His Butler, Beloved {KuroWattyAwards 2014}

VII: His Butler | | Honorable

"Steady," whispered a voice twenty feet above, on a nearby building.

Jasper's ear twitched at the sound, yet he pretended not to hear it and continued to be content with getting his master to England.

"Keep it steady." said the man, this time a bit louder than a whisper, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

The silver-haired butler kept his crimson eyes fixated on the cobblestone road and listened as the horses' hooves clanked against them.

"Aim," said the crouched dark-haired man, next to the prone one atop the roof with Jasper in his rifle's crosshairs' line of sight.

"Fire!" As the words left the man sitting next to the assassin's mouth, the assassin had slammed the trigger of his rifle, sending out the bullet and accurately striking the long silver-haired butler through his right temporal lobe, knocking him from the box seat of the carriage and to the cobble-stone ground.

The gun shot had startled the tawny-haired boy, not only that, but the abrupt halt of the carriage as well. Standing up from his seat, he stepped over to the door and opened it. Peeking his head out, he stared at his butler lying facedown on the grey ground and closed his eyes, drooping his head. "Don't be incompetent, Jasper; stop pretending and get your arse back to driving the carriage."

The butler began twitching slightly then twisted his head to the side and stared at his master. "Young Lord, it feels so nice down here; can I lie here for eternit-?"

"Jasper! That was an order!" Closing the door, Ezzelin sat back in his seat and sighed. Playing games is something I've never been fond of.

"Take care of them and then return back here!" he shouted.

Outside of the carriage, Jasper stood up as though an invisible force had gracefully lifted him to his feet. "What a bore these mortal weapons are; not even strong enough to kill a lowly man such as myself."

Bringing his right white-gloved hand up to the side of his blood-soaked head, the silver-haired man began digging out the long bullet with his pinky. Grazing across the cold metal of the intruding object, his eyebrow twitched in annoyance. "For the love of Satan; bring yourself the hell out of my head!" he shouted as the bullet immediately flew out and went straight through the brick wall of the building sitting next to the carriage.

"Who----what the hell are you?!" exclaimed a man standing at the entrance of the street, a small flintlock pistol shaking violently in his left hand's grip as he kept the aim on the butler.

Jasper swiveled gracefully around on his right heel and smiled at the man as the gaping hole in his head began sizzling and slowly healing up to where there was no longer a hole even there. The quarter round gap of locks that he'd lost had also grown back out to full length along with the rest of his hair. "Why?" he said as he bowed. "The name's Jasper Airaghi and considering the fact that I was just shot has utterly pissed me off; how would you like to die tonight?"

The man at the end of the street tightened his grip around the pistol and his hysterical blue eyes wavered with fear. "Y-you're . . . not human!"

Jasper chuckled. "A rather long time for you to finally take notice." he said as he took a step toward the man, a murderous smirk etched on his lips. "What was the sign you first noticed?" he inquired as he carried his blood covered pinky up to his lips and allowed his tongue to lick the crimson liquid from it, though his tongue was not in the normal shape that a person's should have been, rather the shape of a serpent's.

Suddenly, above Jasper, on the roofs of both the buildings on either side of the carriage and the silver-haired man there came nearly twelve men, armed with rifles, six on each roof, their crosshairs set on Jasper. Nearly four more popped up from either side of the lone pistol wielder, two on either side of him, who now was smirking nastily to himself. "You're outnumbered; what will you do now, butler?" asked the man as he took a step forward, his previous fear now replaced with arrogance. "Tell ye what: we'll let you live if you hand over the boy in the carriage. Whadaya say?"