My oh my, what an eventful early morning it had been - his trigger-spell alarm for his runaway potions mistress had gone off at a terribly inconvenient, pre-dawn hour, necessitating his rush into a room of drunken Wizards.  He thought he'd caught a glimpse of miss Dolly St. James whose novels he adored and Beater Dominik Wiedman; he was also fairly sure that had been Ministry fugitive Cinaed Tawse who'd been hulking there and not so nicely throwing his grizzly arms around.  He had come out of the skirmish with his wet rat alchemist and Landis Morgan in tow.  Kronos was pondering it all now from the comfort of his overly large bathtub, blowing a handful of bubbles into the air with a sense of ennui as he wiggled his little toes just out of the warm water.

It was morning now, the still young sun shining pleasantly through his washroom window in hues of apricot and pink.  He hadn't slept as long as he would have liked but he felt rested and fresh for the day's proceedings.  He'd have a large breakfast and eat it daintily from a myriad of plates spread before him, drink his fresh-squeezed orange juice and a saucer of Turkish coffee while reading the paper before he dealt with his guest.

Dazmond Wiedman did not really concern him at the moment.  She was out of sight, out of mind - her discipline entrusted to his best man, Terry Katsaros.  He had no doubt he'd deliver her back to him a changed woman.  It was Landis Morgan, however, who Kronos was onto now - the mysterious librarian and new Head of Slytherin House who was in quite a unique position to assist his heir, Sasha Schlagenweit, during his remaining years at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  He was most assuredly looking forward to finding the man in his employ, whether he would like to be or not.  One could hope he wouldn't be too terribly distracted by his lady friend's whereabouts to discuss matters of business.

Upon their forced arrival in the night, Landis Morgan and Dazmond Wiedman had been separately surrounded by men in black hooded robes and had been restrained, searched, relieved of the burden of carrying their own wands, blindfolded, and led down a long narrow path toward the single building in sight - a grand palace perched on the cliff at the Southern-most tip of Straithaird Peninsula on the Isle of Skye.  They had been led to separate destinations - Wiedman downstairs and Morgan up. 

Morgan, for his part, had been given a very lovely accommodation.  It had an exceptionally splendid terrace, a king-sized bed, full furnishings besides and a spacious bath.  It would have been impossible for him to slip away of course; aside from the fact that the door was well-locked and guarded by several wanded men, the terrace was several stories high and watched from a distant guard tower.  In the morning Morgan had been delivered a tray of food for breakfast along with a fanciful handwritten note that read Thank you for joining us.  A while after this he was escorted by half a dozen Wizards down a hallway to another room. 

Inside, the room was lit gently by the sun shining in through beautiful stained glass windows.  All of the walls were lined with wands mounted behind unbreakable glass, each with its own plaque naming the Wizard or Witch it had been won from along with locations and dates.  On one side facing the windows was a regal throne, upon which sat a rested, bathed, fed, and pleased Kronos, his hands laced together and held pensively to the baby-smooth skin of his chinny chin chin.  Across from him in the very centre of the room was an armchair for his guest, and along both of the walls on either side of where they faced were Hooded Wizards with their wands drawn who simply watched and waited.  As the door opened and footsteps entered in, Kronos Malvivicus straightened in his throne.

"Well now!" he said.  "Landis Rue Morgan.  Have a seat."

It was the morning they'd both been taken, hours later with enough time for the sun to rise. While it'd been plenty of time for the alcohol in Landis' blood to leave him, his anger burned a hot and sullen flame.

These several hours had not softened him; rather he simmered and seethed amidst silken bed hangings and a bathtub big enough to drown in. Or to drown someone else in. Currently only one man held top priority on Landis' list of murders. He knew it was wishful thinking when Malvivicus had his wand and an armed troupe of guards, but it was either dream on the satisfaction of the man's purpling face or wear a hole in this fine Turkish carpet with his pacing. He had been separated from Dazmond almost immediately upon their capture, and his lack of knowledge on her whereabouts or well-being was unraveling his highly tested patience. It was unbearable to be trapped in this room, knowing who their captor was and what he'd done to her before. Fight-given adrenaline coursed through his veins, unable to find a focus, and he was about to go mad for lack of anything to do. He had developed already a healthy hatred for the locked bedroom door, and possessed the urgent desire to try smashing it in except that was both extremely undignified and unlikely to get him anywhere. Malvivicus seemed to take the appearance of being a gentleman very seriously, if the lavish room and handwritten note were any indication - temper tantrums would not be effective. It made Landis wish for his blazer and tie, both armor and badge for a civilized man. He felt underdressed and unprepared in his shirtsleeves and slacks, but he'd had no need for formality's protection when the night had begun.

Now after an eternity of waiting - and one untouched breakfast - he was taken to a room of wands and windows. A throne room of sorts, he gathered very quickly. Waiting for him was unmistakably Kronos Malvivicus, and the sight of the man's face - his first glimpse so far - reminded Landis how prettily all this glass might shatter.

What a megalomaniacal dandy. What a egotistical bore. Landis, whose snap judgement at the best of times was blunt and unforgiving, was positively corrosive today.

"Landis Rue Morgan.  Have a seat."

"I'd rather stand."

It was no dangerous spat of rebellion that prompted the preference, but the sight of the only other chair. As incongruous as an armchair seemed, Landis was put in mind of the strapped one at the Ministry. And it was low whereas Kronos sat high on a dais, a rather heavy-handed psychological attempt at intimidation. Likewise all those framed wands bid him wonder whether Kronos would be keeping his in the traditional manner, just the armed men lining the room presumably should make him quake. The man's thoughtfully folded hands and his use of Landis' middle name were an indication of his thoroughness in research and investigation, that "Rue" shorthand for all the other knowledge he would have dug up. If he was any kind of eccentric crime lord at all, and Landis thought he was. The neat snatch and delivery spoke of nothing but efficiency and a mind for detailed planning. Perhaps that was another signal for fear, as subtle as a brick to the head and about as welcome. Perhaps he'd been found out, perhaps he ought to feel nervous for his meticulously destroyed paper trail and all his white-collar hidden crime.

Or perhaps it was just a cheap trick Kronos had picked up off his Hogwarts job application disguised as a serious jab. There'd been no Harper tacked on instead of Morgan, and that would have been easy if tedious to find in the Ministry's records of decade old name-change requests.

But he wouldn't know until the man deigned to tell him, and so far Landis refused to fear. At least it alerted him to the state of his own presence, which he'd deemed collateral as the person standing closest to Dazmond in the cabin and thus the most easily snatched amidst the firing and the fray. But here he was, in for a nice chat with the person responsible for his capture instead of locked snugly away for use as blackmail on his oldest friend. Didn't he feel important - but not enough to subdue him. Caution informed his decisions but didn't stop his tongue.

"Your hospitality is immaculate," Landis said, anger making his words over-crisp and precise, "But your methods are boorish and lacking."

And this would have been a beautiful beginning for a long rant on Kronos' ill manners, legitimacy, and probable parenthood (a hag for his mother, a toad for his pa) had Landis not been such a vicious and happily passive-aggressive man. Nearly thrumming with anger, he had no need to vent it all at once but saved it up so that Kronos could experience the joys of him being as difficult as possible for the rest of his (potentially lethal) stay.

From his green throne, Kronos sucked air through his teeth loudly.  It was so tiresome to see what the cat had dragged in, some days; if only they knew how boring exchanging insults had come to be over seven decades!  There were not that many variants to the way in which a person would react to a setup like this.  Of maybe three or four other possibilities, Mister Morgan had chosen to be insubordinate.  A bit of a problem with Authority he'd wager this one had.  Not unlike his friend the firecracker.

"You clearly have mistaken the purpose of our visit," said Kronos leniently, tilting his head.  He let his eyes linger noticeably over the other Wizard's clothing, a disapproving look growing on his face.  "You're questioning my methods, and, could you not have worn something better than that to your best friend's... birthday party?"  He grinned and let a laugh off his chest, tickled by the fact that he was helping his little Potions-Maker celebrate her birthday!  His little pet was so grown up.  She was likely being 'reborn' right this very instant, a consideration that made the young man's icy evil eye of far less consequence to Kronos.

"Who is that cousin of yours?  Darian Morgan, is it?  Don't tell me you don't see eye to eye...."  Kronos had a twinkle in his own eye as he faintly laughed.  After a moment he stopped abruptly.

"No matter," he said, and with that Kronos unsheathed his wand and directed it towards the armchair, sending forward a hot pink spark that transfigured Landis's offered seat into a giant tuba.  It wasn't as good as an elephant would have been, but it would have to do.  For if Landis was going to toot his horn, he'd not suffer anything less than seeing it done in better style than what the boy came dressed in.  He did so love a good audition.

"We don't need to call upon my methods too soon, you see - I could hardly put your talents to use if you were a bloody corpse, Mister Morgan," Kronos let his little teeth shine in a baring grin, his tone betraying the fact that he was already having too much fun with this... exchange.  "Though I do so admire your pestilence," he continued, "it might help to remind you of your friend's precarious position in the balance?  I was hoping we could talk as business men, you and me... but we can make this as difficult as you would like, Mister Morgan, it's up to you how long you stay.  Of course if you do like the accommodations, I might add that you would make a very fine Rimbaud... oh yes - style aside, your hair is like a unicorn's.  Tell me, what wash do you use?"  Kronos crinkled his nose at Landis as if they were gossip buddies, folding his hands over the knee of his finely crossed legs.

Landis stiffened, his vanity pricked before he realized that, if current tastes was any indication, this man's idea of fancy dress probably included purple glitter and mooncalf-skin trousers. In that case, he was not sorry to disappoint.

"Generally I dress to impress." He glanced up at Kronos on the makeshift throne; his lips curled up into what was as much a baring of teeth as any pleasant smile. "You're not worth the effort."

"Who is that cousin of yours?  Darian Morgan, is it?  Don't tell me you don't see eye to eye...."

His expression suggested that if it was one of Darian's clients who'd kidnapped him, he was going to kill his cousin. Or at least have a talk with him about leaving his egotistical maniacs out where other people could trip on them. This expression segued into one of completely blankness as Kronos drew his wand, one that didn't change even when Kronos transfigured the armchair into a tuba. Inwardly, though, he felt a distinct sinking sensation. Dear Merlin. The man was a complete nutter. He had the castle for it, the league of armed flunkies, and even the laugh.

"Agreed," Landis said. "My usefulness as a cadaver does go right down. But I can only assume the same applies to Dazmond, or else this would be just a pretty waste of time. Let's not pretend my cooperation will effect your intentions for her." It was sometimes terrible being realistic, but he wasn't going to be optimistic about their chances in this. He was not the one who'd been previously captured, nor stalked for months; he had not been the primary objective of this kidnapping jaunt. Kronos must have a very clear agenda for Dazmond, and if he'd already gone though this much effort he would not suspend his pet project because Landis agreed to mind his manners. Whatever was happening to Dazmond now, Landis couldn't stop it. Protection meant very little when one was already in the belly of the beast.

It was as much torture as it was relief. Landis couldn't do anything to affect her fate; he could only control his own.

Of course, this was attributing possibly too much sense to Malvivicus, and assuming he acted on more than whim. Landis was trying very hard to correlate the man who had put in place an elaborate, months-long surveillance through an apparently efficient network with the man who'd just turned an armchair into a musical instrument. Whether the eccentricity was a ploy to unnerve or bone-deep, mind-mad, but functional, he simply didn't know enough about Kronos to tell. To his great annoyance, this made Malvivicus' reactions difficult to predict. His anger bid him to snap and seethe, but his career cautioned him against it in the face of such unpredictability. Landis could not afford to die here; he was embroiled in all sorts of delicate operations that his absence would affect.

"I was hoping we could talk as business men, you and me... but we can make this as difficult as you would like, Mister Morgan, it's up to you how long you stay.  Of course if you do like the accommodations, I might add that you would make a very fine Rimbaud... oh yes - style aside, your hair is like a unicorn's.  Tell me, what wash do you use?"

A fine Rimbaud? The poet and... libertine? Landis was not quite sure what to make of that. As far as threats went, it ranked considerably lower on the effective scale, quite below torture and veritaserum. His eyebrows rose just that increment into haughty disdain. If he could remember how the man had died, it might lend this a little more weight. The complete nonsensical nature was a bit disturbing, though. Hair like a unicorn his arse.

"Aren't you charming. Businessmen use appointments and cards. But since you have gone to such trouble to have me here, whatever the fuck do you want?"

Kronos continued to look amused as he regarded his pest, er guest - straight as an arrow, he was, and as blatant, too!  Morgan wanted nothing more than to get straight to the point and to be done with it, preferably without seeming acquiescent.  Kronos tilted his head in what looked like slight resignation, though he didn't actually move to give the man what he wanted - answers, to be precise.

"My little potions-maker," he said musingly instead.  "Troublesome little twat if you ask me."  His eyes met with Landis sharply.  "Though you are correct - she is of more use to me alive, as are you, Mister Morgan-Harper, oldest of three?"  He paused for a moment, allowing his gaze to meet the floor as his brows tweaked.  He looked tread upon in that instant as he took in a deep breath and sighed. 

"But a man of my status does not suffer a deficiency of contacts," he continued.  "I do not need either of you.  In fact I need only say a word for your friend's life to be ended here, now, or at any point in the future... though it would set me back a client, there are plenty more to go round.  Do you see?  Do not flatter yourself in my company, Mister Harper, or your bum's out the window.  You are my inferior and would do well to remember that fact."  The inflexibility of his words fell on the floor in a dull, thudding way.  He looked around restlessly for a moment, as though for entertainment.  He threw a wave from his wand at the golden tuba resting in the middle of the room and it sprang to attention, ushering a continuous flow of music into the air.

"Now as for what I want," said Kronos, his voice louder and more forceful than before.  "In the most favourable of circumstances, you should go back to your life and to your work with but a few more responsibilities.  If I were you, I'd braid my hair and think about how many other schmucks could do my job just as good as me.  It isn't hard to be Head of Slytherin House and Master Librarian.  Madam Snark, I feel, would understand the idea of a bit of personal sacrifice for the greater good.  But, if you're happy with your life, more or less, I suggest you suck in your pride and listen well to what I'm offering, because it is really not so horrible of a deal."

He sounded marginally affronted by Morgan's ungrateful attitude in the face of what he intended to offer, because it really was a gift.  He treated all of his subjects kindly, he thought.  It was a treat to be under his employ, and this prat could hardly say a word without spitting foam from his mouth.  It was disappointing, really, he had seemed so interesting and would make a fine lover if he was any more doting.  At this point that notion was pretty out the window.  He was the wrong sort of venomous for Kronos's tastes.  But so pretty....

"Now to be on with it," he said, "I've a son in the school system that I want you to teach.  His name is Sasha Schlagenweit."

Landis had to actually bite his lip to rein in a comment about inferiority, so hard he nearly drew blood. His expression in that moment suggested that Kronos was not the only one feeling trod upon by the stupidity of current company.

"Merlin save me," he drawled, "from the egos of megalomaniacal little men." Behind him, the tuba began to play. Landis ignored it. From the flash of his eyes and the slight upwards tilt to his mouth, the slow lacing of his arms over his chest, he seemed to be enjoying himself. "The window would be preferable. At least that would be quick."

Kronos' tendency to tinker with whatever was in the area was beginning to seem less like idle insanity and more like impatience. Fine. At least now Landis had a better reading of the man. He was almost relieved when Kronos dropped the long-suffering eccentric uncle routine long enough to reveal the threats underneath. One always knew where one stood with those, even if Malvicius would have a bloody difficult time of finding something Landis cared enough about to threaten. Dazmond he already held, and despite the man's correction, Landis did not believe Malvivicus would throw away so much investment simply because his new librarian was being difficult. Landis' family was no trouble as he did not like any of them very much, and some he actively despised. Juliette, well... Landis felt a brief stab of something very like fear, but that was an easier concern to dismiss. No one knew about their arrangement, which was arguably not a relationship at all; if he thought there was anything to worry about, he could always address it after he got back. Easy. From there the list of possible targets dwindled at a satisfyingly rapid rate. Landis did not form connections, and it served him well.

"I've a son in the school system that I want you to teach.  His name is Sasha Schlagenweit."

Oh, for Salazar's sake. Malvivicus had kidnapped him because he wanted a tutor for his brat? Really? Unless he was just multitasking, there had to have been a less convoluted way of going about this. Of course, kidnapping, bribery, and threats were probably the only way of convincing Landis to have anything to do with Schlagenweit, so perhaps Kronos knew him better than he'd thought.

And everyone knew about Schlagenweit and Malvivicus. It'd only been hinted at in the papers, a mad riot of speculation and gossip, but school rumors weren't so kind and they flew fast to even the staff's ears. Landis had dismissed these rumors because the idea of Schlagenweit as some sort of Dark Arts-wielding prodigy was patently ridiculous when applied to a boy who blushed and stammered as soon as someone looked at him, even with that fluke of a defense against Knight he'd performed mid-year. But Landis had remembered it, this little bit of possibly essential information, of a student whose luck seemed tremendous when one considered the odds of losing both parents and gaining a mysteriously rich criminal benefactor in the same year. When it came to the boy who'd killed Mannie, he remembered a great deal. This new patron was a factor he'd expected might come up at some point, since he and several others were quite anxious for Schlagenweit's death; still, he hadn't expected it to come up so soon.

Landis tilted his head, considering. Anger disappeared from his form like a stage magician'd dropped a cloth over it and whisked it away, and he was left looking quite composed, quite... thoughtful. Oh, he still felt it, that tremendous vicious anger. And just below it, there was the sick curl of fear. But Landis was practical, and prideful, and he was aware of the power of appearance. Kronos had already seen more loss of control from him in five minutes than any of Landis' acquaintances might see in a year, and that was regrettable. For any understanding of Malvivicus' character he might gain in provoking him, Landis might likewise reveal something he didn't wish Kronos to know if he continued to indulge his ire. He recognized his urge to draw blood in the only manner he had left, but it was unwise to spit venom and therefore deafen himself to his options.

And this was, once he'd gotten over his initial disgust, such an interesting development.

"I am aware of his connection to you," Landis said, which was at least partially a lie considering he hadn't fully known until now, when Kronos had confirmed it. Son. Intriguing. Weak. "If I agreed, what would you have me teach him?"

Something about Morgan's confidence in asserting that he knew of their connection really licked Kronos's fur in the wrong direction.  Yuck.  What did he know?  Kronos let his eyes narrow at the insinuation; knowledge was power, and Landis Morgan was trying to claim some for himself.  Not okay.

"You know nothing!  Not a single rotten thing of us, if you fancy keeping that dirty snake of a tongue of yours," hissed Kronos emotively.  The tuba's tune grew harsh and quickened.  He had no desire for their connection to become known to Sasha's naive well-wishers, and he wouldn't suffer a tattle-tale.  Having stiffened substantially, Kronos craned his neck and cracked it four times to relieve the tension.  A part of him felt that this alliance was too important to trust imbeciles like Morgan with the care of his son.  What a bother!  He'd be happy to take the tyke out of Hogwarts altogether, only he knew how important a traditional education was to Sasha and he couldn't bare to take him away from Ferguson Amherst prematurely when they were in the throes of young love. 

"Now," Kronos continued plainly, waving his hand to the rhythm of the music.  "You are to take the remainder of this year as a point of departure - there isn't much time left and I'd like a sense of routine to be established in preparation for the coming school year.  Sasha has need for special access to the Restricted Section of your library, and he'll need you to provide clarification and a certain level of instruction with his extracurricular activities.  You are my eyes and ears and mouth, Mister Morgan, none of what you say to my boy should be coloured by your distaste with your newly appointed duties - are we clear?  I don't have to kill Dazmond to do her pain and I'm aware of many ways to hurt her without compromising her utility.  Do you understand?" 

Someone knocked on the door.  Kronos, looking highly perturbed by this, turned on his throne and shouted loudly, "I SAID NO INTERRUPTIONS, WHAT THE FUCKITY FUCK, DREYFUS!"  The tuba emitted a low groan and fell to the ground, silenced.  The door opened and a pale Wizard with scars on his face and greasy black hair falling in his eyes stepped in, walked past Landis Morgan without so much as a glance, and positioned himself directly in front of Kronos, kneeling into a deep bow.  He spoke without looking up:  "Your majesty, Sir, please accept my deepest apology for interrupting your negotiations and allow me to approach."

Kronos stared haughtily down for several moments before acquiescing.  "Yes, approach," he said, sounding bored.  He stepped down from his throne and travelled down the steps, just as the Wizard arose and came closer to whisper into his ear.  After a moment Kronos let out a raucous bark of a laugh. 

"He said WHAT!?"  He cackled with hideous laughter, hardly stopping before gleefully administering the antidote to the problem:  "Kill him!" said Kronos colourfully, still snickering to himself.  He turned and waved his hand.  "Get out of my sight, Dreyfus, and close the door."  The Wizard bowed again and said thank you before he turned to leave, chancing a glance at Landis from the corner of his eye, a brief look that seemed to say best of luck.

"Where was I?" said Kronos, perching himself back on his throne.  "I hate interruptions, always throws me off my toes.  We were - discussing your duties?  To be frank about it, you will treat my son with nothing but the deepest respect - he asks for something, he gets it.  This is because he is, simply, a superior Wizard to the likes of you, and he shouldn't have to be held back by the temper of fools.  What you have to get used to, Mister Morgan, is seeing Sir Sasha Schlagenweit as a little me.  Your boss."

Landis' eyebrows rose, his expression smoothing, mouth twisting, as if Kronos' loss of control was the greatest imaginable bore. He stared back at Kronos not just thoroughly unimpressed but scornful, ice practically crackling into existence along the path of his gaze. He had phrased his own question as something conditional on the terms, not so concrete, and Malvivicus' assumptions - that he would do it, that he had no choice, that Landis was to do this and to do that - were drawing forth the choking anger again, rising like bile in his throat. Malvivicus was not his employer, and Landis was not much obliged to listen to him. He was a disgusting, spineless fop of a man, and the only reason this little scene was even possible was because he held something Landis valued very much. Not for long, though. Not forever. Even mindful of the watching guards, Landis' fingers itched for his confiscated wand.

Then the reminder of his fetters, as if Landis could really have forgotten that Dazmond was here somewhere, status unknown. Unnecessary. Maddening. Frankly, he did not want anything to do with Malvivicus' eyes and ears and mouth. By the time the man burst into the hall, he still hadn't spoken.

He watched, impassive, as the man's query played out. It didn't matter much to him whether the sentence was real or a trick designed to put the fear of Malvivicus in him, like the bit earlier with his given name - either way Malvivicus was clearly unhinged, and the break only gave him time to swallow some of his anger, to brick up some of his infamous composure.

"They are very rude," Landis agreed, a barb behind his soft words (as if Kronos wasn't already sick to death of those). The fleeting look shared between he and Dreyfus was not lost on him; for the umpteenth time that evening he cautioned himself restraint, not because he felt Kronos deserved any, but because humoring the madman might be the best way to get out here. Keeping himself from telling the man repeatedly what an odd little fool he was was proving to be unexpectedly difficult.

"To be frank about it, you will treat my son with nothing but the deepest respect - he asks for something, he gets it.  This is because he is, simply, a superior Wizard to the likes of you, and he shouldn't have to be held back by the temper of fools.  What you have to get used to, Mister Morgan, is seeing Sir Sasha Schlagenweit as a little me.  Your boss."

There was a moment of startled silence, and then Landis began to laugh. It was not an unpleasant laugh - it wasn't even particularly scornful - and it became very clear that Landis was not laughing to mock him but because he'd found Kronos' words so funny he couldn't help himself.

"Little boss," he spat, or tried, but the humor twisted his mouth into a smile, gave his words a laughing little lilt. "A superior wizard! My, what rot. Such a negligent parent you are." His voice lowered, full of dark lurking amusement. "Spare the rod, spoil the child, Malvivicus."

How pleasant it was sometimes to let one's caution crash and burn.

The vague smile lingered on Kronos's face but became increasingly devoid of meaning or mirth as Mister Morgan trampled on his instructions.  The brute hadn't just the nerve to laugh; he had an inability to even control his nerves enough to stop the bubbling laughter in his throat.  Followed, nonetheless, by words which were quickly taken as insults.  It filled Kronos with rage atop an old, familiar sentiment of seething hatred for his fellow man.  Whatever love he felt for Sasha - if one were in the camp to believe that his love for Sasha was attached to real affect - had to have disappeared beneath the layers of heated cruelty in those few, fleeting moments.

What an atrocity!

Kronos pushed himself to his heels, standing up and hence even higher over Morgan.  His mouth smeared into a look of hideous disgust and his wand-hand visibly twitched.  Head tilted down, eyes glaring up with sharp disdain, he let his ominous Evil Eye do its own work as he stood in a quiet rage.  All at once, every wand in the room trained on Landis Morgan, the silent, nameless Kronies holding firm to their true allegiance like proper gentleman.

"We - hope - that you do not have plans for the coming days, mister Landis Rue Morgan Harper, you magnificent twat."

To no one in particular, Kronos spoke, his small, honey-brown eyes locked in a cold stare on Morgan.  "Show him the room which Dazmond Lois Wiedman Briggs became so very well acquainted with," he said in a low voice.  "Have we not changed the sheets since her visit, all of a year past, or is her scent instilled there as by magic?  Let him feel and smell the lingering scent of his friend as he strains to hear her muted screams from our underground."

As he turned to slowly lower himself into his throne, he added bitterly, "Pray you get out of this alive, you miserable twerp.  We will of course be so kind as to inform your friend Dazmond Lois that you wished to extend her stay."

Five of the men round the room closed in on Landis to escort him out of the room by force, so that he could be confined to his room once again without lunch and probably all the way till nightfall.  Perhaps the ennui and dreadful wondering would help him to lose his awful sense of humor.  In the meanwhile, Kronos thought he'd have his nails painted and enjoy some music on the phonograph.

That had been an exceedingly stupid thing to do, but it had made Landis feel much better. The rosy glow of a job well done stole over him as he gazed up at Kronos' livid face. Probably he was expected to pale and look horrified at what his own words had wrought. Instead he snickered all the way out. This ending hadn't really been a surprise.

Locked back in his temporary rooms, Landis went to the window to think. He was calmer now than he'd been before, with a better idea of what he was facing. He'd come, he'd met, he'd been escorted out again with two dozen wands pointed at the back of his head. Kronos' guards were very well-trained, though he wondered about their recruitment policy.

He didn't let himself feel too regretful for what his words may have earned Dazmond. He had to believe that she would have been harmed regardless, a belief he'd held since he was brought here; the fact that he'd been placed in her old room was proof enough of his secondary nature. She'd been here first. She was Kronos' pet project. There was nothing he could do to prevent that, and to avoid guilt he told himself there was nothing he could do to alleviate it either. The fact that Kronos hadn't cursed him, though, was interesting, since he clearly had no such compunctions about other people's well-being. His hints couldn't have been any more heavy-handed about what was happening to Dazmond, and what would happen to Landis, but regardless Malvivicus hadn't touched him.

Yet, anyways.

He had no options. Malvivicus had made it clear he would leave here either dead or employed, and for all his pride Landis knew which one was preferable. Nor, for Dazmond's sake, could he afford to dawdle. Landis did not believe that Kronos had finished with Dazmond so soon, but that wouldn't be a valid excuse after the first day. He couldn't continue to resist out of spite once he thought there was any chance he was delaying their release.

Of course, once they were free, all pretense that employment under duress included loyalty would be dropped. Steps would be taken; records would be searched. Sometime very soon a man under a different face would be making discreet inquiries. It was not consolation so much as a given, with Landis Morgan. For the moment it was all he had.