Who: Lucien Swinton, Malcolm Sayers, Peter Foster, Mac, various NPCs What: An assassination attempt on Lord Black When: 16th July, 1888 Where: On the way to a party Ratings: Heavy PG-13; violence
The Richardsons’ summer parties were quite the event, a place to see and be seen, and while the timing for their first large one of the summer was less than ideal -- Maggie was stuck at her in-laws, trying her damndest to smooth over ruffled feathers, and haring off to a party would be a step too far -- he figured it was worth his while to circulate and shake a few hands. That, and he’d told Katherine he’d talk to Susan Richardson, and he figured he could use the opportunity to convince Sue to bring Kat out of her shell some, get her out and about London. He knew his engagement to Maggie wasn’t particularly welcomed by his childhood friend, but it was his hope that now that he’d found his own happiness, that she’d feel freer to pursue her own -- that she’d spread her wings a little, and find a good match.
The party itself was bound to be a mixed crowd of wolves and non-wolves from a variety of circles, and due to Sir Richardson’s seat as a highly placed werewolf representative, Lucien knew he could expect a few of his colleagues from the House of Shadows to be present. Even though the noise and bustle of parties tended to be less than ideal, he knew that those connections forged outside the halls of the House of Shadows were important, and worth suffering through a little crowding for.
He knew it would be far easier to bear the stuffiness of a party with Maggie on his arm -- a future event that was near enough to make his step and his heart light as he walked towards the party. In a few short weeks, he’d no longer be attending these sort of things alone, awkwardly standing in corners trying his best to make conversation despite the noise, and only dancing when one of his friends badly needed a partner and begged him to take a turn.
His thoughts were thus pleasantly occupied as he walked down the street towards the bright lights of the Richardson house, the party already in full swing from the sound of it, and upon seeing the familiar figure of his aide approaching from the opposite end of the block with the Fosters trailing behind, he raised a hand in greeting.
When Peter had received the letter from Katherine, a deep anger had set in. Lucien had skipped over his sister and was now engaged to someone else, another slight to the family, another disgraceful moment. Katherine was heartbroken and there was nothing he could do about it. In the letter there was information about a party and Lucien attending and he decided this was the information that would make Damian happy.
He’d told the other werewolf and plans were made that Peter was not a part of. Damian didn’t want Peter too close, knowing that if Lucien caught Peter’s scent then it would be all over. So, Peter decided to watch from a distance, having taken to spot that was far enough away and masked him in shadows. Moments before the attacker closed in on Lucien, Peter caught sight of his siblings going into the party sans Katherine. He didn’t know where his sister was, but it was too late to worry about it now.
The smell of another werewolf approaching with fast step didn’t strike Lucien as unusual -- he was, after all, going to a party where there were a great many wolves, not all of whom he’d expect to know, so he was taken entirely by surprise when he felt a strong hand clap over his mouth from behind, and a punch to his side, a ragged, hissing breathing in his ear.
Then, he saw the flash of a silver knife as his attacker brought it around to the front, and felt the shooting pain from what he’d thought was a punch, but was in fact a stab, a fraction of a second later. He put up his arm to block the blow on instinct, the blade cutting deep, but missing his throat. He bit down on the wolf’s hand hard, hard enough to taste blood, his head jerking back to hit the wolf’s nose, his legs kicking behind him and twisting to try to turn to face his attacker, his side and arm aching, and once his mouth was free, he let out a ragged snarl.
Malcolm was running a little behind, wanting to catch up with Lucien before he arrived at the party. He was walking briskly in a routine that he was sure his Alpha would go along to get to the destination. With many thoughts swirling in his mind, he had not being looking up until he turned a corner and saw Lucien and the werewolf who’d already landed the punch, and the knife was out and striking.
Breaking into a run, he hurried to close the distance and was soon there - grasping the assailant’s arm to yank away the blade and the assailant himself away. A growl steamed through his gritted teeth.
Lucien felt a burst of relief as Malcolm joined the fray and prevented the flashing knife from descending once again, but his blood was up, and he knew his aide could also be in danger now. The three men struggled fiercely; the loosening of his attacker’s grip made it possible to twist and strike out at the man as Malcolm pulled his arm behind, exposing his attacker’s torso and neck as Mal attempted to wrestle the knife away.
Peter stiffened the moment the attack happened. It was funny, but even though he thought he cared not about Lucien, the urge to jump and defend the man was intense. Lucien had not been Peter’s alpha for over eight years and still it seemed as if the wolf within wanted to protect him as such. He stayed his ground however and kept his eyes shifting from Lucien to his siblings and hoping they didn’t interfere.
Malcolm grappled with the attacker, pulling the arm that wielded the knife behind and moving to give his Alpha opportunity to fight back. He avoided the knife that was still in the other wolf’s hand. How bad was Lucien hurt? Why was the man doing this?
In Luce’s weakened state he knew that even a partial transformation would be deadly, and all he had were his teeth and fists, his stick having clattered to the ground in the first wave of the assault, but he struck hard, pulling the man’s hair in a harsh tug and biting a chunk out of his neck.
The man howled at that, and spun and twisted like an eel to free himself of Malcolm’s grip, and upon seeing the approach of other men preparing to provide aid, ripped away with a wild burst of energy and ran down the street, clutching at his bleeding neck.
Mal tried his best to keep a hold of the man, but the twisting made him lose his grip and stumble. Staring at the man who now ran down the street, he thought for a moment to go after him and subdue him. But the sharp scent of Lucien’s blood and the duty to his Alpha made him turn his attention back.
And then it seemed as if Lucien was winning once again. With the aide to the Alpha of Black Park entering the fray, the assassin that had been hired to take Lucien out had not managed to act quickly enough. He’d injured Lucien, but Peter was sure it wasn’t enough to kill him. His eyes shifted to his siblings and he watched as his younger brother, Ian, came into the mix, looking at Lucien and then looking after the man that ran. Ian tensed as if to run, Peter tensed to intercept.
The deep, tearing ache in Luce’s side and arm had pulled awfully as he’d struggled, and now that the immediate danger was done, he sagged, white-faced against a nearby wall, his attacker’s blood running down his chin, not trusting he had enough range of motion left to wipe it away. His coat covered the worst of the damage to his person, but he knew he was bleeding heavily underneath the dark fabric, and he could feel the silver from the blade slowing his healing, making him sluggish.
He saw the Fosters, then, looking horrified and frightened in a clot by the door to the Richardsons, Ian tensing as if he meant to run after the man, and he raised an arm, even though it cost him. “Stay, Ian,” he called out, the full weight of his authority behind it.
Malcolm pulled out his handkerchief and moved to press it under Lucien’s jacket where the blood was spilling. His other arm circled him as he breathed heavily, looking about to see if any other attackers were waiting to finish what the first had started. “I need to get you to hospital,” Malcolm spoke.
Ian had every means to go after the man who had attacked Lucien. He could chase the man down, force a shift if he had to. Something. The attacker needed to be brought down. Right before he took off, however, Lucien was giving an order. He huffed out air as he let it go and gave the barest of nods to his Alpha. Whispering to his sister and youngest brother, the two went inside, but Ian remained outside just in case something else happened.
Something that Lucien said to Ian had Peter’s brother backing down. He then watched as the youngest of siblings went inside though Ian remained out. He smiled as he realized that Ian had taken his place in the family, picking up Peter’s role as eldest brother. He was proud and happy that at least his family seemed to be doing well within the pack. He watched for a moment longer, his eyes settling on Lucien. He had to hand it to his former friend, he was a survivor and it was more difficult to take him down than a mere assassination attempt; Damian was not going to be pleased. With a small smile, he gave a shake of his head and then turned to leave. Maybe, he thought, it was a good thing that the alpha was so hard to kill.
“What in the bloody hell is going on out here?” Mac stomped out of the house and into the street, wanting a good look at what was causing all the sudden commotion inside. What had been a perfectly pleasant (if somewhat tame by his tastes) party had been suddenly disrupted by shouts from outside and sounds of a scuffle.
That was much more to his liking, to be honest. He half hoped there was still fighting left to join, but the hopes were dashed as soon as his eyes swept the street and took in the scene. “Luce?” He frowned, glancing at the blood trail leading away from the house and back at Lucien.
If you wish to take part in mortal conflicts you must use mortal means. The old edict had him frowning even deeper, as it would have been a simple matter to summon a sprite or pixie and command them to follow the trail and report back on who was at the other end. But that wasn’t a possibility, unless and until he had proof that whatever was going on had bigger implications than squabbles among mortals he was forbidden from using Fae resources for such things.
Shaking his head he crossed over to the young werewolf Lord and his aide. “How bad?”
Lucien had been about to insist to Malcolm that he wanted to go home, but when his aide put his arm around him and pressed a handkerchief to his wound, the world had gone white around the edges, and he could feel the blood dripping from his arm and seeping into the handkerchief, the burn of the silver beginning to settle in properly now.
He met Mac’s eye as steadily as he could manage, given the pain of his injuries and the fact that he was covered in a mix of his own and his attacker’s blood, the taste of the assassin still sharp and unpleasant in his mouth. “I believe I’ll live,” he said, low and ragged. “He was a wolf. Bastard used a blade dipped in silver,” he added, spitting a little off to the side, too worn to care about form, trying to clear the blood from his mouth. “My side, and my arm… he got me rather deep, but he missed my throat.” He coughed, winced, and nodded, admitting defeat. “St Thomas it is,” he said with a frown.
Mac harrumphed and patted the young wolf lightly on the back. “Get moving, Lad. The fates willing you’ll live to finish killing him another day.”