DISCLAIMER - Count Cain is copyrighted to Kaori Yuki. Lyrics for I Cry are copyrighted to Holly McNarland and reprinted without permission. In no way, shape or form does this piece of writing gain profit, no lawsuits please.
Yar yar, the author notes are kind of long. Major spoilers a long the way, so you have been warned.
AUTHOR NOTES - Well, this is my first Count Cain fic and my first yaoi-centric fic. The idea occurred to me way, way back when. Solomon Grundy and a Jezebel x Riff story were originally going to be two separate pieces, but then I decided why torture you twice when I can do it in one? I know that the Riff x Cain parts are rather badly written (I myself prefer the Jezebel x Riff scenes), but I find it hard to write dialogue between the two and not come off cheesy. Other people do it beautifully, I'm not one of them.
This piece of writing is focused on pre and currently evil Riff. It's set in AU to make things slightly more interesting (and also because I'm not very knowledgeable in evil Riff with regards to the manga). I took several inspirations and made them into one, hopefully you'll find it enjoyable to read. The first major inspiration was Chuck Palahniuk's novel, Invisible Monsters, and a particular line that ends with "It wasn't love, but it wasn't horrible." Voila, Jezebel x Riff is born. The second and third inspiration is the nursery rhyme and Batman character Solomon Grundy. If you're a Batman buff like myself, then you'll know that Solomon Grundy is a living dead villain in the series. Go read Long Halloween by Jeph Loeb (found in your local comic shop), it's good, you'll understand.
Anyway, please enjoy the story (or lack thereof). Constructive criticism is always welcome, please keep in mind that this is still ongoing.
I sat there tight lipped angry
Wide open lead her from me where I am
I stand here thinking with you I've missed you
Can you feel me hold your hand?
Hold your hand?
-- Holly McNarland, I Cry
Prologue
Who knew that one day big corporations would one day rule the world. Who knew that scandals would be swallowed up and spit out in a fury of lawsuits and bribery and even more scandals. Shadows touching shadows and bruised mouths to lick our wounds. Long legs, red lips, one covered eye - there's something missing in this world. We're living in a world where a murderer is just as famous as a movie star. It's glamour. It's the dazzle of the bright lights and the thrill of having your own reality TV show. It's the money and every sadistic pleasure which can include (but is not limited to) pirating movies and music to bring down an industry. It's life that you don't live.
Welcome to Hargreaves Corporation. A chemical research and provider by day, the modern way to sell your soul to the devil by night, and there are some who would note that they've got this whole super-hero angst complex going on. Still, it's only the first step to unravelling death and feeding crusty souls to the dogs. That's life.
Solomon Grundy - Chapter One - I Cry
"Solomon Grundy. Born on Monday."
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What Jezebel remembers the most about you is your eyes. All I can remember is your scars on your back. Those long, black scars that were and still are everything and nothing, beauty and ugliness blended into one. But it doesn't matter to me now as I look up at this bare ceiling. The scars on your back and your golden eyes and your vile poison are gone from my life.
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"A dead body brought back to life?" gasped Riff, possessing a genuine wide-eyed surprised look on his face. "Sir, that's absurd. I'd go as far as to say that's downright impossible."
Maybe that's what Cain loved about his butler - the fact that Riff was the taste of ordinary and everything banal. It was just the fact that Riff gave Cain the taste of everything he wanted, good reactions included. "But that's what happened Riff. And now the police are trying to hush it up and keep it off the press but they've called us in for forensics and I have decided to go there personally. You know as the best representative for this company and the like…" Cain trailed off thoughtfully.
There was another thing that Cain loved about Riff - he always worried about Cain. The very fact that Cain was able to stir some emotion in someone and evoke a distant passion pleased him very much.
"But Master Cain it's dangerous! You shouldn't go."
Bingo.
"I've already made up my mind Riff, there's really absolutely nothing you can do to change my mind," said Cain half teasingly. Well, almost nothing he thought to himself, grinning inside.
"Sir!" protested Riff stubbornly.
"Make sure Merry is looked after carefully and don't give into anything she says," lamented Cain somewhat impatiently, waiting for Riff to get his black coat.
"Sir, you -"
"What did I just say Riff? Don't worry about me, I know how to take care of myself. It's an autopsy, nothing more."
"Y…yes."
Helping Cain into his coat, Riff's eyes watched the young master of the vast Hargreaves enterprise. Cain Hargreaves, living the modern American dream. The poster child for the new definition of success. The sly demon on everyone's shoulder. That was Cain.
The door closed gently as the young head left. Riff's eyes never left the spot for a long while. It was business as usual. He would go take care of company's "external affairs" and take care of Merryweather, Cain's younger half sister. And Cain, as usual and much to Riff's chagrin, left for another potentially dangerous business venture, this time for a born again corpse. Go figure, but that was business as usual.
**************
I met Jezebel in some dark hallway. I can recall seeing his pale skin and glinting eyes and then after that he took matters into his own hands. Not that I really protested or put up much of a fight. Being with him is the exact opposite of being with you, Cain. The only thing you both have in common is the taste of death on your lips. Maybe that's why I'm here. Maybe that's why I'm gone.
His lips and his hands are foggy memories of the long night. My head is still pounding from the smoke, from the booze, from the drugs. From Jezebel. I can already tell that I'm going to have a hard time moving when circumstances call for it. I can still move (if not a bit stiffly). I'm still alive and breathing. I survived.
As I fumble around looking for a damn cigarette I can feel myself drift away. I'm remembering blurry faces, I'm feeling the blasts of fire, I'm swallowing the ashes, I'm going around in circles. And all I can see is you.
**************
"Apparently his name is Solomon Grundy. He was a middle-aged man of 45 and happily married for 20 years - no children. His wife died awhile ago too of a heart attack. Grundy's cause of death however, is still unknown. Anyway his body was sent to the city morgue on April 7th which was a Saturday. The body got up and left on the following Monday as stated by several witnesses." Cain paused and looked up from the shuffled papers he was inspecting. "What do you think Riff?"
The light blonde butler coughed quietly onto his sleeve. He was still slighted peeved that Cain had left and dived headfirst into a new adventure. Again. Lapsing into a stifling silence Riff merely shrugged his shoulders.
"Riff, honestly…" Now it was Cain's turn to be annoyed. "Your mother hen instincts really kill the atmosphere."
"Excuse me for saying so Sir, but there's really nothing wrong about worrying about your safety," Riff countered as calmly as he could. "It's my duty in case you had forgotten." Riff immediately felt abashed and regretted the words as soon as they left this mouth.
The young man on the other hand stood up and swiftly crossed the room all the while never taking his eyes off Riff. "What did you just say Riff?" Golden eyes flashed and for an instant there was broken glass beneath the calm exterior. "How long has it been Riff? It feels like forever- a new life time," Cain growled under his breath. Carefully Cain wrapped his arms around Riff's slim waist and buried his face into the crevices of the taller man's neck. "Just a job? Part of your job? You even had the nerve to use the word 'duty' for Christ's sake," sniffed Cain.
"Of course Master Cain, I forgot my place," apologized Riff feeling slightly embarrassed. His checks turned the pale crimson the way they always did when Cain touched him.
"You know, You're the only one I trust Riff."
Inside of him, Riff felt iron claws grip him. They choked his throat and cracked his rib cage. He felt dizzy and had difficulty breathing. Those words never left him and echoed inside of him forever.
"The only one."
**************
Jezebel looks at our relationship a bit differently. We are two individuals and our needs are just as equally individualistic. Each other's presence is a mere convenience, a slight enjoyment and passport to ecstasy in an otherwise dark life. It's hard to decide whether or not it's more satisfying to be in need or be needed.
The body beside me stirs and senses the lack of the other's presence. Out of no where a long slender arm encircles my abdomen and Jezebel pulls himself up. His mouth nibbles on my shoulder blades and I can feel his long hair caressing my back. He's just teasing of course - all that I'm saying is that it's just another face of Jezebel. The nice, gentle, caressing Jezebel. It's the Jezebel that is a dream - a long, white beautiful dream. Description of any kind of hard to give but Jezebel is that distant bliss, the kind you touch but never reach.
It makes me numb.
What's the difference between you and Jezebel? What's the difference between fucking you and fucking the Deceiver? There is only the fine line between being absorbed and wanting more. I get the two mixed up all the time.
Regret. Triumph. Pain. Numb. Gone.
But love? Never.
**************
In the darkened bedroom is a muddle of bodies, clothes, and bed sheets. Sex didn't solve much but it just felt right. It felt loving and deserving. Beneath the blankets and rumpled souls Rifuel Raffit began to ponder and question. In a way he kind of hated getting contemplative. It made Riff feel as if he was missing something so simple. A cage of thin wire was holding him back. Maybe he meant to lose it or maybe he just forgot.
The only one, eh? The only one goes a long way.
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"Christened on Tuesday. Married on Wednesday."