happilyeverbeginning | drabble thing for cybra

Scrooge by now had perfected the art form of stoicism, knowing when and where to hold back his emotions no matter the situation. But today was seriously going to test his limits. All Magica had told him was “follow me”, and that was it. Simple enough, though he was curious about her attire – this “meeting” as she'd called it apparently called for a longer dress, a few extra accessories on her finger, a regal staff, and even a large, imposing black crown that resembled the fangs of a demon creature. It took him a few minutes to understand this was how the Queen of the Coven was supposed to look, but why would she glam herself up today, when it never seemed so important before?

He'd later grasp the answer by himself – intimidation. Not that he knew this when they entered the throne room, and awaited their guests. No, his thoughts were elsewhere when the two guests arrived, and it was a fight not to widen his eyes – his former mistress and master. He swallowed, and for a brief moment, thought he was going to be returned back into their cruelty. Logic and emotion battled in his mind, and he and the former mistress exchanged a look.

The Master spoke first. “You honor us with this calling, my lady.”

Magica's propped her head in her hand, arm on the arm rest, studying the two of them. “Do I? Because it appears that neither of you have shown me any respect at all.”

Fear struck them both like a punch to the face. “W-what? That's... what could we have possibly done to shown you any ill will? We're loyal followers!”

“Loyal?” Now she began to sit up straighter, truly looking down at them. “Would loyal members of the coven eagerly hand over a damaged slave?”

Scrooge looked at her without thinking, blinking rapidly. He remembered the promises of revenge and blood made when he pleasured her, but had assumed it was mostly to get him hot and bothered. Was she actually serious? If she was – why?

“You – you didn't give me a choice, you demanded-” The mistress sputtered, until her husband grabbed her by the arm, hissing for her to shut her mouth.

“I understand disciplining a slave...” Magica rolled a hand, dismissive of basic abuse. “But what I saw went above and beyond punishment. It's a miracle he's able to stand up straight. You thought you could pass off a horse with a lame leg and thought I'd never notice? Is that how little you think of me?”

The husband shoved his wife away, and Scrooge began feeling a twinge of glee at seeing how easily they would throw one another to the wolves. “It wasn't like that at all, I swear it! I caught that one forcing himself on my wife!”

Magica's eyes slid over to the woman. “Is that so.”

Seeing a chance to redeem herself, the mistress babbled rapidly. “Yes, yes it is! I was just fortunate my husband came along before he could hurt me any further! That slave was a beast!” Funny, Scrooge mused to himself, that used to be a compliment.

There was a beat of silence, with Magica strumming her fingers on the stop of her staff. When she spoke again, her voice was far, far darker than it had been before. “I wasn't aware we had such weak witches in my employ.” The former mistress made a quiet, squeaking noise in her throat. “You couldn't fend off one measly mortal, and you dare to think yourself as a rightful member of my coven? You insult not only my honor, but my intelligence!” Her staff slammed hard on the ground, and now she stood, eyes blazing, hellfire in her voice, and it was then that Scrooge could begin to see the power that his owner held.

The master screamed for mercy, before smacking his wife. “This is your fault, you stupid cow!”

“Shut the hell up! You just wanted an excuse, you knew I wanted him more than you!”

“SILENCE!”

One could hear a pin drop. The master and mistress trembled, not daring to say a word. The mistress looked at Scrooge again, and appeared to be silently begging him for help. Something began to curl up on Scrooge's beak, growing wider and more wicked. Oh, this was a nice look. If Magica had allowed it, would the mistress have crawled on her hands and knees for his aid? It was a nice mental image.

Magica inhaled deeply through her nostrils, seemingly settling down. “I admit... I'm in a good mood today. And despite all your idiocy and disrespect, you two may still have a place in the coven, should you so desire it.”

Startled at the chance for redemption, the master clasped his hands together. “Yes, of course!” His wife chimed in frantically. “Anything for you, my lady!”

“Ah, so we're all in agreement.” Magica smiled, like a viper before snatching the life out of its next meal. “I've decided exactly what you two will be.” The orb atop the staff began to glow, and the flames of the candles all around the room extended, the shadows turning darker. “From henceforth... the two of you will be an example of what happens when you show insolence TO THE QUEEN OF THE SHADOWS!”

The shadows then rose up, slamming down upon the two, clawing and tearing at their owners, ignoring their screams of agony, ripping open their flesh and slithering inside their muscles. Scrooge staggered backwards, unsure of what he was seeing. Their bodies were writhing in torment, soon losing the ability to scream, pain in every orifice. He wasn't even sure if they would be allowed the faint release of death. Magica watched for a moment, and then snapped her fingers. The suffering bodies seemed to melt into the floor, taking the prisoners who the hell knew where. Not even their blood stains remained.

Magica hadn't even broken a sweat to use such magic, casually flipping her hair over her shoulder as she descended down the steps. “We've got to get a better screening process,” she muttered mostly to herself.

Without thinking, Scrooge came forward and grabbed her hand. She stopped to look at him, and his heart beat hard at his own idiocy. But she smiled at him, eyes deep and alluring. “Enjoyed that, did you?”

She had done it for him. It was madness, insanity, and if the other witches and warlocks understood this, she'd be called far worse things. And Scrooge decided he was perfectly okay with this. A rare smirk covered his face, and he raised her fingers to kiss the knuckles, knowing he'd receive no punishment for it. “Immensely, mistress.”

She squeezed his fingers before pulling away, her back towards him. “Keep that in mind for tonight.” He walked two steps behind her, as was custom for slaves, but he knew now his real position was higher than that. He was still a slave in title, but now he had more power than he knew what to do with.

~*~

Magica had improved his education tenfold, encouraging it despite the stares and whispers of others. His reward for work that was above and beyond was books that lesser servants couldn't see the use for. It wasn't long before reading and writing became as easy as breathing, but his real specialty was mathematics. He could envision numbers most couldn't fathom, and even offered his own advice when it came to the funds of the coven. Treasure wouldn't last forever, not even under the greatest of spells, and many mortal lands could be bought instead of conquered, saving magic and lives.

Not surprisingly, he was also educated tenfold in the mistress' bed.

Though she now wore the ring of another man, Magica had made it perfectly clear that Scrooge was the one she preferred to spend her days with. She showed him the art of temptation, the slow heat of desire, and he was proud to say she was a far greater lay than his former owner. There was still that lingering trace of doubt, that one wrong move and he'd be out for good. But every day, that trace died a little more.

Such as this day, as she straddled his hips and moaned his name, feeling him thrust into her hard and deep. Their hands were joined, or to be more accurate, she wasn't letting him go. It was one of her games, making him fight so he could touch her breasts and hips, and he was happy to play along. One thing he noticed during these sessions was that, unlike his former mistress, Magica always made sure to look at him. As if there was nothing more important to see than his face, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Granted, thinking was very difficult during these times, now that he was able to relax and actually enjoy himself. They were rocking in perfect unison, oblivious to the rest of the world, oblivious that Magica hadn't locked the door.

They didn't hear the knocking, too absorbed in one another, but they definitely hear the door open, and the shout of “Magica!”

Scrooge froze – this scene was far too familiar. He was suddenly stuck in the past, and expected the worst. There stood Magica's intended, Rosolio, a half-wit with a twice-full body, who had moved in days prior. Supposedly his magic was great, though Scrooge had yet to see any evidence of that. At times he was almost insulted that his mistress was engaged to someone who could barely string a sentence together. But the fear stayed in him – until Magica screeched. “What the hell do you want, you moron?!”

She wasn't addressing Scrooge, but the goose that stammered in the doorway. “You're – you're late for the - ” He was clearly distracted not only by Magica's body, but what she was choosing to do with it. Sex with slaves wasn't unheard of, but it seemed Roslio thought his wife-to-be was above such things. “You, and... him...?”

“If you can't get your remaining two brain cells to work, THEN GET OUT!” Magica roared, raising her hand – the nightstand glowed purple, before being hurled at her fiance and sending him flying out of the room. The doors slammed shut, locking loudly, and she sighed in aggravation, running a hand through her hair. “How in the world has he managed to live this long...” She shook her head, ready to resume everything as if nothing had happened at all – that's when she saw Scrooge, who had unknowingly been holding his breath the entire time. She raised an eyebrow, and then realized what he was thinking. “Oh, don't be stupid.” She flicked his beak with her free hand. “How many times have I told you? You belong to me. No one is getting rid of you.”

He finally exhaled, finally believed her, finally could get that trace in his head to go quiet. He still didn't have the faintest idea of what exactly drew her to him, but he'd found a safe sanctuary in her presence. Maybe she was just using him as spite for her upcoming nuptials, but he could live with it. He was protected, he was privileged, and that was all any slave could ask for. He'd never be stupid enough to think he was in love, not again, nor was he sure that Magica herself could believe in such a concept. But they had something. A nameless thing that took on many forms. When she kissed him, he returned it, and they moved again, again, again.

~*~

But the trace was at last dealt a final blow mere days later. In the library, Magica sat, brows furrowed, trying to read the same complicated book Scrooge had finished some time ago, but to her annoyance it was beyond her. Her skill was magic, not numbers. He had offered to “translate”, and she hit him. Not the sort of beating he received in his old life, but a pinch to his rear, more playful than actually disciplining him. If he actually gave it some thought, he couldn't remember the last time she literally struck him – if at all.

He made himself busy rearranging the collection to be easier to sort through, occasionally taking a peek through the pages. There was a content peace between that was shattered when Rosolio entered the room, and although he was there for Magica, his eyes met Scrooge's, and there was a hideous envy inside. To think that a powerful, renowned warlock would be jealous of a servant! Rosolio cleared his throat to address Magica, speaking of some lower revolt taking place in the north, and Magica merely nodded along, barely listening.

Eventually the warlock's patience was met. “Are you listening a word I've been saying?”

“If you had said something important, I would have.” She flipped a page. “A few weak witches allying themselves with weaker mortals is hardly any cause for concern.”

“You have to look at the bigger picture, Magica! If you don't act, think of what the coven will say! Your reputation will be tarnished.” And then, unable to help himself, he added, “Especially considering your attitude with that slave.”

Now that got her attention, raising her eyes above the book. “Pardon me?” But it wasn't a question, Scrooge knew that. It was a warning.

“You treat him better than you treat your own husband!” Rosolio glared daggers at Scrooge, who kept himself calmly neutral. “The entire coven mocks you behind your back, they think you've gone soft! I know you're better than that, you just need to...” He fumbled, trying to find the right words. “I could get you half a dozen slaves that are the same! For your own sake, you need to wake up and get rid of him!”

Magica quietly closed the book, letting it sit in her lap. “You know me?” She parroted back, before breaking into a cackle. “Just who do you think you are? I may have to wear your ring, but in the end, you're nothing more than a broodmare.”

Something in the goose snapped, and he lashed out, arm towards her – but Scrooge grabbed him first by the wrist. It was a ridiculous motion, Scrooge knew. Even as dimwitted as Rosolio was, he was still a warlock, and could have Scrooge dead with a mere flick of the wrist. The only reason he was alive right now was because Rosolio seemed stunned that a mere slave had acted this way.

Magica giggled. “My, my... It appears that he's shown me more loyalty than you're capable of.”

In that second, Rosolio knew he had majorly screwed up. “I didn't mean-” He couldn't get out another word before a spell sent him to the floor, twisting his organs around without killing him. He gagged, trying and failing to get up.

Magica rose from her seat, lazily draping her arms around her slave, playing with the feathers atop his head. “Did he hurt you, Scroogie?” It was more a mockery of Rosolio than real concern, but the touch was tender.

Scrooge looked at the furious, pain-filled warlock at the floor – and was filled with disgust that this thing would touch Magica's body. For all the power Magica had, she was still going to marry him. Still going to carry his eggs. And Scrooge... did not care for this. At all. His arms slid around Magica's waist, holding her close to him, almost protectively.

He wondered how easy it would be to get rid of that man, if Magica could not. Rosolio would never expect such an act from a lowly servant. And suppose he was caught – who would dare think to punish Magica's favorite slave? Maybe it was time Rosolio learned his place. Scrooge wasn't going anywhere.

“Not at all, Magica.” He dared to speak her name, and he was rewarded with an affectionate nuzzle to his neck. The flames in Rosolio's arms eyes burned hotter, and Scrooge enjoyed every second of it. That man would never give Magica the pleasure he could, the satisfaction, the desire she earned. He belonged to her, that was true, and in that same vein, she belonged to him.

And gods help anyone who dared to separate them.