A/N:

Im such a fable nerd. 8D –has played it seven times-

Anyway. VIOLA. A fable II fanfiction. And a gay one. Just a series of short snippets of 'Blade,' the hero who's name is actually Sparrow, and his good ole friend Reaver, the cocky arse of a Hero of Skill. Probably post-spire-wish. :3 And after Reaver gets back from the shady places he probably visited.

Also, this is a bit of history for my friend Ife about Sparrow and his post-Alana…affair? Im not sure what went on between Aaron and Sparrow. Er.

Reaver and Blade.

--w—

"And then I said, blimey, girl, you've plum fallen out of your blouse."

The men around the dashing young man laughed heartily, all eyes fixed on the relaxed figure talking amongst them. He was dressed sharply, with a red cloak and leather boots, from a fine gold clasp on his belt to silken shirt to suede vest. Even a gold pocket watch chain. His dirty blondish locks were swept neatly and handsomely stop his gorgeous face, teeth glinting in the dim tavern light.

"And then she said, as if innocent to the fact, oh, Reaver, have I really? Would you mind helping me fix this problem? Of course I would, I told her. And help her I did. All evening long." He sipped his wine from his goblet with a smirk, the men around him hailing him with praise. He barely noticed it though.

Again, green eyes drifted to a huddled figure on the other side of the tavern. A blond dog laid at the figures feet. Both the gold beads in black hair, and the dog, struck a familiarity chord, but for some reason he couldn't place it.

"I beg your pardon, but who's that over there," He drawled, never taking his eyes off the form so focused on his tankard. Then the face looked up.

He wore an old, ratty coat with a high collar that vary nearly reach his eyes. Reaver recognized it as an assassin's coat, though the sash about the man's waist was brown, not red and his hair was in a long tail over one shoulder. Suddenly, the handsome eyes shot over to meet Reaver's dead on, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. They'd made eye contact so quickly it almost felt like a physical blow, and Reaver heaved to catch his breath.

"Tha's the hero of Albion," one man whispered. "T'aint a talker, that one. Goes by Blade."

Memories flooded Reaver's mind, and he almost beamed.

"Ah yes!" He thunked his goblet down and stood, adjusting his cape as he parted the blissfully ignorant group of men around him. One asked another if they should stop Reaver's advance, but none did. Better off that way.

As Reaver approached, the dog (Adam or Oral or some such) lifted his head, and his jowls, eyes dark. He fell into the seat across from the black-haired fellow, grinning charmingly at him.

"Hello hello, my dear /Sparrow/. How /have/ you been?"

The man just stared at him, one black brow lifting very slowly.

"…That good huh?" Reaver frowned, leaning forward to try and peek down into the absurdly high collar of the man's coat. Sparrow just leaned away, successful in keeping the lower half of his face covered. "I've been swell if you'd care to know." He looked disinterested in his finger nails for a moment, before looking back up. "Now, obviously so you're still not much of a talker." He smiled charmingly again. An itch for his pistol started when the brow just rose a bit higher, those cryptic blue eyes dancing with something like…amusement? "So how about I talk. Sound good?"

The dog made some kind of a 'huruff' sound, and laid his head back down.

Reaver looked idly over Sparrow's shoulder at the twisted almost root-like hand of the Hammerthyst, Sparrow's weapon of choice (much to his credit he was /very/ good with the giant gemstone), then back to those glittering blue eyes. "I seem to have stumbled upon a great deal of money, as it were, on my return to…glorious Ablion." He watched the eyes roll, and Sparrow sat back away from the table. One hand remained beneath the table, the other, Sparrow slung lazily over the back of his chair. Reaver took note of the warn and tattered condition of the leather gloves. He wondered exactly how much the great Hero of Albion had to do alone, while the other heroes were of on vacation. That thought was quickly swept away, and Reaver looked back to waiting, disinterested eyes. "And you were the man I happened to stumble into Westcliff to find. How pleasant, hmhm." He chuckled and waved a wench over, ordering himself another goblet of wine. "How convenient."

Sparrow's brow just raised slowly again, not amused. Reaver continued to stare after the bar wench. Briefly, Sparrow's eyes followed Reaver's gaze, then went back to him, brow lifting higher.

"I need your help, Hero." Reaver winced almost painfully, then looked at Sparrow again. "I do." He scowled when Sparrow's eyes went blank with skepticism. "No I really do, see." He leaned, tapping his index finger on the table. "My beautiful town, Bloodstone you know, it's…it's being cleaned up!" He waved his hand. Though Sparrow's expression didn't change, Reaver continued. "I know, it's awful. I need your help to flush out all the disgusting orderlies and help me make my town a paradise, will you?" He looked back up with the best puppy dog look he could muster. If possible, Sparrow's emotion dropped even further into total non-caring. "Oh, come on Sparrow." Reaver frowned deeper. "I'll offer you a large sum of money. Please? Just help me? I'll even throw a party, for you and I and, God forbid, Hammer and Garth…"

At the mention of the other two heroes, Sparrow seemed to perk and look interested once more. /Ah. Gotcha./

"I'll throw a party for the lot of us, if you help me." He grinned charmingly. "So will you?"

Sparrow watched him quietly for a while, before nodding and standing.

"Splendid! I'm very glad." Reaver stood as well, motioning. "My carriage just so happens to be outside. Come, come, let us talk shall we?"