Leta threw Fiearius a dirty look. “Cy needs you below deck. He thinks there’s something wrong with the engine.”

“There’s always something wrong with the engine,” Fiearius said simply. “The engine is wrong. In general. So what else is new?”

Leta rolled her eyes better than anyone he knew. “He thinks something is really wrong.”

“Then tell him to fix it,” Fiearius grumbled impatiently. “Dunno what he expects me to do. I’m sure it’s nothing he can’t handle.”

Then, as if the ship herself wanted to mock him, a low groan rumbled from the engine beneath the floor, filling the cabin. The walls warbled in protest and then the groan weakened, like a pained, dying animal. And then there was silence in the ship. Tomb-like, horrible silence that meant one thing: the engine was shut off.

“See?” said Leta bossily. “Something’s not right. Obviously I wouldn’t come up here otherwise.”

Overheard, the lights abruptly switched off, replaced at once with the dim orange glow of the back-up lights. Okay, so something really was wrong …

Leta glared at him pointedly and swept out of sight. Trying to ignore the obnoxious warning flashes from the dashboard, Fiearius mumbled under his breath in mocking fashion, “Oh yes, ‘cause I’m the doctor and I’m so special, I run errands for Cyrus, la dee da, so special….”

He pushed himself to his feet, ready to go deal with, well, whatever this was. In the semi-darkness, Aiden was studying him curiously from his seat. Before Fiearius could ask, Aiden said, “You remember that Leta’s engaged, yes? Engaged to be married.”

Halfway toward the door, Fiearius looked down at him, perplexed. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Aiden shrugged, a portrait of innocence. “Just reminding you.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The engine room — usually churning with mechanics and gears and noise — was eerily silent and still. The only sign of life was Cyrus dodging between the system monitors, his expression darkened in what looked like aggravation, determination and downright panic.

Fiearius paused in the doorway beside Leta, watching as Cyrus crouched beside the main core, using a flashlight to hastily investigate her inner-workings. Apparently unsatisfied, he made a face of worry, turned away and rushed towards the fuel conversion unit to do the same. That didn’t appear to go well, either.

Preparing for the worst, Fiearius prompted dully, “I assume you have an explanation for why my ship’s not working.”

“No,” Cyrus snapped. He didn’t tear his eyes away from a flashing monitor. “Actually, I don’t. Working on it.”

Raising his eyebrows, Fiearius exchanged a look of alarm with Leta. Then he slipped past her through the door, stepping into the room to lean his elbow on his little brother’s shoulder to watch the screen he was working on. Of course Fiearius had little idea what any of the scrolling diagnostics meant, but with one glance back at his silent engine and the distinct gut feeling that was growing within him, he was quickly becoming aware of the gravity of the situation.

“Talk to me, little brother,” he said simply, still distinctly calm. “Give me options.”

“I don’t have options.” Cyrus shrugged off his elbow, like he was brushing off an insect. “I don’t know what’s wrong. The engine just stopped working and I don’t know why. In data terms, it’s fine. There’s nothing wrong. Everything is perfectly normal. But…” He hesitated and glanced back at the silent beast of an engine. “Clearly it’s not.”

“The back-up generator’s running fine,” he went on dutifully, skimming through his statistics on the screen. “We’ve got lights and life support and all secondary functionality, but…” His voice trailed off hopelessly and his shoulders sunk toward despair. “I just have to figure it out and fix it. That’s really all there is to do,” he said at last, looking up at Fiearius in earnest.

Fiearius watched the symbols on the screen distantly. “No other possibilities?” he asked after a moment. “Just sit here and wait ‘til you get it back up?”

Cyrus began to shake his head, but in the middle of it, had a realization. “Well, maybe we could … ” He turned back around to face the console and, typing in a string of characters, pulled up a new list to examine. “We could land on a planet within range while I work on her. The back-up can get us about 50 AUs if we sacrifice power to the lower decks.”

Leta stepped deeper into the room, her arms folded over chest. She, too, looked at the screen, and Fiearius thought he knew what she was thinking: they weren’t exactly in the middle of populated space. “Are there any planets in range?” she asked skeptically.

Wincing, Cyrus entered another few lines to pull up the navigation. This time, a single item blinked on the screen. “Just one. But it’s inhabited. It’ll work. It’s probably not a bad idea just in case whatever’s affecting the main systems spreads to the back-up.”

Relief almost reached Fiearius, but then he looked at the screen himself. Sharp dread punctured him.

“No, that’s a very bad idea,” he stated simply, which did not adequately express the sickened way his stomach clenched. “Look again, lil brother. Look familiar?”

Leta shifted closer curiously to look. Cyrus leaned in, closed his eyes and winced.

“I don’t know about you,” said Fiearius, “but I’m not particularly in any mood to go home right now.”

Both brothers stared at the screen, fixated on the glowing word ‘Satieri.’ There weren’t many fates Fiearius preferred to a slow, cold vacuum death. But if there was one, it was the bloodbath that what would await him the moment his ship touched down on that Society-controlled planet.

After a moment, Cyrus heaved a sigh and stepped away from the console. Brandishing his flashlight and ruffling his messy hair, he looked up at Fiearius sadly. “Like I said,” he began slowly. “I just have to fix it.” His eyes drifted towards the unmoving hunk of metal beside him and then back to his brother. “And until then? We’re stuck.”

Fiearius sighed bitterly. The crew was just going to love this.

A heavy sigh passed through his lungs as Fiearius put his forehead in his hands, frowning down at the floor beneath him. “I wanna help her, I do,” he admitted impatiently. “But it’s not that easy. There’s no way on or off of that damn ship without it being a suicide mission. At least, not that I’ve found yet.” He looked over at Aiden wearily. “So what do I tell her? It’s hopeless? Go find someone else? Someone else who’ll either say the same or promise the opposite and get her killed anyway? Tell her to just wait until I can figure something out? Yeah, because that’s a satisfying answer when your boyfriend’s being brutally interrogated…”

“We tell her the truth, is what we tell her. That you can’t risk your ship and crew, that it’s simply not possible for you.” He spoke firmly, his voice steadier than water; he made it sound so easy. “And from there, it’s her decision how she’d like to proceed.”

“But it is possible,” Fiearius said at once, the words jumping out of his throat. “It has to be. I can do it. I just…need to figure out how. How to do it without risking my ship and my crew…”

“If you think there is a way,” posed Aiden evenly.

“There has to be,” Fiearius insisted fiercely. “Nothing’s impossible.”

Aiden did not argue, but what he said was worse than any argument. A horrible sense of pity came to his eyes when he said quietly, “I just want to be sure you’re doing this for the right reasons.”

Fiearius felt himself go still in his chair. It was seconds before he responded. “Is there such thing as a wrong reason for this?” he asked slowly.

“Yes.” Aiden sounded positively certain; to him, this was fact. “I don’t think you should feel obligated to help Leta because of your own history.”

Fiearius’ stomach turned over. Hesitant to hear the answer, for he was fairly certain he knew it, he nonetheless ventured, “What history?”

Aiden heaved a sigh, his eyebrows lifting in apology. “With your wife, Fiearius. I don’t think you should help Leta with her fiance because you lost your wife.”

His stomach lurched again, more painfully this time. His eyes were fixed on the dashboard, his voice cold, when he finally answered, “The doctor and her fiance have nothing to do with me and Aela.”

The words hung in the air bitterly. Fiearius was certain Aiden did not believe him, but he did not press it, either.

“Alright,” he said at last. “And if you think it can be done, then we’ll put together a plan.”

“Yes,” Fiearius agreed through a sigh, slumping back in his chair tiredly. “Just add it to the list. Add it all to the list. Right behind ‘stop being broke.’”

“As much as we can, I think we should keep the crew informed from here on out. Right now I’m afraid we have a boat of unhappy passengers who want to know what the next step is.”

“Ah good, then we’ll have something to relate to one another about,” Fiearius muttered, rolling his eyes. “If they wanted timeliness and flight plans, they should have taken a cruise liner.”

“Probably should have, yes,” Aiden laughed. “But since they did not … I’m having trouble keeping animosity at bay. There’s a sense of — hmm … I don’t know what it is, exactly. Maya made her unhappiness well-known to me; she thinks all ship plans are being bent to fit Leta.”

“What?” Fiearius demanded, incredulous. “Where the hell’s she getting that idea from?”

“Well, I think word must have spread that you told Leta you would help her. Maya didn’t take that well … since we’ve been remarkably off-schedule since Leta came aboard. Not that I blame Leta for that — but some people do.” Aiden shook his head. “Ludo, for example; he wants work. And Alistair and Palia — the married couple,” he clarified quickly, knowing full well that Fiearius did not remember petty details like names, “they’ve been aboard three weeks longer than they anticipated.”

“Okay, for one,” Fiearius began tensely, finding all of this information neither interesting nor worth his time, “We’re always off schedule. Because we don’t have a schedule. We do what needs to be done when it needs to be done, doctor or no doctor, and Maya should know that by now. Two, Ludo would have more work if he stopped pissing me off every time I give him work. And three.” Here, he paused, trying to recollect who this married couple was exactly and where they were headed. Failing, he said again, “Three, they shoulda taken a cruise liner,” and shrugged.

A wry smirk spread over Aiden’s face. “I’ll let them know you said so,” he said, and for a moment it almost felt like things were normal. Almost.

This conversation had somehow turned into a conversation Fiearius and Aiden had had many times before. Aiden would inform him of the goings-on of the crew. Fiearius would groan and put it off. Aiden would take care of it. That was how things worked and they had been working that way ever since Aiden came aboard. But it was difficult to forget how they’d come to be sitting in the bridge having this discussion to begin with: Aiden wouldn’t be aboard much longer.

“How do you possibly expect me to handle all these whiny people on my own?” Fiearius despaired, overly dramatic as he dropped his head in his hands. But as theatrical as his woe was, there was a note of truth to it. How would he handle the crew without Aiden? Fiearius wasn’t exactly the definition of a people person and he certainly would never be described as patient or understanding or wise or helpful or really any of the words someone might use to describe Aiden. That was why he liked Aiden so much. And why everyone did.

Just then, the pounding of intent, purposeful footsteps approached, interrupting his thoughts. Fiearius glanced up and saw Leta was in the doorway, and of course she was. Generally the crew avoided the command deck, but not Leta. She had no reservations at all about storming up here and making demands every other day.

In this moment, thought and determination clouded her face, a bad sign indeed. Fiearius reached for his beer instinctively as she breathed, “Hey — sorry, am I interrupting?”

At once Fiearius barked, “What do you think?” just as Aiden said, “No, of course not.”

 

Nonetheless, as Marjorie got a good shot at his wrist and dug her nails in so hard it drew blood, Corra let out a sigh, as though this were such a bore, and drew her gun from where it was holstered beneath her coat.

“Alright, down, girl,” said Corra sharply, aiming at Marjorie’s head.

The woman shrieked — Fiearius threw a hand over her mouth, just in time — and finally released her grip. Across the room, Corra had already reached for her other pistol to point at Marsden, who was sputtering in utter terror, backing away with his hands in the air. So now they had two terrified lovers just aching to screw this up …

“You got any rope?” said Fiearius hopefully, and Corra rolled her eyes.

Luckily, Majorie had a collection of woven silk scarves that were just as effective. Soon after, Fiearius was crouched on his legs, tying knots around Marsden’s wrists, attaching him to the sofa beside his estranged beloved, and then Corra started complaining.

He wondered when this would start.

“You know, this whole thing was avoidable,” she said, breaking the long silence that had prevailed since he’d shoved a scarf in Marjorie’s whimpering mouth. Fiearius glanced up at her tiredly. He was well used to Corra’s lectures by now. “We could have just waited,” she went on. “I don’t know why you had to barge in here and come up with some stupid ridiculous act. Just to show off? Don’t you ever get tired of being such an exhibitionist?”

“No,” Fiearius replied at once, standing up and admiring his two squirming two captives thoughtfully. “You two be good now,” he chided. “Someone will find you soon enough. And just remember. When they do. We’ll already be gone. So don’t even try.”

“This is just dumb,” Corra snapped. “If you weren’t so damn arrogant, none of this would have happened.”

“Why does it matter?” Fiearius laughed. “We got what we came for.” He held up the necklace, which glinted brightly in his hand, and he grinned.

“At what cost though?” she asked, gesturing towards Marjorie and Marsden who blinked up at them, teary-eyed.

“Oh they’re fine,” Fiearius told her with a shrug, sliding the necklace into his pocket. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.” He headed for the door, but even in those first few steps, he knew Corra wasn’t following. He could almost feel her anger radiating from across the room.

“Are they fine?!” she snapped suddenly, in such a tone that gave him no choice but to stop and look back. “Are they? What do you think her husband’s gonna do when he finds them up here like this? And if she tells him how you were able to get the thing to begin with. And when he realizes what you stole. What’s gonna happen then?!”

Fiearius just blinked back at her, perplexed. “Probably nothing. Why do you care anyway?”

“I care because–” Corra began, gasping for air, “Because I just do! Shut up! I hate you!” And with all the dignity of an eleven year old, she threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

Fiearius stared at her, perplexed. Surely this wasn’t the time for a fit. Or was it a fit? He’d seen Corra viciously angry at him before, but this was just — distress.

“Corra…” he muttered, somewhere between unease and annoyance, taking a step towards her.

“No!” she yelled. “Don’t ‘Corra’ me. I’m so sick of you and how you think you’re so damn right all the time, even about things you don’t even understand and I’m tired of it and you’re not right all the time. You’re never right. You’re wrong. You don’t understand and you’re wrong so shut up.”

Dumbstruck, Fiearius blinked his eyes slowly, trying to understand what was happening here. It occurred to him that this outburst of hers had very little to do with their captives and very much to do with something else.

“Is this about Cyrus?” he ventured carefully, anticipating her pulling a gun on him for the comment.

Thankfully, she did not, but the storm brewing in her face made it clear she was considering it.

“No, it’s not about Cyrus!” she raged. “It’s about you! And how you’re a stupid know-it-all with an ego the size of a planet and how you’re a shitty captain who ignores his crew and doesn’t fulfill his promises and how you shove your nose in business that isn’t yours and say things that aren’t true without even thinking about if they’re hurtful or not and I’ve had enough of it!”

Then, she suddenly reached for the nearest object to her, an ugly decorative pillow, and tossed it at him with all the force her arm could manage.

The pillow knocked him in the face, then hit the floor. Wincing, he muttered, “So it is about Cyrus…”

If possible, Corra looked even angrier now, and she grasped blindly for the next closest object which was, much to his dismay, a heavy brass lamp. Just as she was raising it above her head, Fiearius rushed towards her, hands outstretched in alarm.

“Woah, woah, hang on, princess, hang on,” he said, though she continued to hold it threateningly in the air, ready to swing it at his face and just waiting for him to give her the right reason.

Hopefully he wouldn’t…

“Look, I’m–I’m sorry,” he went on, hoping to see some slack in her stance. There wasn’t, so he pressed on, “I shouldn’t have said anything and I’m sorry.” Still, nothing. She looked just as ready to pummel him as ever. He heaved a sigh and dropped his hands to his sides. “I didn’t–it’s not your fault, okay?” He met her eyes which were slowly softening. “It’s not your fault….”

And then the lamp started to lower. “I know the whole…affectionate touchy Corra thing?” he continued. “That’s just you. Being you. And it’s not your problem that my little brother is too much of a social invalid to realize that.”

Her frown came back suddenly as she demanded, “Then why’d you say it was me? That it’s my fault he can’t get over it? Why’d you say that and make me feel crappy if that’s not even–”

“It’s not your fault for being you,” he interrupted before her angry tirade got any worse. “But…” and here he hesitated, already able to feel whatever strike she was about to lay on him, “Sometimes…you gotta play to the disability.” She tilted her head in confusion. “Think of it this way. You’re a teacher. You write out your lessons on a board. But one of your students is blind. Do you expect that student to understand the lesson?” Still not really understanding, she shook her head slowly. “No. So you’re Corra, you specialize in touchy-feely happy friendships, but you’ve got a friend who’s too blind to differentiate between friendship and romance because he’s never been that exposed to either. What do you do?”

Corra looked at him, lost. “Learn braille?”

“Well … yeah,” Fiearius acknowledged slowly, “but no. Cyrus is an idiot. Which is not your fault. But treating him as though he’s not an idiot. That might be.” He smirked hopefully, fully prepared to be met with a household object to the face.

To his surprise, Corra looked down at her feet thoughtfully and lowered her arms again. After a moment, her eyes swung back up to him. “So what’s the answer? What am I supposed to do?” she breathed, her tone finally softening.

Heartened, Fiearius said, “Aid’s right. You need to just be honest with him. Cyrus is a scientist, give it to him straight in language he’ll understand. I know he’s a sensitive little prick so telling him anything he doesn’t like is an uncomfortable, dramatic affair, but he’s not a total moron and he’s not a child. He might throw a little fit, in fact, he probably will, but he’s not gonna give up what you guys have for the sake of what you haven’t.” Half as a gesture of comfort and half as extra encouragement to put down the battering object, he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. “He values you far more than that.”

Finally, it worked. Corra’s frame relaxed, the lamp dropped to her feet with a gentle, innocent clatter and she sighed. “Yeah I know…” she muttered. “I just hate seeing him upset…”

“Well I hate hearing both of you complain so … hurry up and sort this shit out,” Fiearius told her bluntly.

Corra rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her face. Small and nearly hidden behind a mask of despair, but it was there. A silence lapsed between them until her attention fell back to the two bound captives who were just staring up at them, confused.

“You sure they’ll be okay?” she asked curiously.

“No,” Fiearius told her honestly with a shrug, glancing down at them himself. “But do we care?” He met Corra’s eyes and she smirked skeptically. “Hey, if anything, we taught them a valuable lesson about the perils of adultery.”

“Good point,” Corra admitted, tilting her head and following Fiearius as he made towards the door again. “Hey cap’n?”

“Yeah?”

“These people. That guy downstairs. Cyrus. Rich people can be pretty stupid, huh?” she mused thoughtfully.

A grin came to his own face. “They sure are, princess. They sure are.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

With the stolen necklace sitting in Fiearius’ trouser pocket, and Corra looking decidedly less murderous than before, the mood was considerably lighter, inching toward the giddiness of impending victory, when they hurried out of the mansion.

Quickly and quietly, Corra and Fiearius padded downstairs as Aiden finished goodbyes with Sanilac. (“I only wished there was something even more I could do,” Sanilac was saying sadly, “You know I’m a very charitable man to the needy … “)

Now, safely out in the street and making their way back to the ship, Fiearius clasped one hand on Aiden’s shoulder, another on Corra’s.

“So that was fun,” he declared cheerfully, ignoring Corra’s snort of laughter. “Don’t you just love the sweet taste of victory? Especially when victory isn’t lightly seasoned in blood and gunpowder? See, my job’s not always bad.” He grinned at Aiden hopefully. “And we make such a great team. Why would you ever want to be a professor when you could do this? Together, we could rule the span. Just think of the glory, Aid. Think of the glory!” he yelped, while knowing full well Aiden had loved his career as a professor. But it was not a life he could imagine, personally.

“This is certainly more thrilling,” Aiden admitted, but he wasn’t, Fiearius noticed curiously, grinning back. He wasn’t looking at Fiearius at all, but rather walking thoughtfully with his hands in his pockets. His eyes were dimmed, focused somewhere in the middle distance.

“You alright, professor?” Fiearius ventured hesitantly. At last Aiden sent him a glance, knitting his brow in bemusement, or perhaps puzzlement.

“Well.” He gave a one-note laugh. It died off quickly.  “Sanilac offered me my job back.”

The lady regarded him quietly for a moment and then laughed a harsh laugh. “That man is my husband,” she corrected, though, fortunately,  she didn’t sound so pleased about it.

“Oh,” Fiearius replied, widening his eyes in false surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry. I–I just assumed he wasn’t–well…”

Her eyes flicked towards him suspiciously, but there was a distinct hint of interest there too. She took the bait. “You assumed what?”

“Well, I mean…” Fiearius muttered awkwardly, looking down at his feet. “I’m sure he is a great man, but…someone such as him and…someone such as yourself, I didn’t think–It’s none of my business, terribly sorry, ma’am.”

A coy, flattered smile pulled across her face and she took a step towards him for the first time. “Aw, aren’t you sweet,” she cooed softly. “But wrong, I’m afraid. He is my husband.” Her eyes flickered briefly to the fireplace as she grumbled bitterly, “As little as he acts like it…”

This was almost too easy. “Well he is an ingrate to forsake such a gift as yourself,” he stated simply and bowed his head again. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have business to–”

“Hang on,” she said immediately, stepping towards him again. “Maybe I can help.” Fiearius cocked a brow at her and she closed the gap even further. “What are you looking for…exactly?”

Fiearius eyed her warily. “Potential threats. Unsecured weaponry. Unsavory individuals…” he told her slowly, letting the words roll off his tongue delicately.

As the lady of the house smiled at him shyly, he felt Corra glaring at him, silently urging him to finish this. And for once, he agreed. He needed to hurry it up before it fell apart.

“I don’t know about any threats,” the woman went on thoughtfully. “Nor any weaponry. And the only unsavory individual I’ve seen…is standing right in front of me.”

“Well I’ve full faith in your observation, ma’am.” Fiearius smirked at her, “But I’m gonna need to apply my professional opinion as well, if that’s alright by you.”

She returned the smirk and held out her arm, the silk sleeve of her robe sliding back to reveal her pale, dainty wrist. “By all means.”

With a nod to Corra, who diligently went about pretending to inspect the sofa cushions, Fiearius started opening drawers in the dresser, sifting through the books on the nightstand and running his hands through the curtains. Only when the two of them had scoured the entire room did he even approach the vanity and gently undo the hinge on the jewelry box.

Inside, there it was: the ornate oval necklace, the crown jewel, the prize. Even Fiearius, who knew exactly nothing about even the cheapest jewelry, had to appreciate how this piece shined so brightly he nearly had to squint.

Just then, he felt four slender fingers on his shoulder. “Mr. Levistus,” breathed the woman in his ear, “what kind of woman do you take me for?”

Reluctantly letting the lid fall shut, Fiearius turned around to find Sanilac’s wife standing far too close for comfort, though it wasn’t suspicion or anger in her eyes for the attempted theft of her property. No, it was something very different.

“A lady doesn’t keep weaponry in her jewelry box,” she said softly, practically whispering in his ear. Briefly, Fiearius caught Corra’s eye across the room. Her arms were crossed over her chest impatiently as she mouthed ‘hurry up!’ Again, he was inclined to agree.

“I have to check everywhere, ma’am,” he said promptly and, in a decision he would come to regret, put his hand on her hip to push her away,

Unfortunately, just as did so, the door opened and a voice gasped. “Marjorie?!” As the woman (Marjorie, apparently), spun around dramatically to face her accuser, Fiearius too peered over her shoulder at the man standing in the doorway.

He was middle-aged, also dressed in a robe, his dark hair damp. His handsome face was contorted into a look of shock.

“Marsden,” said the woman distastefully as she crossed her arms over her chest and sidled closer to Fiearius who sidled further away.

The man marched further into the room. “Marjorie, what is–” he began and looked down at Corra who blinked up at him with wide-eyed innocence, her lips sealed shut. “Who are these people?” he demanded. His eyes swung madly to Fiearius. “Who is he?”

“A friend,” she said at once, seizing Fiearius’ hand and not letting go despite him trying to yank it away.

“A friend?” Marsden repeated bitterly, stalking towards them. “A friend?!”

“Yes, Marsden, a friend,” Marjorie replied sharply, turning on her heel to glare at him, effectively stopping his onslaught in its tracks.

“A friend….” he growled yet again. “Have I not been friend enough for you?”

Marjorie expelled a massive ‘humph’ and rolled her eyes. “Oh please, you’re just as bad as Sanilac lately! Neither of you respect me. You both just want to hang me on your arm like a trophy. You claim love, but it’s a lie.” She swung her attention back to him and finished sharply, “I was a fool to think something between a lady and a servant would work. You’re just in it for the status. You don’t love me.”

“And he does?” Marsden pleaded incredulously, gesturing to Fiearius.

“No,” Fiearius replied immediately, as Marjorie blurted, “Yes!”

Fiearius raised his eyebrows. He was no stranger to ending up in uncomfortable situations during a job. He had come to expect them, actually. But as common as gun battles, fist fights and hostage situations were, this had to be the first time he ended up in the middle of  lover’s quarrel …

“Yes he does,” Marjorie declared with so much drama in her voice that Fiearius practically believed her. “More than my husband and certainly more than you ever did.”

“No, I really don’t,” Fiearius felt the need to point out, glancing at Corra for help. She had her hand on her temple, shaking her head slowly at this unfolding soap opera.

“How dare you?!” Marsden demanded, apparently not hearing him. “Get your filthy hands off of her!”

Really not helping matters, Marjorie said shrilly, “He can put his filthy hands wherever he likes!” Which only served to piss the guy off even more. Fiearius could see the rage rising in his eyes. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. His fists were beginning to clench and any moment…

“You son of a bitch!” he cried and lunged.

Fiearius was prepared when Marsden swung his first blow. He parried his fist away and took a step back, dodging the second. Fortunately, skilled a lover as Marsden may or may not have been, he was certainly no fighter. He mostly seemed to just flail in Fiearius’ general direction and hope that one of his arms was strong enough and fast enough to do some damage.

After only about a minute, Fiearius had enough: in one expert motion he seized the man’s wrist and twisted, effectively holding him in place as he let out a yelp of pain.

“Now hang on just a minute here,” Fiearius began calmly, trying to ignore the look of sheer pride exuding from Marjorie as the men ‘fought over her’. “I don’t give a damn about your mistress, alright?” And then that look of pride sank into a look of betrayal. “I’m just here for this.” With his free hand, he reached over to the jewelry box and roughly yanked out the necklace. “Just this. That’s all.” He looked sharply at both of them, in turn. “And now I have it. So I’m going to leave. Leave you two to…do whatever it is you need to do.”

He used his grip on Marsden to shove him towards Marjorie, who caught the man as he proceeded to nurse his poor, injured wrist in her arms. The necklace in hand, Fiearius turned towards the door and headed towards it, nodding for Corra to follow.

Fiearius only made it a few steps though before he felt a sudden weight attach itself to his back and skinny arms encircling around his neck.

“Give that back, you lying thief!” Marjorie shrieked, clawing at him furiously. Staggering back on his feet, he tried to shake her off, but it only made her more angry. Her legs locked around his, her hand latched into his hair and she yanked him backwards, nearly pulling him off his feet.

“Aggh, get off!” he growled, swiping at her with his arm helplessly. Directly behind him, she was just out of his reach, clinging to his back and relentlessly trying to bring him down.

As one of her sharp fingernails barely missed his eye, Fiearius threw Corra a pleading look to do something to stop this. Unfortunately, Corra seemed to be rather enjoying the show. Still poised impatiently, she was watching Fiearius battle with the parasitic woman on his back with a smirk on her face.