big dirty love
In Regulus’s mind, nothing dulled the senses like a monstrous party and good alcohol. Unfortunately, he had lost sight of his friends and his champagne was growing warm in his hand.
The event was large, larger than he had anticipated. The ballroom milled with people tottering about in heels and dress shoes, gilded gowns and coattails collecting dust as they brushed the floor, the swath of guests resembling a herd of extravagant sheep, spoiled with feed and lush habitat. Boisterous laughter and party gossip swept over the crowd in great waves, though never exceeding the melodic hum of a small orchestra tented up in a distant part of the house, so as not to ruin the ambience of polite luxury with the sight of clunky instrument cases and tipsy staff. The broad, eggshell colored columns and domed ceilings of the Rosier estate had been enveloped with heavy velvet and speckled with dozens of candles, burning feverishly in shiny sconces perched on the walls.
Regulus had elected to join these sconces, folding himself away neatly in an alcove and glowering over his lukewarm champagne. He couldn’t even recall the occasion he was supposed to be celebrating that evening. Whatever it was, he was sure it wasn’t worthy of its glamor. Or his attention.
He cast his eyes around the room in a desperate search for a friendly face. Barty had probably wandered off on a mission for a much stronger beverage. Regulus and Dorcas had said hello before she slipped off to mingle, but that must have been an hour ago. Pandora may not have even shown up yet. And Evan, though technically the host, couldn’t be less interested in his parent’s social antics. Regulus didn’t believe him so blithe as to leave outright without a word to anyone, so he must also still be around.
Dejected, Regulus peered through the alcove window into the night before him. The stars gleamed weakly because of the drizzle of rain beginning to manifest. Regulus caught the glint of something shiny in the moonlight; something distinct and metallic, something attached to a figure.
He blinked. The figure still stood. It- he? she? - appeared to be wearing the clothes of a working person- not a guest - and its head seemed to be glowing silver. No, painted silver, across the bottom of its face .
The figure suddenly held it’s hand out into the night, as if to check for rain. Or perhaps beckon Regulus to follow him.
Leaving the party to investigate would be uncouth, not to mention probably foolish, but a sentiment more powerful than fear struck Regulus.
Why not?
Regulus managed to evade question as he wriggled his way out of the ballroom, practically falling through the back doors onto the porch. The evening’s chill hit him full in the face. He looked to his right, where the figure had been.
Nothing. But wasn’t-
“Reggie!”
Regulus whipped around. To his left, lounging on the daybeds, were his beloved friends.
Barty was attempting to balance on the guardrail of the porch, teetering back and forth on his feet, arms stuck straight out like a drunk acrobat (not an inaccurate comparison, at the moment), his stick-straight hair awry and tangled in his eyes. Dorcas looked on at the spectacle with muted amusement from one of the daybeds, a liquor bottle balanced on her knee. She had hiked up her dress, scandalously exposing her long legs, which were propped up in Evan’s lap. Evan himself slouched in a chair, casually smoking, eyes rimmed red.
“Reggie!” It was Pandora who called, leaping up from her seat to tug Regulus towards the group. Her flaxen hair looked nearly white in the moonlight, damp with rain and curling near her temples. Her thin, rosy mouth was perpetually smiling and had only widened when she had seen Regulus.
“So…this is where you have all run off to,” Regulus commented, a bit sharkishly, as he approached.
“We got bored,” said Dorcas.
“As did I,” Regulus shot back. Dorcas grinned and snickered, passing the liquor bottle to Regulus as he sat down. Pandora did not reclaim her seat, but balanced herself on the arm of Regulus’s chair. Her quick fingers snatched the bottle before Regulus could.
“How is the party?” Evan asked. Smoke plumed out of his nostrils, giving him a haunting halo as he spoke, “Anyone ask after me?”
“My mother,” Regulus lied playfully.
Evan took a drag, lips curling, “Tell her I’m dead.”
Pandora took a small sip from the bottle and immediately coughed.
“Take it easy, Dora,” said Evan, “Don’t go and choke on us.”
“Or better yet, do,” interrupted Barty. His breath was rushed from exertion, “That way we can all have an excuse to leave and rush you to medical services.”
“I think she prefers to live,” Dorcas gestured for the bottle again.
“Oh I wouldn’t mind,” conceded Pandora, tossing her hair out of her face, “I’m really sorry Evan, but I just wasn’t having a very good time in there.”
“No offense taken, dear.”
Regulus smiled. Barty fell off the guardrail, landing on the porch with a heavy smack as his boots met the wood.
“This is rotten,” Barty said, always a little too late to join the conversation, “The booze is bad, the weather’s shit, and there’s no one good to talk to.”
“Thanks Bart,” Regulus grumbled.
“Kind and considerate as ever,” Dorcas added.
“You know what I mean,” Barty scoffed, flopping on the floor in front of Evan, stealing his cigarette on the way down. He took a short, exasperated puff, his hands gesticulating wildly, “It’s not that I don’t like talking to you all, it’s just that we’ve talked about everything. I’ve got nothing to hide anymore.”
“What about that funny little box under your bed at uni?” Regulus proposed, “Never did get around to telling us about that.”
Barty wilted, “That’s private.”
“Is it now?” Evan snatched back his cigarette, “I thought you had nothing to hide?”
“I don’t.”
“By all means, share with the group,” Evan swept his hand grandly. From his pocket, Regulus pulled out his own cigarettes. After failing to light one in the chill, Pandora produced her own box of matches and did it for him. The flame caught instantly, it embers a peculiar violet color.
Pandora always had a clever way of making the ordinary fantastical. Magic practically leaked from every pore in her blushing face, the gentle pressure of possibility pressing into Regulus’s body like a phantom hug when he neared her. He nodded his head in thanks.
“It’s nothing special,” Barty was still arguing.
“Then you should have no reason not to talk about it,” Evan urged, “Go on. Give us the story. Is it smuggled liquor?”
“Something naughty?” Dorcas waggled her eyebrows.
“Is it smokes?” guessed Regulus, taking a drag. He passed the cigarette to Pandora.
“It’s none of your business.” Barty said.
“So why bring it up?” retorted Evan cooly. He stubbed out his cigarette on the arm of his chair and took the bottle from Dorcas. Remnants of gin shone on his mouth, “Why bother with the mystery if you won’t let us in on the fun?”
“Maybe our interest is the fun for him,” said Regulus. Pandora giggled, purple smoke dripping from her lips.
“That’s it, yeah,” affirmed Barty, pointing to Regulus as if he had planned the paradox all on his own. Evan snorted.
“I miss school,” Pandora said morosely, “I miss being away from here.”
“Me too,” muttered Regulus.
Barty leaned his head against Evan’s legs.“I third that,” he chimed.
“Since when do you miss school Barty?” prodded Dorcas, “I don’t recall you holding such a sentiment while classes were in session.”
“Well now I miss it,” Barty said.
“You’re being quiet Evan,” Regulus interrupted, “What have you to say now?”
Evan was lighting another cigarette with one of Pandora’s matches. The fire burned acid green. He inhaled thoughtfully before answering.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he said, “You all are the only people I care about seeing.”
Evan exhaled a mist of green that dissipated in the cold evening. He closed his eyes, as if a sudden great pleasure had settled on him at last.
“Ew,” huffed Dorcas, “Please don’t start being cute on us. Then we’ll have to be nice back and confess all our big dirty love feelings for each other and the whole dynamic will be ruined.”
“Big dirty love…” repeated Regulus, slow and ironic.
“Yeah that’s right. And then Pandora’s going to get all sappy and Barty here will start crying-”
“I will not start crying!” defended Barty.
“Yes you will, you’ll get all emotional and I’m way too drunk for that right now-”
“ Dirty love, ” Evan hummed, “You’re saying you don’t want my dirty love , Dorcas?”
“Or mine?” Regulus asked, smirking, “I guarantee you’ll enjoy it.”
Evan slid his free hand up Dorcas’s bare leg, “Reg and I promise to treat you nicely,” he murmured, his voice low and gravely.
Dorcas slapped at his hand, “I fancy women, you rakes.”
Evan withdrew, laughing. Pandora delicately held out the cigarette for Regulus.
“A shame really,” said Evan. He leaned over himself and winked at Barty on the floor, “More of me to go around then.”
“Does that mean I have a shot at you Dorcas?” Pandora sighed purple as Regulus leaned in to take a drag.
Dorcas barked a laugh that wasn’t entirely too callous to be disingenuous, “You’re too innocent for me girlie,” She noticed Evan absently picking at the laces on her shoes and slapped at his hand again, “I prefer it rough.”
Pandora pretended to pout and Evan acted scandalized. Barty scowled. Regulus nearly choked when he heard a strange whistling sound echoing off the porch. He cocked his head around, waiting for the whistle to come again.
“Reggie.” came a whisper out of the gloom.
Regulus looked up at Pandora, puzzled.
“What is it?” he asked her.
Pandora was clueless. She took a patient drag, “Hm?”
“You said my name.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, you whispered just now.”
“Oh. How funny. I don’t remember saying anything at all.”
Regulus knitted his eyebrows together. Pandora offered him the cigarette. He shook his head.
“Regulus,” the whisper repeated, more urgently this time. It was a familiar voice, but distant in more ways than one, “Reggie.”
Regulus looked around the patio. But the whisper seemed to have no nearby origin. Abruptly, Regulus stood, staring distantly into the gloom.
“Reggie?” Pandora appeared as concerned as Regulus felt, her intuition synching with his, “Is there something wrong?”
“What is it?” said Evan gruffly.
Regulus did not look at his friends as he answered.
“I’m going to look around a bit.”
“What? Why? Where are you going?” Barty asked spastically.
“Nowhere,” said Regulus, “Just to see. I thought I heard something.”
“Bloody fuck, you’ve really gone off the plank this time,” Dorcas joked, “The booze is making you hear things.”
Pandora’s face was lined with worry, “Reggie, I think-”
But Regulus was already gone.
Without really knowing why, Regulus had stumbled into the gardens past the porch. Aimless, he strolled along the rows of hedges, kleptopic mazes of ivy-ridden iron gates, past patches of dead and dying flora, rotting in their cracked pots. His feet moved independent of his will, the wind picking up around him and the rain peppering his coat. He shivered and squinted ahead for any sign of the figure, which he was now sure had been the whisper’s disembodied host.
The telltale flash of silver was so quick in his peripherals that Regulus nearly missed it. He stopped and turned.
The figure leaned against an open gate, staring straight at Regulus, his painted face glimmering against the oppressive night. In its hand, it casually tossed a small metal object in the air and caught it, repeating the motion in a cathartic, almost rhythmic manner.
A lock. It was holding the broken lock of the main gate, the same one it now casually rested its shoulder against.
“Reggie,” the figure said, louder and almost breathlessly. The whisper no doubt, but its tone had shifted. It sounded eager. Relieved, in the way a snake is relieved when it closes its maw around a mouse.
“Who are you?” Regulus shouted out. The figure began to walk towards him, its footsteps light and even, “Why are you calling me?”
The figure stood with him face to face. It made the distance between them seem so small, so insignificant; the way Regulus felt under its gaze.
The figure was human, that was certain. His silver sheen was not paint at all, but a metal mask, one that wrapped over his nose and under his eyes, tying in the back of his head with a ribbon so silken and dark that it blended into his hair. His eyes were smeared thick with black, cut by grey eyes that did not stare, but merely looked upon Regulus. Sizing him up. Regulus refused to shrink, lifting his chin in the haughty, cold way in which he saw Evan do when he was threatened and too proud to care.
“Go,” Regulus said, strong and projecting, “Leave me.”
The figure’s eyes narrowed and then softened. He sighed sadly, his breath getting lost within the silver mask. Regulus stiffened.
“Oh Reggie,” the figure said, “Reggie, I’m so sorry I didn’t do this sooner.”
And before Regulus could raise his arms to defend himself, Silver Mask caught the lock in his hand one last time and smashed it against the side of Regulus’s head.
The stars had grown very dark indeed.
When Regulus awoke, his world was entirely obscured. The smell of brine burned his nose. The ground rocked under his body, a once solid cradle of earth now gently lulling him back and forth. Blood dripped down his temple and landed on the wood beneath him.
“Good going Padfoot,” said a bright voice suddenly, piercing through Regulus’s blurry consciousness, “You’ve brought a dead man onto my ship.”