𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄, volturi kings

E I G H T

The morning had arrived and Lawrence had held tightly onto his rage from the night before. It was something he had learnt in his human life that served him well, even in his death - the only way to deal with emotions was to use them, to force them down until you need their drive in battle. The pirate shuffled, feeling his fury buzzing over his skin like electrified rain.

Nothing held his attention for long, every event leading up to the battle seemed like something he had seen on a television through some shop window - a series of familiar flickers, none of which registering fully in his brain. Of course, Lawrence noticed bits and pieces like the occasional laugh, or whimper, or an accidental touch. Again, nothing that was worth being registered in his mind.

Until now.

They stood in a series of short lines, some seemed confident, most did not. It was a short line and the pirate could not say how many there were, or who they were, but they were there and they were afraid. For a moment, Lawrence felt an inch of respect for them bubble up in his chest, but he soon shook it off.

The snow clung to the sides of his boots, he still wore his old uniform - which was as well preserved as his beloved weapons, which were also now on him. Lawrence was covered by a loose, dark red shirt that exposed most of his torso; a brown coat and trousers that hung from his frame, both of which were a far better fit now than during his years of a poor diet; a headscarf that used to reside around his neck; a leather belt secured over his shoulder, and another around his waist; with a strap of leather hanging around his neck as his prized possession. The finishing piece of his ensemble, however, was the hat that rested on his head. It was tilted, hiding the captain's face as he stared at the ground, a meter in front of his boot-clad feet.

A moment passed before the murmurs began, only just loud enough to distinguish the words that fell from a pair of cold lips. "The red coats are coming."

Of all the entrances that Lawrence had pictured the powerful Volturi to make, it wasn't quite this. They just emerged from the foggy trees walking, in a long line, a few leading like an arrowhead - nothing particularly spectacular, yet it demanded his attention like the movie entrance of the villain. As a man who had a flare for drama, the Captain appreciated the classic move. Despite this, Lawrence did not raise his head and allowed his hat to cover his face from the gaze of their opposition.

Standing on his own, a half-grin pinned itself on his features, but Lawrence stayed still, not allowing his eagerness for a fight to overtake him. The Wolves emerged from the trees, snarling at the 'red coats'. Lawrence made a safe assumption that the Volturi were not so pleased with this development.

"Aro," Carlisle announced, breaking the silence, "let us discuss things as we used to. In a civilised manner."

A melody struck Lawrence as their leader, Aro, spoke to Carlisle. "Fair words, Carlisle, but a little out of place given the battalion you've assembled against us."

"I can promise you," Carlisle persisted gently, "that was never my intent. No laws have been broken."

Another melody reached his ears, though this time it was harsher, as if inpatient. "We see the child - do not treat us as fools!"

"She is not an immortal. These witnesses can attest to that." There seemed to be no wavering movement for the Volturi, yet the Cullen persisted. "You can look! See the flush of human blood in her cheeks-"

"Artifice!" Again, the melody. Even harsher than before. Every inch in his body told the pirate to look up, but he forced it down, refusing to bend to his childish urges.

"I will collect every facet of the truth, from someone more central to the story." Aro protested. "Edward. As the child clings to your newborn mate, I assume you are involved." Aro stepped forward, holding out his hand for the mind reader.

Edward looked at his wife, as if exchanging silent words before doing as Aro suggested and walking towards him. Lawrence growled quietly, biting his tongue to restrain himself, restraint having never been his strong suit. The hairs on his neck stood up, letting him know that one of the assembled had placed their eyes on him. He wondered if it was one of the two Volturi leaders with the melodious voices. Frustrated, the pirate captain bit down harder on his tongue as a form of punishment for his own stupidity.

The eyes on him did not waver, and Lawrence felt them as if Carl Kent (or whatever his name was) was using his laser vision to burn through his hat. He felt the need to check if his hat was intact but rejected himself by biting down again. Still, the hairs on his neck stayed standing.

The tingling turned quickly into a nuisance as some stranger attempted to stare him down. Lawrence Oliver would not let them think he had submitted - whether they sounded like a song or not. His head tilted up with a glare and a frown on his lips. Only his eyes met with no stranger, but a familiar man he couldn't remember knowing. Until it dawned on him where those red eyes belonged.

*****
923 words.

I need more Courfeyrac fics because without them I will starve, wither and die.

So, can we please take a moment to appreciate those characters who either don't get fics, or don't get very many.
Think: less popular fandoms, less popular characters, older characters, characters who get a bad name but are actually sweethearts, dead ones that no one wants to get even more attached to...

Yes. I mean (literally any of) the barricade boys, the Newsies, Raoul, Daroga, humans in Twilight and TVD, Kevin, Charlie, Crowley, John - I'm stopping here before I get too much into it, but you get my point.

If you know any great ones, feel free to comment to help other people find them!