Prologue to the story: The Scholar and The Gentleman

Prologue to the story: The Scholar and The Gentleman

The hallway was dark, and made of wood. There were specific reasons for this, because The Scholar liked reasons and made sure to always have a few on hand or in the pocket, like spare string. In fact, The Scholar collected reasons like some people collect buttons, or postgage stamps, or snowglobes. The only difference was that The Scholar's collection was actually practical. She used the reasons she collected, sometimes because it was needed, sometimes because she was bored and there was nothing else to do(though there is always a reason, rest assured.) The Scholar did not press the reasons into little slots in booklets and leave them to collect dust in dusty places, like coin collectors will do. A reason for this is that things will never, ever stay in those little slots, even if you glue them in, and then they always fall out and get lost. Very bothersome. Another reason for this is that The Scholar really just couldn't be bothered.
The hallway was made of wood because The Scholar liked wood. She did not like nails, and so there were none of these. The hallway didn't need them anyway, as there was no panelling, just wood. The hallway preferred it this way as much as The Scholar did, and so they got along well. The wood was oak.
It was dark in the hallway because The Scholar did not like light. Light and The Scholar had never got along very well together, even before she become a Titled One. It really wasn't The Scholar's fault at all, though (which is not often the case with The Scholar's relationships with other things and people.) After all, the light hurt The Scholar's eyes for no reason, and it was the light's fault The Scholar had to permanently wear a pair of spectacles(for light protection, you see.) As a result, light was not welcomed in The Scholar's presence.

Normally silence was also present in the hallway, as the hallway led directly to The Scholar's own personal chambers in the Residence of the Titled Ones, and The Scholar often was found reading there. Reading can be very difficult if silence is absent.
But now, the silence had been broken by footsteps and was limping away to a dark corner somewhere to recover, most likely an empty dungeon cell or a graveyard(silence likes those kinds of places).
Meanwhile, in her personal study, The Scholar's ears--deaf to the world half the time when she was reading, but for the other half very sensitive--twitched slightly, and she lifted her head to commence glaring at the door. The Scholar believed that if you knew someone was about to walk in on you while you were in the middle of a very good book and you knew it, it was best to have a good glare already up and running, so they could receive the full brunt of it as they walked in. If you didn't know they were coming, it was best to ignore them a few moments, maybe finish the paragraph you were on--and perhaps the next one in addition--and then slowly raise your head to look at them.
But The Scholar knew, and she was annoyed. Granted, The Scholar was often annoyed for no particular reason--which in itself is surprising, the reason part--but this time she had a reason, and hell was going in a handbasket if she wasn't going to make good use of it.
The footsteps thundered right up to the door and stopped. The Scholar tensed, and as a knock came on the door, scowled darkly, and remained silent.
The knock came again.
And again.
And again.
"Zabbit, The Scholar, I know you're in there! You're never anywhere else!"
A corner of The Scholar's twitched, but she did not reply.
"Open up! Now!"
Silence. Not an entirely yet repaired silence, as the anger-leadened breathing of the person on the other side of the door was clearly audible, but there was a silence that stretched out for several moments.
Then came a thud, and the door fell down. A man stood there, young, handsome, and angry. His skin was slightly too pale, his eyes tilted up at the corners, and his face was unnaturally beautiful. His dark brown hair was slicked back beneath a violet-striped black top hat that was exactly the right size, and his clothes matched his hat: violet pinstriped black suit and slacks, prim white gloves, silver cufflinks, a violet bowtie, and the cane he kept tucked up under his arm was black with an intricate, silver G for the handle. His clear violet eyes were matching the glare burning from The Scholar's blue eyes, and so he did not receive it as effectively as she had planned.
"The Scholar."
"The Gentleman."
"Reading, I presume?"
"Annoyed at some small bothersome issue that has nothing to do with me, I presume?"
"Of course it has something to do with you. It always does."
"What's you're point?"
"My point is you've done it again!" The Gentleman roared, and was suddenly standing in front of The Scholar's desk, as opposed to two yards away in the doorway as he had been moments before. To punctuate his raised voice, The Gentleman slammed a hand and his cane down on the desk, his voice flushed lightly with anger.
The Scholar observed this calmly, and noted that The Gentleman's handsome young face was never more than lightly flushed when he was angry. It was part of his Core, the small, seemingly unimportant yet specific details that made up the true essence of the Titled Ones that could never change, no matter what disguises they took on in their many dabblings in the many worlds that existed. Part of The Gentleman's Core was that he had pale skin and a calm, always-in-control appearance. Because of this, he rarely lost his temper and usually never even appeared to lose it. It was only The Scholar who could bring out the literally colourful side of the head of the Titled Ones.
"It must be because I'm so special," she murmured to herself at these thoughts. The Gentleman stared at her.
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing."
"Don't tell me nothing. It's always something. And you always have a reason, except when it comes to your constantly being annoyed."
"Dearest The Gentleman, did it ever cross your mind that might just be part of my Core?"
"Yes. And it's not."
"How do you know?"
"Emotions can't be part of a Titled's Core, The Scholar."
"How do you know?"
"None of your business."
"Fine then. Be that way."
"I will be."
"Then we have no further business. You may leave now."
The Gentleman sighed and sat down in a maroon-cushioned handcarved antique chair that hadn't been there before.
"You won't get rid of me that easily, The Scholar," he murmured, rubbing his forehead with his white-gloved long, perfect, slim fingers. The Scholar eyed them, along with The Gentleman's face. If not for The Lady...and The Gentleman was talking again, "...your tricks a long time ago."
The Scholar smirked, leaping right back into the conversation, "But you did fall for them once." The Gentleman glared at her.
"I was young."
"Ten thousand years old."
"Which is young."
"Not for a human."
"By then I obviously wasn't human anymore," The Gentleman snapped, leaning forward in the chair. Suddenly he sighed and leaned back in it again, closing his eyes and tilting his head back up towards the ceiling. The Scholar's blue eyes traced the lines of his delicious looking neck, and her tongue passed over the sharp teeth hidden behind her lips. "Don't bring this up with me again, The Scholar...gods and goddesses help me if I know how you always manage to provoke me..."
"What can I say? I have that effect on people."
"People." The Gentleman snapped his fingers and sat up, looking at The Scholar with a light in his violet eyes she recognized and didn't like. He always got that look when he remembered something she hadn't done. "That reminds me! Why I came in here in the first place."
"You forgot?"
"It's easy to forget things around you, The Scholar." Too late, The Gentleman realized his mistake as The Scholar grinned like a fox, an effect strengthened by the fiery orange hair that was always tied back in a messy bun.
"Why, The Gentleman," she purred, "I had no idea you felt that way about me, and with you being already in a relationship? What will The Lady think?"
"Nothing," he snapped. "Nothing. Forget what I said. Anyways, about your responsibilities--"
"How does she usually punish you? I doubt she's into chains and whips, pathetically ladylike little thing that she is, but there are other ways--"
"You have an appointment in Zhatica," The Gentleman growled, vivid purple eyes attempting to pierce The Scholar's adamant walls of arrogance and pride and failing miserably. She was the only one he couldn't crack, a fact she liked to rub in his face.
"Where?" The Scholar asked, her face clouding.
"Zhatica. One of the worlds under your jurisdiction, remember?"
"Ah...yes, I recall now," The Scholar lied. "What appointment? And why wasn't I informed?"
"I told you five years ago."
"What kind of years?"
"Our years."
"How long are those again?"
"The Scholar."
"All right, all right! I'll go. Why exactly is it so urgent that you had to come barging in here?"
"Because you're late."
"By how long?"
"Four years, eleven months, and twenty-seven days."
"...I see." The Scholar winced. She rarely forgot things on purpose, she just...forgot. "Fine, fine, I'm going, just...can I finish my book first?"
"They need you now."
"Who?"
"I just told you!"
"I mean, who in...Zambatty?"
"Zhatica. Everyone in Zhatica. And they're going to need you in about twenty of their years."
"Then why do I have to go now?" The Scholar wheedled, trying to stall.
"You know why!"
"Yes, yes, endearing myself to current powers, working my way into the plots for world domination early and that, I know, I know..." She sighed.
"Then go."
"Now? Right now?"
"Yes, right now!"
"Can I bring my book?"
"The Scholar!!"
"Right, fine, no book allowed. Got it. Going...where again?"
The Gentleman sighed, stood and reached across the desk to grab The Scholar's shoulder. She eyed his hand.
"Isn't that a little friendly for a man who's already--"
"Shut up. I'm taking you there myself."
And in that instant, they disappeared.
After a moment of sitting in silence on The Scholar's desk, the forgotten book flipped itself shut, and with a grumbling noise, shuffled off the desk to find a more suitable place to lie. It knew it would be waiting for a long time.
It just hoped the candles that had been left burning wouldn't start catching things on fire before she got back, mischevious little things they were.