Ichor And Steel

Chapter Eleven; Rise of his Fifth Lord

ʙᴍʙᴍʙᴍ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴍɪᴅɪ

A trio of lords had gathered in impatient waiting. Among their heads, thoughts brewed, and mutterings were whispered between Lady Dimitrescu and Mother Miranda, although the latter seemed well informed enough of any details her Lady had to offer. Angie whined irritably, complaining of the metal man's slowness and Donna quietly asked her Mother, "What is it we are gathered here for?"

"I will wait for Heisenberg and his little chore-boy, I think I see them approach—"

"You see not for we were always present!" Heisenberg jested, his hulking coat peeking up over the mound of snow they now stood completed on. Ethan smiled at him but hid it behind a hand. "Now, why the call?"

"If you allowed Mother to speak, she might be able to explain," Dimitrescu seethed, hand curling around her corseted waist; its shape pinched with a century of tightness. Heisenberg grinned at her, knowing well her agitation derived from not being the first to know, as usual. The Lady bent to her Mother's height and her tone settled into something calmer, asking but with a plead in her tone, "Since we are all here—which I see as a preposterous reason to wait to tell me—, would you tell us what brings us out in the cold? I just know my daughters are too eager to stay locked up in the castle."

"Yes, yes. Those reckless nieces of mine," Heisenberg jawed, and then from over his glasses he still chose to wear in the dark, "be careful big woman, they might just get too excited."

Donna's shoulders wiggled beneath her cloak of black, stifling a giggle to not encourage Heisenberg. Ethan felt a little tense beneath Dimitrescu's stare, even if it was aimed at the burly man before him. Mother Miranda patted the air with a delicate motion, bidding her children calm down and the lords obeyed, jaws tight and tongues bit between teeth.

"I sense something is nearby...someone," the leader explained in a hushed tone, glancing into the black valleys where the moonlight didn't touch the snow. Ethan peered into the dark dips, squinting and wondering what she sensed—or more so feared, as her voice suggested—that lurked. It couldn't be a monster...it had to be humans. In their state of regeneration, even if a supposed fifteen years had really passed, Ethan recalled Dimitrescu once complaining how drained and faint she was, how listless her mind drifted. His fair eyebrows crinkled together in a furrowed realisation; the lords, the ladies, they weren't yet strong enough to face humans!

Ethan, had he come to this epiphany three weeks ago, would've leapt and clapped his feet together and shoved pointing fingers into their faces, jabbing and crying, "we win, you psycho-fucks!". Yet it was quick to dawn upon him he too was a lord, or at least their runner; their Lycan...Oh God! Their bitch!

"However!" Mother Miranda chirped, pulling her body away from the ledge and her figure disappeared behind a withered tree which the vicious winter had eaten away at and re-entered their presence as a hag. "I wouldn't put it past us to handle this, we just can't use ourselves."

"Then who do we use, Mother?" Moreau questioned in a guttural, clumsy voice. His words were followed by hesitancy, a flurry of anxiety running behind his eyes as he asked himself, should I have questioned Mother? His behaviour went unamused, but he got an answer.

Raising her large hat, Lady Dimitrescu fixed a bewildered gaze; Heisenberg chewed his lip behind his beard and perched his glasses in the low-riding crook of his shirt; Donna tilted her chin; and Moreau smiled, spoiling Mother Miranda's surprise. Their reactions differed with a range of emotion, but they all had one thing in common, looking to Ethan Winters.

"No," was his obvious first response. "No. Fuck that." Came second and third was a hand raised at Heisenberg who took a step too close.

"Oh, manthing, don't be so humbled," Dimitrescu laughed, rubbing her nails together. "We're merely using you as bait—"