Gilded Chaos

Gargoyle

Eric slowly rises from his crouch on the ground, keeping his eyes on the man- sorry, I mean bloke- currently holding a dagger to my throat, causing said bloke to tighten his hold on both the dagger and my arm.

"Now, listen carefully, you hand over the pieces of the dagger and the girl over here won't come to more harm than is... Necessary", the man says with a sneer; I can't see the sneer but I sure do feel it. 

Eric, lovely Eric, doesn't move an inch from his position in front of the door. That settles where he's standing in this poor excuse for a negotiation.

I guess that leaves only one option.

"I commend the metalwork of whoever forged this dagger, it's really quite good-"

"Pandora. Quiet", Eric grinds out.

"No, no. This chap has good taste. Look, it's already nicked me without him having to put much effort into it, see-" just as the words leave my mouth I ram the back of my head into the man's face. 

Crack! That must be his nose.

The next second is a blur of motion in my tiny apartment as my attacker stumbles black, holding his now-bloody face and screaming obscenities at me, and Eric crosses the room in the blink of an eye and shoves his dagger into the man's neck and slices it open. 

He's got a lot more in common with Bronx and his butchers than I'd initially thought.

I'm breathing heavily. Eric's breathing heavily- okay, he isn't, the bloody automaton that he is. He's staring at me as though I've got a head of gold- it's quite handy. 

He steps towards me, silent as death- which seems to be abundant in my living quarters- and, to my utter shock, tries to choke me-... Oh.

He caresses my neck, close to where the dagger cut me, with the back of his forefinger. 

I, on the other hand, stand stock-still as I try to get the gears in my golden head to start functioning again.

"You should get cleaned up and get some rest," he says, dropping his hand as he clears his throat. 

Meanwhile, I assess the- worse- mess that's been made of my apartment to avoid the malfunctioning gears from showing through my wide eyes. I am most certainly not cleaning all this by myself. 

Mr Terrignem, it seems, has other plans.

He strides to the door and stops just before he exits the room. "Do not let anyone in, no matter who it is, understood? I will come fetch the bodies sometime during the night, though. I'll make sure there's no more trouble for now".

With that, he leaves before I can protest or pull him back by his blond hair.

Huffing, I look around at the mess once more.

Eh.

I make my way to my bedroom/library and plop down on the thin, dusty mattress hidden among the towers of books with the room's door ajar, giving me a clear view of the front door.

I dream of dragons circling the building, keeping watch. It's oddly comforting, like gargoyles but more beautiful and, well, alive.