Work Text:
It's a cold, quiet night.
The oil lamp on the table flickers slightly, and you shiver, wrapping your shawl tighter around you. If you weren't so desperate for money, you wouldn't have taken this job. After all, who would visit the library so late at night? All the other respectable businesses were closed at this time. There has been many a night where you have had to turn away drunks and mischievous hoodlums.
Though you have been visited by the occasional, overworked scholar before, your nights at the library have been mostly lonely.
Tonight is no different. The book you're reading to pass the time lies on the table in front of you, and you have to breathe on your hands to warm them up each time you need to turn the page. You've lost yourself in a fantasy story... when you hear the sound of the library door creak open.
You stand up, grabbing the oil lamp. Please don't be another angry drunkard, you pray as you weave through the bookshelves.
"Oh!" You are surprised by the tall, well dressed person walking through the doorway. In an instant, your judgement tells you that he's no ordinary man. "Welcome to the library, good sir. Is there anything I can help you find?"
The tall man steps toward you, the sound of his boots echoing throughout the small, quaint library. He wears a long trench coat, a fine hat, and, strangely enough, a scarf that wraps around not only his neck, but his head. His ears and hair are covered, except for a few loose strands of wavy violet in front of his forehead. His maroon eyes stand out immediately, accentuated by his unusual blue eyeshadow.
He stops a few inches away from you, towering over you in silence, regarding you with a stern expression. You gaze up at him nervously, hoping you aren't blushing.
"History," he says, voice devoid of any warmth. "Bring me your records on history."
"Oh, well," you say, trying not to sound as perturbed as you are, "if you follow me, I can show you where the history section is." You spin around on your flats, your modest dress making a swishing noise as you walk. There's a pause until you hear the sound of his footsteps following after you slowly.
You make your way through the maze of shelves until you arrive at your destination. "Here you are, sir," you announce, holding up the oil lamp near the shelves for better lighting. "This is the history section. Can I help you find any particular book, or author, perhaps?"
He stops, staring at the rows of shelves. More ominous silence. You're shivering, but try your best to hide it.
"The beginning of human history."
You blink. "Pardon me?"
He turns his cold gaze towards you. "I said, the beginning of human history. When humans began to exist upon this planet."
You're tempted to laugh, thinking he might be joking, but wisely choose not to. "I... Well, you see, it's... Not that straight forward. Uhm." You're not sure how much this stranger does or doesn't know. You're not the most educated yourself, but you explain, "Humans haven't been keeping history that long; not written history, anyway. There are many religious stories about how humans came to be and what happened back at the beginning, but they're just stories. You know, like in the bible?"
He says nothing. Has... he never heard of the bible?
"Anyway," you continue nervously, "you'd have more luck in the science section with that, with books on evolution and such."
He nods in understanding, and you feel relieved.
"The Red Stone of Aja."
You blink, confused.
"Do you have any books on that?"
You begin to panic slightly. You have no idea what he's talking about. "W-well, I'm not sure... If we do, it might be around here somewhere. I can help you look!" You frantically begin scanning among the spines of the books. The strange man just... watches you. Not looking through the books himself.
"Can you tell me more about this stone? Like, where it's from and when?" you ask, standing on your toes to search the higher shelves.
"It is from what you call the Americas."
Ancient American history? You scramble over to that section. "Okay... The Ancient American history section is here. Do you know if it has something to do with the Aztecs, the Incas, the Mayans...?"
He scowls at you. "I do not know what all of your names mean. I just need to know what happened to the Red Stone of Aja and where it currently resides."
You sigh. You realize that this man could be drunk after all, with how strange he talks. Perhaps he's chasing after a fairy tale that he won't even recall in the morning. "Tell you what, good sir," you say in your most diplomatic, sweet tone. "I'll spend the rest of my night searching for a book on that. Meanwhile, you go home and get some good rest, and come back tomorrow, alright?" You give him your most pleasant smile, the one you use with all your difficult visitors.
The man turns and leaves without a thank you, or even a goodbye.
To be fair, you do search for a little bit longer, just out of curiosity. But you come to the verdict that that man was crazy, and spend the rest of the night continuing the fantasy novel you were trying to read.
***
It's the next night.
You blow gently on your cup of warm tea. Another quiet night to yourself. Libraries could be such a peaceful place.
You hear the door open.
"I'll be right there," you call out. You take a sip of your tea; it would be a shame to not even taste it before going to see who it was. You set the warm cup down and pick up your oil lantern, heading to the door.
Your heart skips a beat.
He's back. The well dressed man in the purple scarf, with those piercing eyes. And he's looking at you expectantly.
You didn't actually think he'd be back. What have you gotten yourself into?
"O-oh, hello again!" You throw on your biggest smile, hoping to be charming enough that he won't get angry. "I searched all night, but I'm afraid we just don't have any books that mention the... the er... the Red Stone." You hope you remember what it was called correctly.
His eyes narrow into a glare, and your blood runs cold. You aren't sure why, but this man gives off such air of danger.
"Very disappointing," he says in a low voice. "But not at all surprising."
You don't know how to respond to that except for, "I'm sorry, sir."
His eyes drift away from you to the rest of the library. "...You have records on other things, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"Read me one."
"...Pardon me?"
He waves a hand. "Read me a record. Any record, on anything. Something to convince me that this place shouldn't be turned to rubble right this instant for its incompetence."
Well, that's dramatic, you think. Throwing a bit of a fit, are we? But you've dealt with worse. You figure that by 'record', he means a book on history. Which bit of history would this stranger hopefully find the most interesting?
You grab a book, hoping you've made a good choice. "Here you are, sir," you say, holding it out to him.
He doesn't move. "I said, read it to me."
"Oh. A-alright." You glance over to the table where you left your cup of tea. "Come have a seat over here, and I can read a bit to you, then."
You walk over to the table and pull out a chair for him. He follows you over, but doesn't seem to understand. "Please, have a seat," you explain, gesturing to the chair.
He hesitates, as if repulsed by the simple wooden chair. But he reluctantly takes a seat; it's almost comical how the chair looks too small for him, but you bite back any reaction.
You take a seat yourself, taking a quick sip of tea before opening the book. "Shall I start with the introduction, or on chapter one?"
"Wherever you wish."
"Alright." You flip a few more pages, taking in a breath. You begin to read.
The book you chose is about admirable women in history. Women who contributed to science; women who played important roles in politics; women who impacted history in ways the world wouldn't be the same without.
As you read, soothing your throat with tea every so often, you notice the man's aura changing. Where once he was irritated, he now seems amused.
During a pause after reaching the end of a chapter, he cuts in, "Are you sure you aren't reading me a fiction?"
You bristle slightly. "No, sir. This is a history book."
He shakes his head, a small haughty smirk tugging at his lips. "Women, making such accomplishments? I never could have imagined."
You try to stay composed. "We're human too, sir. It wasn't our choice to be born this way, now was it? We're just as capable as any man; your kind just never gives us the chance to prove ourselves."
Whoops. You lost your composure after all. You could get in a lot of trouble for speaking to a patron that way, if this man told your boss about it.
The stranger sneers. "My kind? Because you assume me to be a human man, I take it?"
You pale. "Er. I'm... so sorry. ...Ma'am?"
He flashes a mean grin, briefly showing teeth. "No, I am a man."
You clench your teeth. Why is he messing with you like this? "For someone who seems so proud of it, you sure look rather feminine to me," you retort. Perhaps the late hour is wearing your patience thin.
The stranger's eyes widen in shock, and he looks completely and utterly offended. "How dare you talk back to me!" he snaps, standing and banging a fist on the table. The rest of your tea spills from the impact.
You shrink down into your chair, heart beating quickly. You went too far.
"Beauty does not just belong to your kind, woman," he seethes. He glances towards the oil lamp on the table.
Your stomach drops. "No!" you cry, jumping forward and pressing your hands against his chest. You meant to push him away, but he doesn't move in the slightest at your attempt. It's like pushing against a statue.
He growls, "You DARE touch me?"
"Y-You're scaring me! Please get out, sir, or I'll wake the boss and tell him you're being awful to me! He's asleep upstairs, and if I yell he'll be down here in an instant!" You step back, hands balled into fists, and you try to put on your bravest face and look him in the eyes.
His face is twisted with anger, eyes obvious about their desire to harm you.
He steps forward, and for a moment you fear for your life.
He storms past you, and out the door.
***
A week goes by.
You told your boss about what happened, and he kindly gave you a small pocket knife to keep in your dress pocket. You feel much safer carrying it around, though you shudder at the idea of actually using it.
You hold a bundle of books in your arms, putting them back in their proper places. As you do, you notice a flicker of movement in the corner of your eye.
You look down. There's a small cockroach on the ground.
You make a startled noise, then move to stomp on the unwanted insect.
Another foot blocks yours in the blink of an eye.
You look up to see HIM.
"Oh!" You step back, dropping your books on the floor. The cockroach scuttles off and out of sight. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in, I-- I didn't mean to step on your foot!" You crouch down, picking up the books you dropped with trembling hands.
"I know you didn't. I was stopping you from killing that creature."
Having regathered your books, you stand back up and tilt your head. "Stopping me? Why?"
Was this going to be something about, 'ladies shouldn't do such gross things', or 'your shoes or too pretty for that'?
"It doesn't deserve death."
Oh. You never would have expected to hear something so close to... compassion from this man.
"That's very nice of you," you say.
"Only a true, ultimate God has the right to kill something so innocent and sinless without reason." The man leers over you. "The same does not go for humans. They are all sinful; it's guaranteed from the moment they are born."
You feel incredibly uncomfortable. "Are you a religious man?"
"You could say that, I suppose," he answers. "I am both the religion and the man."
You know better than to comment out loud about how cryptic this stranger is. The last thing you want to do is anger him again. "I would like to apologize," you say instead.
He raises an eyebrow.
"There's nothing wrong with the way you look. You can still be a proper man and have feminine qualities. Truly. You look nice, in fact. It suits you." You run a hand through your hair. Maybe you should have thought a bit more before you spoke; your words came out in a mess. "Please forgive me for my behavior last time we met."
The tall man exhales in an amused way. "I'm glad you learned your place."
Oh. OH. You want so badly to snap at that remark, but that would just start a fight all over again. You tell yourself to let it go. "My name is y/n. What is yours?" You extend a hand for a handshake.
The stranger looks at your hand with confusion, not returning the gesture. "I am the mighty Kars."
Mighty? More like, full of himself. "Pleasure to meet you," you say, forgetting the handshake and curtsying instead. "What can I help you with tonight?"
"There's an arena nearby," Kars says, straight to the point. "My disciple and I have heard that it used to be a place of battle. Read to me a record about that place."
More reading to him? Couldn't this guy just read a book himself? It wasn't like he couldn't read or something. Oh my gosh, what if he actually didn't know how to read?
At least this time, you know what he's referring to, and find a book on the subject easily. You cringe internally as you read to him about the violent sports that went on in that place, such as bloody chariot races.
He seems fascinated by the descriptions of violence and the horrible ways humans would fight with each other. You even catch him licking his lips, which sends a shiver down your spine.
About halfway through the book, you begin to cough. "Sorry," you say, voice slightly hoarse. 'My throat is dry and I might be losing my voice. You're free to read the rest yourself." You push the open book towards him.
He shakes his head, standing up. "We'll finish this tomorrow night."
He leaves. You wonder how someone like him could be so full of confidence and authority, when you have no idea what could possibly make him so special.
***
You're reading to him again.
You're reading, and desperately trying not to look at him, or think about him.
Because tonight, you noticed blood on him.
A splatter of it on his boots. Dark stains on his trouser legs.
You asked if he was alright the moment you noticed, asked if he needed medical attention. He said no.
His lack of explanation haunted you.
So now, you read on. You reach the end of the history book, and are happy to be done with such a morbid subject.
He doesn't thank you. He simply says, "That will be all."
And he leaves again.
***
"Y/n."
Your heart jumps at the sound of Kars calling your name. You make your way to the door to see him standing there, holding the door open but not coming in. In the light of the outside streetlights, you can see he looks annoyed.
There is a dog standing next to him. It's white and shaggy and absolutely adorable.
"Oh my goodness, who is this?" You grin widely. "Are they yours?"
"No," Kars denies flatly. "I saved its life and now it won't stop following me."
You reach out and pet the dog's head. Its fur is matted and dirty, but nothing a bath and brushing couldn't take care of. "You saved its life?"
"Yes." He doesn't elaborate.
"That's so nice of you. They'll probably love you forever now. Dogs are loyal like that." You scratch the dog's ears. Maybe this rigid stranger was truly soft hearted after all, on the inside, and just didn't like to show it.
"I don't need a dog to swear loyalty to me. I have no use for it." Kars stares down at you. "Take it. I want it to stop following me."
"Oh. Alright." You gently push the dog inside the library. If your boss found out you let an animal inside, you'd be fired; but the man was sleeping, he'd never know. "I'll take good care of him, then. So, how did you save--"
The library door is closed. Kars is gone.
It's just you and this adorable dog now.
"I'm going to name you Lucky," you decide.
Lucky the dog goes home with you that night, officially yours.
***
“Hello again, Mr. Kars,” you greet him on another night.
Once again, he somehow snuck in the library without you hearing him. You only noticed him while glancing up from your book, having sensed a pair of eyes on you. Kars watches you from the shadows.
He leans against a shelf, his face shadowed. “What are you reading now?”
Oh? This is unlike him. He’s never taken an interest in anything to do with you before. “It’s the first book of a popular series; I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Tarzan, by Edgar Rice Burroughs.”
“Tarzan,” Kars murmurs. “I have not heard of it. Tell me about it.”
You avidly explain the story to him, maybe getting a bit carried away. Your hands fly about as you describe the wild man swinging from vines, rescuing his love. Kars listens in silence, and you feel a spark of appreciation. Compared to his usual behavior towards you, this could be considered kind of him.
“I see,” Kars says as you conclude. “A wild man, unused to human society, who is strong and handsome. Fascinating.” He starts walking in your direction, but you can tell that he means to walk past you. Before he does, he shoots you a sly glance. “Certainly says a lot about you, doesn’t it?”
What… What is that supposed to mean?
You look over your shoulder, but he’s already gone.
***
It's a rainy night.
Kars is back, and absolutely soaked. A puddle is forming below him as water drips from his clothes, and he’s standing stiffly in front of the library door.
"Welcome back! What can I help you find tonight?" you greet him.
He shakes his head. "I only need to dry off these clothes."
"Ah, I could get a fire going in the fireplace for you to stand by--"
You cut off, suddenly left speechless.
Kars has taken his entire outfit off. His trench coat, his hat, his trousers, his boots. He's just standing there, in a public library, in nothing but a loincloth and that long purple scarf.
You can't take your eyes off of him. How... How can someone be so... Muscled? Better question: WHY did he feel completely okay taking off nearly his entire outfit?!
He holds out his wet clothes in a bundle toward you. "Get that fire going and dry these," he orders you. Not even a please.
You have to shake yourself out of your trance. You take the clothes without a word, running off to do as you're told.
You get the fire going and lay the clothes on the floor in front of it, hoping your face isn't noticeabley red. Kars didn't even look embarrassed back there. It was growing clear that this man wasn't from around here. You sit down in a soft chair by the fire to think.
He cares about innocent creatures. He took an interest in what you were reading just the other day. He has such unique, pretty features. And he's downright the most sculpted man you've ever seen. He could be the model for a statue.
The problem is, no matter how gorgeous he is, you know for a fact he's incredibly stuck up. He also gives off such a dark, dangerous vibe. You know you ought to keep your distance from someone like him.
But... You can't stop thinking about him.
You can't stop thinking about Kars.
What sort of secrets is the mysterious man hiding?
"Are they dry yet?"
You suppress a sound of startlement. You force yourself not to turn around and face him; you just know you'll start staring again, and that wouldn't be polite at all. "Almost," you respond.
Silence. He's still standing behind you. Your face is warm, and not from the fire.
"I take it I look rather conspicuous like this."
You nervously begin to twist a strand of your hair. "Er, just a bit."
"Unlike any man you've ever seen?"
Is he teasing you? Did he notice your flustered reaction? This isn't fair. "Well, I mean, no. You-- You look strong. Really strong."
He chuckles, his voice deep. You hear his footsteps carry him closer to where you sit. "Do you admire strong men?"
You bring your hands to your face, pressing them to your cheeks. "Sir, please, this-- this isn't the most polite of conversations..."
He's right beside you now. You avoid looking up at him.
Out of nowhere, you feel his fingers in your hair.
“Do I remind you of your Tarzan?
You feel your heart skip a beat, stunned by the gentle touch. You slowly lower your hands from your face.
"You are just a silly woman after all," he says arrogantly. "Look at how you act around such a beautiful man. You're paralyzed."
You want to protest. You want to argue, stand up for yourself.
Kars uses a hand to turn your face towards him. His eyelashes are so long. His eyes are so angled. The structure of his face is like an artist's masterful design. He's smirking at you, and his eyes feel like they can see into your soul.
He leans down.
You can't bring yourself to move away.
He kisses you. His lips are gentle and warm.
You sigh contentedly.
He bites you.
Not in a pleasurable way. He bites your lip hard enough to draw blood.
You pull away, hand flying to your dress pocket, ready to pull out your pocket knife. "What the h--?!"
He shoves something onto your face, something that blocks out your vision.
The blood from your lip comes in contact with some sort of bizarre stone mask.
Your screams are muffled as you feel your skull get impaled in eight different places at once.
"I suppose even a woman would make a good addition to my army."