Who: Finley Melville & David Ryan What: There's something there that wasn't there before... the demonlord makes some headway with his captive musician, but their happy ending is put on hold. Where: Melville Manor, Gehenna When: Evening Warnings: Amounts of dysfunction that might put you at risk for headdesking. So the usual for them.
It wasn't entirely inaccurate to say that, when it came to David, Finley had gotten off to a bad start. In fact, Finley thought that the description of the beginning of his relationship with David could be stretched all the way to 'catastrophic' if one really wanted to be precise about it. Admittedly, it wasn't entirely unexpected for the boy to be a bit resentful about the entire situation, at the beginning. After all, his drunken father had come bumbling through Finley's lands, lost on his way home through the woods after business doing... who knew what, really, Finley wasn't entirely convinced that what he'd been about was even legal, but the man hadn't said enough about it for him to prove either way. Then, when he'd found himself faced with the demonlord himself, he'd not only forgotten to kneel, as was appropriate for Finley's station... no, when Finley had managed to force him to his knees, the man had repaid it by vomiting all over Finley's feet. It would have been well within Finley's right to kill him, but then... then the man had started rambling about his children. About his daughter, in particular. And there was the curse to think about.
Not that Finley particularly liked to think about the curse. He tried to avoid it whenever possible, with a heavy cloth covering the face of the portrait that was slowly decaying, each passing day bringing another sign of rot, decay, to what had once been a match for his own handsome face. Really, how was he to have known that the artist dabbled in witchcraft, on the side? If he'd had any idea, he'd never have tried to stiff the woman on her fee. That was when he'd been far younger, before he'd begun to learn that when you made a deal, you kept it, to the letter. It had been ten years of his painting turning into a portrait of something utterly grotesque. Finley wasn't certain what would happen when there was nothing left to his face but bone, but he didn't imagine that the result would be anything that allowed him to continue living the comfortable life he preferred. In fact, part of him rather doubted that it would result in him continuing to live at all.
And so, he'd thought that the perfect opportunity had arisen, when this drunken man had stumbled onto his lands, with an utter lack of sense and daughter that he was all too willing to barter away. After all, what better way to learn to care about the feelings of those who were his lessers than with the unwanted daughter of a man who clearly didn't care enough to fight to keep her safely out of a demon's hands? The girl, he'd thought, would be pathetically grateful for whatever mercies Finley chose to offer her. It would be easy, he thought. He'd offer to make her into his consort, and the curse would be over and done with. She'd likely fall all over herself, trying to keep him happy, which was something that was bound to make him feel fond of the girl, anyway. He'd father a couple of brats on her, then she could retire to her own devices, with the sort of leisure that a girl in her position could never have hoped for, otherwise. She'd not even care when he went back to pursuing his own pleasures, after all that was over.
It would have worked, if not for the girl's brother deciding that he couldn't send baby sister off to a demon. Finley hadn't thought to specify, in the contract he'd drafted for the drunk man who was going to solve his greatest problem, that the child in question had to be a daughter. He'd not ever imagined that anyone, particularly a healthy young man, would have possibly been willing to sacrifice himself in his sister's place.
Still, it could have worked out as planned. The boy couldn't give him his heirs, of course, but Finley could get those on some woman who could be paid off to keep her mouth shut and stay out of the way, when he needed them. He preferred to take his pleasures with men, when he could, anyway. He'd awaited David in his throne room, regal and impressive, the sort of man that the girls swooned over, and proposed on the spot that David be his consort, that Finley would give him the sort of luxuries that he was absolutely certain that the boy had never known before.
That hadn't precisely gone to plan, either.
No, they hadn't gotten off to the best of starts at all, and it had really only gotten worse from there. Until, somehow, it had gotten better. Until Finley noticed that David seemed to be looking at him... differently. Until he realized that he'd started looking at David differently, too, and he wasn't entirely certain which had begun first. There was no starting over, not really, but Finley thought that, perhaps, he could begin tipping the balance in his favor. For the sake of the curse, of course. And because David really was stunning, even when they were yelling at one another.
There'd be no yelling that night, at least not that Finley had planned on. He'd arranged everything, the magic that kept his manor running rearranging the manor itself to suit his needs. A dinner of foods that David had seemed fond of, in all the nights that he'd forced the young man to dine with him, in an attempt to force him to look more favorably upon Finley. A dance, after, with music played by a phantom band, simple tunes that he could teach David easily, if David didn't already know the steps. And then his greatest surprise, after, the one that he thought most likely to win David over completely. Everything was in place, except of course for David.
Finley had found a suit of crushed black velvet for David, a cut that was almost as fine as the one of crimson silk that Finley wore. Sitting on the table, next to David's plate, was a red rose. And the note... the note that Finley had written with his own hand, didn't demand the young man's company. It requested it, because for some reason Finley wanted David to want to join him for dinner. On the other hand, it did mean that he had no idea when David would be coming down the stairs into the great dining hall, if he came at all. The fluttering in Finley's chest was bizarre, not altogether unpleasant but entirely unfamiliar. He thought it might have been what other people referred to as nerves.