Louis is the Leader of a Steampunk street-gang and earns money as a male prostitute. Harry is a Dutch Gypsy with a prosthetic hand with a keen eye for all things beautiful.
They find each other perhaps by chance, but perhaps that the Gypsy-Boy knew...
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Baby Louis. Fact: Louis' eyes are this blue in real life. (the colour palette for the baby's eye colour is only made up of the colours I picked out in a photograph of Louis from the Take Me Home tour.)
I hope you enjoy this chapter With Love, Lucy x
*
That was all it took, one last flick of a red-stained whip for Louis to tilt over the brink of insanity and make his way down to the front gates of Hell. He was a different person from the one he was three weeks ago, even though the time was so short. His hair was white and the wounds on his body were deep but that man didn't stop laughing. He felt the pain so much that nothing else could hurt him, and that was what Edvard had promised.
Therefor, the tall Russian figure looked down at the former steampunk with a gaze that showed both fear and pride. He had made a man out of Louis to be sure, but that man was completely insane. Louis sat on the window ledge, looking out at the passing townies and carriages, his mind not thinking anything at all. A black ribbon eye-patch covered the gaping black hole where his left eye should've been, reminding everyone that saw him about a certain incident involving a hot poker. His white hair brought a taste of purity to that shivering body, contrasting with the bruises and cuts on his skin, but causing them to stand out on that paling complexion. His clothes were tight, so tight that Edvard could see the curves through them where his wounds dug into his skin. By God, it must have hurt, he thought, to go through so much pain to resolve a betrayal that was waiting to happen. If only Alois had people like Edvard himself, people who truly loved him for who he was. If he'd grown up with those surroundings, that safety, then he wouldn't have had to be sitting like a broken vase just waiting to fall off a shelf again.
Louis raised a hand and tugged on the thick leather collar around his neck, letting a choking noise escape his throat. He was silent, destroyed by a war that he never deserved to face, looking out of the window as if he'd never seen the sunlight before. Perhaps he missed home, or perhaps he had forgotten it. Edvard didn't know. He didn't hear words leave those lips, only moans, whimpers, and deafening laughter.
The little steampunk had been destroyed like a lone soldier on a battlefield he'd been forced to walk down. The Louis who had fallen in love with his family, who had dried Erin's tears, and who had supported Hanji's inventions had been struck down by the force of a red whip. He'd been tortured so many times and in so many places that it had carved the kindness and sanity out of him. He had become immune to pain and that was clear by the way that his face remained calm despite the deep scars that hurt to even look at; however, he'd become immune in a way that Edvard hadn't expected. The steampunk hadn't become a Man but he'd become a feral beast with a heart so cold that that could freeze fire at the touch.
"Alois." Edvard called out from the place where he stood. He watched Alois turn his head to face him. Beneath that inquisitive expression, the Master could see how Alois was thinking. He still had a part of his own mind left and it flickered in his bright blue iris like a snowflake. When he was in his calmest state, he could distance himself enough from his pain to think rationally. "Are you alright?" Edvard inquired, kneeling down on one knee. He looked up at Louis and took his hand, feeling the shiver in it that was part from nervousness and part from permanent trauma. Alois started to shake his head but he must have caught the concerned look on Edvard's face so he turned that shake into a nod.
