of the boy's eyes was swollen shut and puffy due to a direct blow to the face. Similar contusions were littered across his face and upper body.
That in itself was not life-threatening but the blood still seeping from the multitude of cane-markings and the split open welts were worse to the doctor's critical eye. It was obvious from the pool of congealed blood surrounding the young boy's body that he had lain there for a while. Disgust crawled through Jezebel as he surveyed Gladstone's work first hand and he idly toyed with the idea of slitting the poor fellow's throat right then and there and saving him the agony of recovering.
He'd even begun to reach for his scalpel, plans for using the corpse running through his head when a shaking and bloodied hand closed over his arm. "S-Stop." Jezebel noted the unhealthy rasp and rattle of the boy's breath in his chest. Gladstone had no doubt kicked him when he had lain there. Had one of the kicks splintered a rib and pierced the lung? If so, there was little Jezebel could do for that save for going through with his original plan to kill him and put him out of his misery.
The blonde shook off the bloody fingers easily enough and pressed the boy into the ground. "Lie still while I try and patch you up," Jezebel ordered imperiously as if he expected a half delusional man to obey.
"K-Kill…" For a moment, Jezebel thought he was asking to be killed, to be put out of his misery. He underestimated the depth of Cassian's resolve and his spirit. "I'll kill the bastard." For some reason, the boy's fiery spirit amused Jezebel and he regarded the bleeding 'child' with amused violet eyes.
"Let's get you patched up first, hmmn? You can't exactly go killing someone when you're bleeding out on the floor." The light, musical tenor voice was soothing as was the anesthetic salve Jezebel was soothing over the whip marks. As he worked, he listened to Cassian's labored breathing and finally decided there was not the watery rattle in his chest that indicated a pierced lung.
He might live after all.
Minutes melted into hours as Jezebel slowly went about the arduous task of trying to patch the dark-haired boy back together. Cassian's first impression of the blond doctor was that he was an angel. His beautiful face held the same remote expression of distant curiosity he'd always expected to see on an angel's face. He took away the pain and left Cassian feeling delightfully numb. But through the haze clouding his mind, Cassian had caught flashes of something hot and angry in the angel's eyes.
Cassian was too drugged up to realize it but Jezebel was battling a very uncharacteristic bout of protectiveness and angered outrage at Gladstone for treating a fellow Delilah member like this. Even a disgusting human didn't deserve to be treated like this. Of course, having been the victim of the whip too many times in his life, Jezebel was especially defensive of such things. He bought off his conscience by saying he was doing this despite him being a human but because he was just as weak and helpless as the animals Jezebel took in.
Ultimately however, Jezebel's pride had been tweaked by this Cassandra's gall to order him about and he wanted to get a little revenge. After he'd bandaged and treated the worst of Cassian's wounds, Jezebel ordered one of the servants to deliver him to his laboratory so he could monitor his condition and then he'd set off to meet with his father.
Ego had kept Gladstone from seeing the possibility that someone might speak out against his treatment of Cassian. His egomania had made him arrogant but most of all, he'd underestimated Jezebel's pride.
"The Cardmaster wishes to see you," Ida, the scarred but beautiful gypsy girl spoke tonelessly. She was the Cardmaster's lapdog, his personal assassin and all around assistant. Her unfailing loyalty to the man was the only reason Gladstone had not tried to manipulate her over to his side.
You could deal with most kinds of people by preying on their faults. The blindly loyal and the obsessive faith in something, these were not things to trifle with foolishly. "Of course, Moon." His smile was forced and filled with ill-disguised disgust. She was nothing but a commoner after all.
The masked woman leveled him with a cold look, her eyes dead and remorseless before she turned and began walking away. The silent 'Follow me' was unmistakable, and Gladstone grit his teeth slightly at her imperiousness and the fact that she dared try to order him about.
When they approached the Cardmaster's audience chamber, Cassandra was puzzled to see the pale-haired figure of Jezebel leave the room. The supposed son of the Cardmaster was truly a beautiful man and Gladstone had wanted him from the moment he'd seen him. Jezebel however, seemed completely oblivious to his existence and walked right past him without even bothering to spare him a glance.
A frown began to crease Gladstone's brow, but Moon never paused and he found himself herded into the room before he'd even realized it. The tall and imposing form of the Cardmaster stood with his back to him. Cassandra idly wondered how much longer he'd have to wait before he could slip a knife between the man's ribs from behind and rid himself of his presence.
"Do you know why you're here, Gladstone?" The tall man never turned his attention away from the window as he looked down below where Jezebel strode across the courtyard. To the idle observer, Jezebel would have seemed intent on getting out of the blustery wind and chill autumn air, but the Cardmaster was much more versed in the actions of his adopted son.
Only he could see through the feline grace of Jezebel's movements to see the agitation in him. It was evident in the stiff way he turned his head and the way his footsteps fell unsteady every three steps. It indicated he was lost in thought and the Cardmaster amused himself with trying to imagine just what was going on in the insane man's head.
"No, I'm afraid I don't, Cardmaster," Gladstone murmured calmly, a gracefully arched brow quirking upwards. This, this was a man he could abide. In the grand scheme of things, the Cardmaster had once outranked him and had been titled. While he no longer held the rank there was no denying the breeding that had gone into making this…creature. Cassandra recognized him as a peer much like a wolf would recognize one of it's own kind.
"You were recently assigned an assistant, were you not?" A cold smile graced the Cardmaster's lips as he turned back to regard Gladstone now.
"Ah, yes a most uncooperative individual, I fear." Unease trailed cold fingers up his spine and Gladstone tried to wave it away. "It's hard finding good help these days, I suppose."
Smiling now much like a wolf closing in on it's quarry, the Cardmaster reached for his pipe and began filling it with careful and practiced movements. "I'm sure. The lower classes are all so….dim." Cassandra's eyes flitted around nervously, not daring to meet the man's gaze for too long.
"Exactly. Most difficult to train." Decidedly nervous now, Gladstone shifted his feet, but froze when the Cardmaster's unwavering gaze landed on them. "Was there something you needed of me, Cardmaster?" he spoke in the most respectful of terms and fought the urge to tug at his collar. It felt like his cravat was trying to choke him.
"Let us be frank. While the lower-class members of our organization are somewhat frustrating to deal with, I can't have you going about mistreating them." Gladstone stiffened at the words and had opened his mouth to retort when that silky voice continued. "Even the most hopeless of them are useful. Take the assistant we'd given you. A singular lack of conscience is so hard to come by. But perhaps too willful for your tastes. I'll be reassigning him to duties more… suited to his talents."
Gladstone's eyes narrowed fractionally as his back stiffened. His pride demanded he stand up for himself, but his better reason told him this wasn't worth fighting for. "But I need some form of assistant," he protested with feigned mildness.
"And you will be provided with one more suited towards your… tastes." The fragile veneer of civility between the two of them was wearing desperately thin by now. "I hardly think a thirty-five year old man in the body of a fourteen year old boy is your ideal assistant."
Gladstone's eyes bugged out in surprise. "T-Thirty-five!?"
"You didn't know?" the Cardmaster asked mildly, eyes widening with feigned surprise. "Oh, I can see where that would be an issue, then, if you tried to treat him like some weak, helpless boy." Smiling unpleasantly now, the Cardmaster turned his gaze back to the window. "You'll have a replacement assistant soon enough. For now, I'm giving him to Jezebel."
Gritting his teeth against both his temper and the need to defend himself, Gladstone managed to keep his fingers from curling into fists and even managed to bow fractionally. "Very well, Cardmaster. Whatever you think is best," he made his escape before he lost any more of his pride.
Cassian's second impression of Jezebel was that he was almost as crazy as he was beautiful. In his time, Cassian had met some truly demented people, but this took the cake. Up until a week ago, M'Lord Cassandra Gladstone had pretty well topped the list. Nothing had prepared him for hobbling into Jezebel's lab and finding the doctor besmeared with blood to the elbows, holding the dissected heart of some poor man.
He knew it was a man because the body was laying there less then three feet away, his organs placed neatly around the table in individual little trays marked accordingly. After he'd managed to force down the urge to loose his lunch, Cassian had meekly handed over the paperwork he'd been ordered to fetch.
Cassian tried not to notice how the blood smeared across the paperwork as gloved fingers curled around the papers.
"Is that…all?" The fearsome assassin of Delilah was looking a bit green around the gills and Jezebel shot him an amused look from over the rims of his glasses.
"Yes, that will be all, Cassian." From dresses to madmen. Let it not be said his life was boring. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Cassian retreated while he could and left the oddly smelling laboratory happily. If asked, he didn't know which was the stranger duty, serving the control-freak of a pervert who wanted him to wear a dress, or dealing with a blood-soaked maniac who wanted him to fetch the bodies he routinely dissected.
Neither were exactly his ideal choice of duties, but Cassian knew he'd have chosen Jezebel over Gladstone any day of the week. Sure, he might end up screwing up and becoming one of the doctor's experiments, but it was better then the alternative. Better he end up cold on the doctor's dissecting table then in Gladstone's bed along with whatever twisted toys he brought along for the ride.
It didn't take a genius to figure out which one he'd prefer.
The doctor wasn't exactly the epitome of sanity, but at least he didn't try putting him in a dress. Compared to Gladstone and his various perversions, Jezebel looked almost normal. Of course, considering Cassian and his circumstances were hardly normal either, it fit in a strange sort of way.
And almost normal was about as close as Cassian was going to get.
He could live with that.