Snippet #1691553

James looked down at Gepetto as the man stirred, pressing his body closer to James's leg. James's mouth bent upward in a soft momentary smile. It felt nice to have someone so warm and alive near him, someone who needed him for support without fear of being harmed. Of course, James did not know if the pretty young man's actions were merely because his brain was foggy, or because he trusted James. Whichever it truly way, James decided to go for the latter. It made him feel better.

Now to address Monica again. How should he respond? James mused as he ran his fingers through Gepetto's hair as if the man was a lap dog or a kitten. Do not worry about me, miss. I am perfectly fine. I've always been this chilly, for almost as long as I can remember. Drake says that it was a result of a childhood sickness or some such thing. James lied through his teeth, shaking his hair from his face as he looked back up at Monica. Believe me, he urged with his mind hoping that the young lady would believe him. The less she pried the easier it would be for James to remain unobtrusive and do his job.

Green eyes then turned back towards the blonde man, and James mused quietly about what was going on inside his head. Here he was, in all this danger, sleeping with his body cuddled up against one of his oppressors, looking like a doll come to life. James winced slightly as he realized something. He was investing too much emotion into this man. Some part of James actually wished he could be like Gepetto, sweet and pretty and mortal. So mortal. And instead of hating the young man for having something James did not, the young butler almost...what was a good word...James fished for a word to explain himself to his own mind, but none surfaced. He just knew that when the Blonde dies, a piece of James would mourn. Like he'd mourned for Zeke. Sweetness and innocence and beauty should not be subjected to such things.

Oh, Monica! James jerked his head back up, snapping from his train of thought and turning his gaze back to the blonde woman before him. I am sorry. He wrote shortly on the paper, which was about halfway filled with his scrawl.

--

Drake moved about the kitchen, humming lightly the entire time. "Breakfast for the humans." he sang to himself, grinning. He chopped food up haphazardly and threw it all into a large pot he had on the fire, leaning over to examine the simmering contents. Water, some kind of meat, carrots, four or five potatoes, which had been great fun to peel, and a smattering of various other ingredients, including flour, which had gotten everywhere except for into the pot like Drake had intended. James would have to clean that up later.

"Now, how long am I supposed to let this do that boiling thing?" He muttered to himself, frowning and pulling at his ear as his eyes traveled across a page of one of the many recipe books he'd been gifted. "Well, I'll just cook it until it looks sort of done or the fire goes out." he decided, closing the book with a snap.

Flour floated lazily in the air as Drake dusted off his clothing and leaned forward again to watch the soup, which had risen to a roiling boil. Curiously Drake stuck a hand into the water, capturing a little chunk of meat between two fingers. The flesh on his fingers turned an angry red, but it didn't hurt all that much. Drake stuck the bit of food into his mouth, tipping his head to one side. No, it didn't have the same release of desire that a good soul did, but at least it tasted as human food should.