His Beastly Finale

Chapter Three: "Solving Conflict"

Chapter Three:

--Solving Conflict-

"Aş dori să spun că te iubesc aşa, de ce nu vă acoperi urechile tale?"

 “I wish to say I love you so, why do you cover your ears…?”

November 15th, 1745

(2 Months Later...)

The dock was full of voices, mostly overseers and workers calling out to one other to find out where things go, what they wanted on and off the ship, and other such things that are meaningful while working at a dock.

Damien sat, waiting, on a large crate with his left arm in a sling. He would be ready to take it off soon, possibly next week, if his doctor was correct. He sighed as he fingered the thin cloth holding his arm upright in a 90 degree angle. “You are all the proof it happened…” he murmured to no one but himself.

A few workers looked over their shoulder amidst their work, and caught sight of him. They talked amongst themselves softly, not wanting the subject of their conversation to overhear. “What’s he doing here?” one asked and several shrugged.

‘Well, one rumor said he was into men…” one thought aloud and a few shushed him, then looked to Damien to see if he had heard. He hadn’t, he was looking to the west, being too busy watching the sun set while continually waiting. “What kind of men?” one worker asked, dropping his crate in its destined place where several other workers raced to see who would get it to town. 

“I heard about his past male lovers,” the worker began as he made a gesture to indicate height. “He seems to like tall men, taller than him and they are usually strong and light-haired. Except that he had, but they only lasted a week, so I guess he favors light-colored men.” The worker finished, and then he frowned, fingering his deep brown curls. 

A worker smirked, “I guess it is safe to say he didn’t come to see you.” And the brunet nodded, sadly. It was easy to see he had been hoping otherwise, the rumors and words from a few delectable whores said he was a good time, and the hardest men to top in bed in London. One whore had gone so far so as to say the teen delivered the best sex in all of England.

“So...” a worker drawled out, his pride more than a tad shot by the other worker’s remark. “Who and why do you think he’s here for?” At this question, the worker opened his mouth but no answer came, he didn’t know. So he closed his mouth, quicker than he’d opened it and looked away. His attention going to Damien, who still was sitting perched on the crate, still waiting on someone or something. “I’m not sure...but I want to know,” he said, and all the workers looked back at the absent-minded, waiting redhead. 

“Me too, this might prove to be interesting,” one worker commented and his fellow sect of workers nodding in agreement.

“What are you guys talking about?”

All the fellows broke up, some yelping in surprise upon seeing the tall wulfen, Zackary, holding a large crate on his hip like it was a simple light object.  

The wulfen raised a brow, silently demanding an answer. He had witnessed them talking for awhile and it had piqued his interest. A certain redhead looked over at the commotion and his brows rose in shock that he had missed the wulfen’s entrance. A smile broke out over his face as his face brightened. But immediately he faced the task of getting down, he had only one arm. This might take a while, he thought, glowering as he knew he would have to ask for help.

But they weren’t talking now, Zackary noticed,  one worker looking very red in the face as his lips fumbled on excuses so he could quickly leave. He wasn't making any sense, however, so it just made their situation worse. Eventually a worker cuffed him over the mouth, thus silencing him but for a whimper.