#eddykeeise

Cities with lofty buildings and cities where money and technological advancement and cities with the heady taste of discovery, of science, of money in the air.

Cities with people, with employers and employees each representing a beat, a life cell of a living city that expanded and thrived as the wheel of industry turns a slow circle around them.

Cities that held people, desperate and hungry. People who were wealthy and wanting. People who were lost and unafraid. People with money. People without. People with time and people without.

But no city is perfect. Each has a speck, a smear or even a scar of wrongness. Some come and go, some are permanent, some spread like a cancer before it consumes everything.

But this city seemed to be... stable. It's own cancer limited to nothing more than the illegality of murder and underground markets and above all; ribbon fight rings.

These sectors were hidden, left alone and passing unnoticed and unwatched by the eyes of so-called 'justice'. Places where desperate men and even more desperate women fought for the right to live just a little longer. places that money, drink and human entertainment flowed freely as long as you obeyed the out of place 'No Smoking' rule.

These areas of cancer were controlled. Here and there by people, by businessmen, by council members, by anyone who could lay claim to some land in a quiet and unnnoticed part in the city. However, the fight rings were dangerous, and required more money and security than the lesser people had.

So fight rings... were special. Held by those with money.

These rings, sealed and hidden behind dark doors with the seal of a twisted ribbon, wer marked. Owned. And though no-one knew who exactly held the rights to this place, they all knew the money had to go somewhere. After all, who was it that hired all these people? This security? Who found the fighters and who managed the women and men and who served the private boxes?

All employees, but of whom?

Questions never asked. Questions that could get you killed.

So they were never asked.

And instead the public, those people with money looking for company and entertainment, and those without looking for a chance to strike it rich and those desperate who seek but a few more years of life all gathered behind these closed doors.

To fight and drink and bet.

Edward opened and closed the bedroom door noiselessly. It was not that he was worried about making loud sounds. His little tenant was a heavy sleeper and such things would remain unnoticed as he lay in bed, his chest rising and falling with the slow deepness of sleep. His footsteps fell gently against the carpeted floor, barely making a noise. He stopped beside the bed, gazing down at the young man.

He was so still. His face was pale with the exertion of being so sickly.  Reaching out, Edward gently brushed away a lock of light brown hair from his face. The tenant didn't register anything. It was perfect. Silence was a killer's friend. And his victim's ignorance a wonderful double agent.

"Harper..." He said softly, as if names had power. It was like merely having the name gave Edward complete control over the younger man. Removing his shoes, Edward crawled into bed next to Harper. On top of the thick blankets, he fit himself to the curve of his body. How cold he was while he slept. How peaceful and blissfully, blissfully ignorant. Edward ran his fingers through Harper's hair, idly playing with it as he gazed at the sleeping man's rosy cheeks and sunken eyes.

"You're weak," Edward murmured, resting his head on the pillow. "So physically inept. It's a mystery how you manage to get corpses home." Harper shifted slightly, face screwing up in pain as if the mention summoned physical discomfort.

"Shh," Edward cooed, running the back of his hand down Harper's cheek. "Don't worry. Through me, you will be strong. I will change you." His lips brushed against Harper's ear, his breath like a lover's kiss on his cheek. "We are practically the same, after all. Oh, I know you don't see it now. But you will. I will drag you down, down, down."

Knowing how Harper got cold, Edward shifted closer and splayed his arm across the man's chest, cupping his cheek in his hand. He traced several freckles and sighed. "It'll be difficult for you, I'm sure. But that will be all the more challenge for me, right? You're already dependent on me. You sleep in my mansion, you eat my food. Despite how much you love your job, it just won't pay both the rent and the hospital debts. You're mine, Harper." Bringing his hand away, Edward reached into his pocket and pulled out a dark blue ribbon. "Every bit of you is mine." With a practiced hand, he slid the ribbon around Harper's neck. He was careful not to tie it too tight. The man still needed to breathe, after all.

When Edward finished, the blood-stained ribbon stood against Harper's pale flesh like a large bruise. "All mine," he whispered, tracing a finger down Harper's throat, smearing the blood on his skin.