DC: Freaky Family Ch.1

Chapter 1: Gerard's Discovery


The old mansion had a damp, empty feel to it, and the air was cold and stale in several places.  It had been abandoned quite some time before.  Abandoned, but not left to a state of disarray.  Lancelot Pendragon had abhorred everything about his father, and when the inheritance had passed over to him, he'd fired most of his father's staff, keeping only a select few whose job it had become to maintain and upkeep the Pendragon mansion just enough so it wouldn't fall into disrepair.

The servants had been told they had this job in the event Lancelot ever chose to return to the mansion.  Personally, they all thought such a thing would never happen; the young master was changed after he'd returned from that long vacation as a child to that bizarre boarding school, and more likely than not, he'd never come to his senses and open the Pendragon mansion again.  And two months ago, the young master had vanished into thin air, leaving only his most trusted manservant to maintain and run his businesses, telling everyone that Lancelot had left on a short trip for his mental health.

Then a week ago, Lancelot had resurfaced and moved to the mansion.

One of the servants nearly had a heart attack and died from the shock.

Gerard surveyed the room before him with a measure of distaste, and it was only out of deepest respect for his young employer that he didn't immediately begin criticizing the poor efforts on the behalf of the older servants to keep the mansion in a habitable state.  This turned out to be pointless, however.

"You are displeased, Gerard?" asked Lance, looking up from his notebook laptop, large dark green eyes observing him with a measure of amusement.

"Highly, Mr. Pendragon." he replied shortly.

"Do you honestly think you alone would have done a better job?" Lance asked curiously, turning his attention back to his laptop.  Gerard curled his lip as he took in his surroundings again.

"I might have." he answered curtly, and to his astonishment, Lancelot threw his head back and laughed.

"Gerard, Gerard!  Ahh, what would I ever do without you?"

Still recovering from the shock of having seen his normally stoic master laugh, the butler-turned-secretary crossed his arms.  "Likely you'd have to do all of that scheduling on top of the paperwork, eh?"

"So modest, Gerard Montaine!  I'm adding that to your profile!" Lance murmured, shaking his head as he typed, a smile on his face.  Gerard blinked.

"My what?" he stuttered incredulously, moving around to look over his employer's shoulder.

"Your profile, Mr. Montaine.  I'm making you a profile on a dating site." Lancelot replied, an uncharacteristically wide smile on his pale face.  The manservant wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"I don't date."

"Oh, but you will!  You're too much of a workaholic, Gerard.  You need to find a way to unwind, relax a little.  And a few dates will be just what you need.  You're pansexual, yes?"

"You're missing the point, Mr. Pendragon.  I don't have time to date."

"Yes, Gerard, you do.  And you will."

"You're only stuck on the idea because you met Ms. Harker."

"Yes," Lance murmured, a rather pathetic, goofy smile spreading over his face, "And she's magnificent."

"She stamped your forehead.  Because you had fifteen different overdue materials.  And she slapped your face after taking the check you wrote out for them."

"Yes, she did.  And she's so honest and bold, unwavering in her beliefs and stances.  Yet she can be calm and gentle and sweet, like a loving lady of noble blood."

"You've only seen her a grand total of five times, and each of those at the library.  And she's still not accepted your offer for dinner Thursday night."

"Oh, she will.  She will!" Lance said confidently, his keystrokes increasing.

"What in the world is going on out here?" asked a smooth, soothing voice.  Both men turned to see an older redheaded man walking into the room, leaning on a cane, with a hulking gray-black figure trailing behind him.

"I'm simply amusing myself, Emile." Lance replied coolly, and Gerard had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything.

Unlike most of Lancelot's staff, Gerard knew the truth of what had happened in the young master's childhood, and he knew Dr. Emile Dorian was one of the men responsible for having turned the business tycoon into a werewolf.  He also knew that his employer both feared and deeply respected and admired the scientist, but it still baffled him as to why in the world Lancelot had insisted that Dorian stay with him after he'd returned from his mysterious hiatus.  And as for the man-cat, Tygrus…well, there Gerard allowed his boss a little leeway.  There was much Lancelot and Tygrus had in common, and he imagined that Lance wanted Tygrus to stay because the two of them could understand each other far better than most people.

"Amusing yourself?  I wasn't aware you had a sense of humor, Lancelot my boy." Emile Dorian chuckled, a small smile working its way over his features.  The werewolf lifted his upper lip and let out a low growl.

"Is there something you need, Dorian?"

"Company." the scientist replied, taking one of the nearby chairs.  Tygrus hung back in the doorway, looking awkward and blinking his large yellow eyes pitifully until Dorian said something.  "Do come in, dear Tygrus.  There's no reason why you can't join us."

"Thank you, father." the man-cat murmured, coming over to inspect Lance's work with the laptop.

"Are there any drinks around, out of curiosity?" Dorian asked innocently, and Gerard chafed.  Dorian seemed to think that the best and only way he could even acknowledge the butler's existence was to treat him the way most rich British snobs did their servants, and that usually involved a lot of subtle, domineering "hints."

"You could always ask me to go fetch something, you know." Gerard spoke loudly and coldly, drawing his boss and the man-cat's attention.

"Then by all means, go do so, Mr. Montaine." Dorian replied coolly, his dark eyes boring into the younger man.

Huffing indignantly, Gerard stormed from the room, the long blonde curls of his ponytail smacking his face as he went.  He was really starting to get fed up with Dorian, and half-wished Lancelot could be a feral werewolf, just once, and rid them of the condescending dinosaur.

He was lost enough in angry thought that he took a wrong turn at a junction in the hall, and entered a corridor he'd not yet been to.  He was starting to realize his mistake and head back, when a door caught his eye.  It was made from the same wood as the rest of the doors in the house, but each of the panels had been meticulously and ornately carved with different scenes he couldn't quite make out from under their thick layer of dust.  Still, something about the door struck a chord in Gerard's memory.

Images started to overlap.

A younger Gerard Montaine had been in this hallway, back when the mansion was open, back when Artemis Pendragon had been head of the household, and he'd taken a wrong turn that time, too.  The hallway had been more brightly lit back then, and this same door was standing wide open, with people going in and out of it.  They wore uniforms of a moving van company, and they were carrying huge, concealed cases into the room beyond the door, complaining about the weight of their cargo.  Gerard had watched off to the side, then snuck past them into the room to see Artemis directing a few men where to put the crates.  The older man had then begun talking rather feverishly to someone, a look of giddy triumph on his face that hadn't been seen in years.  The young servant boy had been curious, but Artemis had also spotted him right away and shooed him from the room.  He had left reluctantly, with Mr. Pendragon whispering in his ear, "Not now, Gerard.  All will make itself clear in due time."

"Well now, Mr. Pendragon," Gerard murmured as the memory faded from his mind, "I'd say now's as good a time as ever to find out what you were up to.  Heavens knows I need a break from Dr. Catface and his high-maintenance demands."

He slowly reached out and brushed some of the dust from the wood paneling to reveal scenes from Arthurian legend carved into the door.  It was all so tiny and detailed, he couldn't find anything in particular that he recognized, so he merely shook his head, resolving to figure it out later, and reached for the door handle.  His hand came back filthy with a layer of thick dust, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hand clean.  He reached again and pulled hard, the door sucking away from its frame as though it had been in some sort of vacuum.  The air in the room beyond was old and very stale, leaving him coughing as he entered.

"What in the world…?"

He found himself in what was presumably a ballroom at one point, with suits of armor lining one side of the wall and pushed back against the double rows of columns.  One wall was facing out toward the grounds and garden, huge glass doors revealing a view of the ivy-choked fountain and broken stone paths beyond.  Lightning illuminated the night sky for a brief moment, and his heart began to speed up.  At the opposite end of the room was a grand staircase leading up to an overhead catwalk, more stairs, and several doors.

"Well, I do believe I finally found the stairs to the second floor." he muttered dryly.  Ever since they'd come back, Lancelot had been determined to find the stairs that led to the high second, third, and fourth floors of the mansion, but his search had been utterly fruitless.  But now it seemed there was indeed a hidden staircase, just as he'd thought.  Gerard scanned the room again, and frowned as he tried to spot what Artemis had been keeping secret.  Then, when the lightning outside flashed again, he spotted it.  Something was being kept out of sight, hidden behind and beneath the staircase.

"Bingo." he said grimly, crossing the ballroom.  It wasn't easy; the suits of armor seemed to be watching him, and the feeling made the skin on his arms crawl.  He finally slipped behind the staircase, and tucked away in its shadow as a large computer.  It was still dark and difficult to make out details, and cursing himself, Gerard fumbled in his pockets for a moment until he out the pocket pen flashlight he carried with him.  He turned the mirror on it ever so slightly until a tiny beam of white light hit the wall and bounced off the computer.  It seemed to be just that; an older, unremarkable 'super' computer.

But something was on it, just above the keyboard, taped in place.

Frowning, he approached it slowly and discovered it was an envelope.  Sighing with disappointment, he gently pulled the envelope off and began to brush the dust from it out of habit.

Then his eyes went wide with shock.

"Mon dieu!" the words left his throat in a gasp as the envelope fell silently to the floor, face up.

It was addressed 'Gerard Montaine.'

"Oh, this cannot be happening!  Oh, mon dieu!  This is Twilight Zone material…" he murmured, crouching down to shine the flashlight on the envelope in disbelief.  But there it was, with his name on it, written in the flowing, slanting handwriting that had once belonged to Artemis Pendragon.  Hands shaking, Gerard transferred his pen flashlight to his mouth, holding it between his teeth, and picked up the envelope from the floor, prying it open.  A sheet of paper, starting to yellow with age was inside, and when he pulled it free and unfolded it, it too was written in Artemis's handwriting.  Lightning flashed a third time outside the glass doors, and he began to read.

Dear Mr. Montaine

I imagine it will be some time before you see this letter.  Knowing my son, Lancelot will have moved out of the mansion for some time before returning.  But just the other day you happened to come by the ballroom and see some men moving several crates covered with sheets into here.  Don't try denying it; after all, I myself escorted you from the room.

Doubtless you now have questions, and I shall try to answer them for you.

You see, Gerard, I've a bad feeling.  Have had it for several months now.  And this man I'm arguing business deals with at the moment, well, he frightens me.  Perhaps I'm just being paranoid, but I say a precaution taken is better than a trip to the morgue.  Call me grim, but my feeling is that bad.

This is why I have installed my new security system.  You saw the pieces for it being brought in, Gerard.  Mind you, by the time you are reading this, it was probably already too late for me, so this security is pointless if I wished to protect myself.  But I didn't bring it in for me; it is for Lancelot and Guenhivyre.  I know I have been a terrible father to them both, and there's nothing I can do to set things right with them, but I refuse to see either of them hurt owing to my own stupidity.

Now, perhaps you are wondering what you have to do with all this, aside from being inquisitive enough to have been poking your nose in the right place at the wrong time.  Fact of the matter is, Gerard, you are far too damnably clever for your own good, and I can see, even now, that Lancelot is coming to rely very heavily on you.  This is good, Gerard.  It means I can rest assured that even if Lancelot were to fire the rest of my original staff, you would still somehow find this.

Now let's get down to business.

The computer controls the security system, but you probably knew that after reading my initial line about the system.  Here's the catch: I've programmed the system to respond to your voice.  Order the computer to come online, and it shall.  But only for you, Lancelot, and Guenhivyre.  It is designed to protect my children however, so I have my doubts as to whether it could keep you safe, but I imagine it will still obey you regardless.

You are no doubt by now questioning this in your head, but rest assured, Gerard Montaine, that when the time comes that you have need of this technology, it will all make sense.

And no doubt he hates me by now, but please…when you tell Lancelot of this, try to help him understand that I do care about he and his sister.


Sincerely,

Artemis Julius Pendragon


Gerard re-read the letter several times over, swallowing hard, heart pounding.  The whole thing was just too unreal.

Finally, he remembered that he was supposed to be fetching drinks, and he got to his feet, folding the letter back up and tucking it away inside his shirt as he strode from the ballroom.

He had to tell Lancelot, but with Dorian around…

A cold feeling began to grow in the pit of Gerard's stomach, and he had the feeling Artemis too, would have felt that his wonderful security system had already been bypassed by the man most dangerous to his son.

****

He had no idea how he'd gotten there.  All concept of time and memory had fled from him, and he could barely piece together the fragments of the memories he had.  He'd managed to get through until he came to a building—an apartment, his vague memories supplied—and found himself standing in his living quarters, a dismal little joke of a place.  He shook his head, trying to clear out all the mist and muddle that had been plaguing him, and sat down to think, to try to puzzle out what he couldn't remember.

To make matters worse, it had followed him.  And it continued to tease him as he'd gone through his day, silently dogging his footsteps, whispering dark, horrid thoughts in his ears.

For some reason though, now everything was quiet, and he could think.

He'd been going through motions for the past week, motions his body seemed to remember, even if his mind couldn't completely keep up.  And he felt it quite time to re-educate himself, to try to remember what it was he'd forgotten.

An open paperback book was lying in the middle of the floor, and he picked it up, clicking his tongue in irritation with himself.  Leaving it lying about like that, open of all things, would break the book's spine.  He was about to set it back on the shelf when something on the pages caught his eye, sparking a faint memory in his mind.  He tried to grasp at it, but it danced just out of reach, like a name on the tip of his tongue that he couldn't get out.

Mesmerized, he sat down on a chair and began to read, drinking up the words like a thirst-addled animal.  On and on did he read, until the glowing numbers on the digital clock on the wall read the early hours of the next morning.

He remembered now who he was.

And it was time he exerted his dominion over the fools he saw within the city.

Starting with Marshall Parker of Gothcorp.

*****

It was lunchtime, and Banshee found herself sitting at a bar next to Magpie, while Trick Deck busied herself preparing them all drinks.

"So tell me again," Banshee said as she polished one of her twin Uzis, "What exactly did you tell this guy?"

"Smashed harder than a china cup, love," Magpie snickered, "And when he found me, I just said I was room service for the hotel, cleaning up, and he was supposed to be gone already."

"And this was in his house?" Trick Deck asked, the corners of her mouth threatening to twitch upward in a smile.

"In his mum's house, mate!" Magpie roared with laughter, slapping her hand on the counter.  "And then he toddles on back to her room, and I can hear him waking her up to say they had to leave the hotel!"

Banshee fumbled as she put down her gun, laughing hard enough she felt like her sides were going to split.

"He fell for that?  Girl, that's priceless!" she shrieked, giggling.

"Too bad you didn't get that on camera, hon." Trick Deck snickered.  "What kind of a haul did you get?"

But before the English thief could reply, the three girls heard someone talking, and as they looked up, Oswald Cobblepot rounded the corner of a hallway, Edward Nygma following right behind him.

"…Still nothing.  I'm not sure what I'll do, Oswald." Nygma was saying, staring at a rather forlorn piece of paper in his hands.

"Rest assured, my conundrum-dazzled friend,  I'll be keeping my eyes open—all of them, mind you—and if I should see anything, I'll alert you." Cobblepot said gently, giving the taller man a concerned look.

"And your fee for these services?" the Riddler asked, finally looking at him, but the Penguin was already waving his hand dismissively.

"What's a favor between friends?" he answered smoothly, and the three girls turned back to one another before they could be noticed eavesdropping.  Banshee was the first to speak up, keeping her voice low.

"Still no sign since the note, huh?" she muttered.

"Doesn't mean Eddy hasn't been hauling backside." Magpie said in bitter tones.  A mix of emotions clouded her face and she tossed back a long draught of the vodkashake in front of her.  "You'd think that bloody note was some treasure map and he's convinced he's been reading it wrong each time he comes to another dead end."

"Everyone just needs to take this a little bit easier." Trick Deck said calmly.  "I know everyone's concerned about Guen.  I am too, but the fact of the matter is, if she says she's going to be back soon, then she will.  It's just the kind of person she is."

"Yeah, you're right," Banshee said, a small smile lighting up her face as she stirred her garnish umbrella in a strawberry daiquiri.  "Guen's gonna be back soon.  Ed's just taking it a bit rough."

Magpie muttered something over her shake, but it was too low and fast for either of the other girls to catch it.

"Sorry, hon?  What was that?" Trick Deck asked in a casual, yet guarded voice.  The thief looked up from under her mop of pink hair and forced a smile on her face.

"Nothing.  The shake is good." she said sweetly.

"We should make a toast!" Banshee said suddenly, raising her daiquiri.  "To drunk idiots who wake up their mothers when they get robbed!"

Smiling weakly, Magpie raised her shake and they clinked glasses.  Trick Deck too, raised hers, then sipped at it delicately, her calculating gaze never leaving Magpie.
She knew about Nygma's feelings toward Guenhivyre Pendragon, as well as Vanessa's feelings toward Eddy.  The problem was, nobody knew what Guen felt about Eddy.  Still, May Markowitz knew the winged girl was more likely to give up the Riddler as a romantic partner if she felt that she would impose on anything that might be going on between him and their English friend.  That's just the sort of person—or was it persons?—Guen was.

Regardless, May had seen dark look that had come over Magpie's face for the brief moment she murmured her unheard threat, and May didn't like it in the least.

"Vanessa, I'm leaving." the Riddler's voice cut through her musings, cold and harsh, and Magpie looked up with a jerk.  For a moment, she said nothing, then nodded and indicated her friends.

"I'll be along in a bit." she said, a hopeful look on her face, as though she wanted nothing more than for Edward to object.  Unfortunately for her, the dark-haired man showed no sign of caring, and he spun on his heel, leaving the Iceberg Lounge without so much as a glance backward.  Magpie's smile slipped from her face and she turned back to her shake, crestfallen.

"I need to go talk to Erin." she muttered after a moment, pushing away from the bar and slipping off her seat.

"What?!  I thought you were going to stay with us for a while!" Banshee squawked indignantly.

"I'll come back later." came the reply, and the thief put up her hood and fled.

"What's got into her?" Banshee demanded, staring at May.

"Oh, sweetie," the older woman sighed, "You and I both know that Eddy likes Guen, right?"

"Duh."

"And nobody knows if Guen sees him as anything other than a brother, right?"

"Double duh!"

"Vanessa likes Edward.  So how do you think she's handling his obsessing over Guen's note and practically pushing all of his lackeys to exhaustion to find her?"

Banshee's eyes went wide.  "Oh." She turned and looked at the door Magpie had left through.  "Oh, shit."

"That," May said wryly, "Might just be the understatement of the year."