Night Watch I: Eliza, Ward of Andrew

*Andrew’s POV*

I walked contentedly along next to Eliza, musing on my victories. She had resisted me at every turn, but ultimately caved in the end, and I had gotten my way! I rather preferred it when that happened.

When I had rejoined Eliza, it had been readily apparent that she was torn between two daggers and was having difficulty making up her mind. One was enormous and covered with Fae-like skulls, one was smaller and decorated with iron bones and animal skulls. Neither was a study in simplicity or subtlety, but I noticed that, though gaudy, both of them handled very well, and none of the outlandish embellishments got in the way. I had just let Christian know we’d take them both, with sheaths, while Eliza was still fussing. When Christian asked her if she’d like a satchel to carry them both during the day, Eliza marched right up to me, pinched my behind, and called me saucy, turning me red as a tomato.

The most amusing purchase was surely Eliza’s massive axe. Eliza would be getting her fancy-ass skeggox-bladed battleaxe, alright! Ginger had shoved Christian right out of the way once he caught wind of that order and was going to make it himself. He had been pretty inspired.

They had both asked, initially, if Eliza was totally certain she wanted a three-and-a-half foot hafted axe, and then were extremely concerned that the number of langets, paired with the steel reinforcement of the blade that Eliza had specified would increase the weight too greatly. Then Eliza picked up Ginger, a big man, and offered to carry Christian at the same time if they weren’t persuaded she could handle such a weapon. Christian was delighted and went for a piggyback ride around the shop, yipping and waving a pair of stools around, while Ginger was being carried around like a new, bearded, bride, trying to shush Christian so he could calculate price. Very surreal.

When I’d mentioned throwing knives, Eliza had just laughed at me. Apparently, ranged weapons were ‘just not happening,’ generally speaking. With all our days off coming up, I’d see if I could change that a bit. Not every situation calls for hand-to-hand mayhem. Ultimately, I sweet-talked her into getting a handful of throwing stars, but only with many grumbles and grimaces.

After that, I’d had to coax Eliza into getting a sword. I had been able to tell she didn’t want to spend money, which was ridiculous, considering how much we had available after my years of solitude and her massive triple upset and clever wager last night. Apparently she generally decapitated her enemies with swords, which made me grateful our match hadn’t ended with me headless. She waivered for a while between a claymore and an executioner’s sword. The former struck me as far more useful, as it has a sharp tip for thrusting, but Eliza clearly had some sort of inexplicable sentimental attachment to the latter. Rob, the Jailer and Executioner for the Wild Ones, was the only guy I knew who even had an executioner's sword, it's not like they were generally used for combat. So, after I’d gotten her to describe what sort of executioner’s sword she would want (not surprisingly, obscenely large and useless to essentially anyone else except maybe Big Pete), I talked her into having a claymore made to her liking. Then, when Eliza was thanking Ginger on our way out, I’d paid Christian separately to make the executioner’s sword, with a few little touches of my own. Hopefully she wouldn’t decapitate me when I gave it to her later as a gift.

My pleasant, self-indulgent thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a curly-haired young woman smiling wickedly and rushing towards me along the cobblestone. Shit! Sabrina, or perhaps Sarina, I wasn’t 100% sure, but I recognized her as one of the girls that’s prone to taking liberties with her flirtations and taking things way too far. She went beyond irritating, and into the realm of offensive. This might not go well, I couldn’t run or fly, I couldn’t risk hitting my head again, fuck-

Eliza stepped between us and Little Johnny Rickfield went to sleep as Dennis Westower woke from a long slumber.

Everyone in the street, myself included, froze, all eyes on Eliza with Dennis in her hand. You could hear the slight rustle of a squirrel in the trees and a bird calling. The girl’s mouth dropped open in shock.

Eliza didn’t seem to notice or care, she watched only the girl that had been coming at me. “You will not touch the Second Officer without his permission, woman! Second Officer Andrew has suffered a concussion during training. Today, I will gut anyone that comes within three feet of Second Officer Andrew that is not on business that does not possess his express consent. I will not allow you to harass him. I do not care how entranced you are by his sparkling, blue eyes and tight, little bottom, if you lay a hand on him, I will cut it off and make you eat it before you die, harlot! Now, go run off and tell your slutty, little friends that the Second Officer is strictly unavailable for close-up admiration for the remainder of today. Throw yourselves at someone else’s feet, or risk death.”

For as long as it took to intake a breath, I couldn’t decide if it was a good idea to try and draw Snakebite to attempt disarming Eliza or not. Eliza could behead me before I had her out of her sheath if she wanted to, no question. But I couldn’t just do nothing and let Eliza kill this stupid, ringlet-haired girl, (albeit with nice legs), Sabrina, Sarina, whatever…I had no idea what the dumb S-woman would do.

In a moment’s decision, as I exhaled that same breath, I decided to trust Eliza. My gut told me she was better than just ‘a good person,’ Eliza had woken me from living death. She was good enough that I loved her. And in my heart, I believed she was a Night Watchman, a protector of the Wild Ones, and that she wouldn’t kill that irritating git, regardless of how she reacted. My gut told me that Eliza was bluffing and just trying to scare her to protect her Second Officer. My heart swelled; the tension was thick.

The curly-haired girl looked at Eliza for a moment, then sneered. “So this is the murderer you are stuck with, Drew?” She took a step forward and poked Eliza in the chest with a finger. “She has big tits, but she’s fat as a sow. How long are you saddled with her? Are you guys fucking? You could do so much better, lover. Someone more elegant and refined, I’d think, might be more to your taste, hmm?”

Elegant? Refined!? This fairy garbage? The empty words of these shallow women had only driven me to true anger once before, about three years earlier. I felt my eyelid start to twitch and the blood begin to rush in my temples as rage filled me. “Eliza is a thousand times and more the woman, Wild One, and Fae you are! I am proud to be her warden and companion, you filthy, jealous, wretch! Get away from me and never approach me again, you repulse me, you and all of your disgusting, life-sucking, status-seeking, predatory kind!” I spat on the street, vaguely in S-harpie's direction, careful not to actually get any sputum on the horrid bitch. That would just have gotten me a slap to the face, which would possibly have gotten her hand cut off…

A few tense seconds passed. Eliza’s expression was unreadable, but Dennis was at the ready, and the woman with ringlets was two feet in front of Eliza, staring at the ground…

I saw her face begin to turn scarlet as she pursed her lips. Then, with no fanfare, Sarina/Sabrina turned and left. A moment later, Dennis had gone to sleep, and Little Johnny Rickfield had returned.

I wasn’t sure if I should be mad at Eliza, touched that she was looking out for my health, embarrassed at having lost my shit and spat at a woman that was obviously besotted with me, or if just some manner of ward & warden discussion was necessary. Eliza just glanced at me, then started back along the street as though nothing had happened. So did everyone else. Was I the only one that had found that whole confrontation unusual and totally unforeseen? Was I the only one that didn’t understand women? I kept thinking that we should discuss it, surely, in some fashion? Either way, I was also wondering if Eliza really did think my bottom was tight- was that good, and if so, if it was really necessary to share that with the entire tribe?

Just as we rounded the corner, the same damned thing happened again! This time, there were two girls, though they were a lot nicer and younger. Accordingly, Eliza threatened them more with general grievous injury as opposed to outright death, and I refrained from a melodramatic speech, as they were actually relatively respectful. Unfortunately, Eliza still felt the need to point out my, ‘cute, tight bum,’ ‘piercing, blue eyes,’ and, ‘masculine, wide shoulders.’ That actually irritated me, she was laying it on so thick, I was now sure she was mocking me. Again, they were sent off with instructions to spread the word.

Long story short, after two more encounters, I found we had a pretty reliable bubble around us as we traveled down the streets. Dennis Westower stayed asleep for the rest of the day, thank goodness. I had no idea what Blasko would think of Eliza being so, eh, unabashed about my safety- no one had ever really looked out for me before, I usually recovered alone in my shelter when I was wounded. While it was good to have a friend, an ally, I hoped against hope that, when I spoke to Eliza later, she could see me as something more, see me as I saw her.

Notes

what can i say- happy 25th birthday to the real-life Andrew Dennis Biersack. words are not enough for a guy that i think consistently really does so much for his fans, even when some of them treat him or his loved ones poorly. as anyone who reads what I write knows, it's one of my greatest fears that anything I write might offend either him or any of his loved ones (or anyone else who is depicted , fictionalized, in a story of mine). is so, please let me know, and I will ameliorate the problem or remove the story entirely at once. real-life feelings and relationships always supercede fanfiction, always.

but I totally got sidetracked- I was wishing happy b-day to "real-Andy." *chuckle*

the music you have made with bvb has not saved my life, every individual makes their own choices, as, each day, I make my own. but things you have said, music you have made, has made a big difference for me, a positive one. when I feel hurt, when I am in pain, and I need strength, I can look to bvb, or something I remember you saying in an interview, more times than I can count. while there are many, many sources of strength for me, as there are often, for everyone, I thank you for being a pillar for me. to help me be true to myself even as I feel weak, when I am in pain.

happy birthday Mr. Biersack.