Snippet #2108159

Sabine Marx

After examining Haven for a few moments, Sabine deemed that she wouldn't be waking up at this very moment. He should go off and do something else. Instead of sending someone to fetch him a book, the daemon strode off to busy himself with selecting one. Reading was an enriching pastime. He lingered for a short while in the library, tracing spines with a finger before selecting a random tome from a shelf and letting it fall open in his hand. His eyes swept the words on the page briefly and he deemed the book good enough to read, snapped it shut, and set off for the small room again.

When he arrived at his destination, he saw the blonde human standing, her back to him. She was tucking the bedsheets back in their places. Sabine stood for a moment looking at her. He looked tired and weathered at the moment, cheeks more hollow than normal, his eyes slightly hooded. A long, eventful day, perhaps more eventful than one in a long while. Less strategy and more frustration. Sabine could think alright, thinking didn't bother him at all, but when his cognitional facilities deserted him, that was when stress built.

"I see you are awake, Miss Haven." He spoke suddenly, taking a few paces from the door, shifting the book from hand to hand. "Are you feeling well?"

As he spoke, the daemon tugged his sleeve down over his wounded forearm again. It was starting to prickle slightly, reminding its owner of its presence. "Do you wish to go home?" He asked after a beat, studying her. "I will escort you if you wish." The thin man cast his eyes around the room, looking away from Haven. He took a few more steps forward, reaching out and resting a hand on the counter top. He laid his novel down on it, squaring it against the corner of the marble top, so the bottom cover laid exactly in line with the rounded edge. Then he rested his elbows on the book, resting his chin on his folded hands, pale eyes flicking up after a few moments to the blonde. He blinked slowly, then sighed.

He still couldn't work it out. It made no sense. She was nothing more than an ordinary girl. And ordinary human girl. Young woman. Whichever. It comparison to his years, she was nothing more than a child. So how could such an insignificant speck be standing in his home? When had he ever allowed a human into his abode, taken a wound to protect one, made sure one was okay? Cared? He was Sabine he didn't care about anyone, specifically. Nothing more than the welfare of his kingdom, more or less, and all the interest that entailed, and he cared somewhat for his books. Enough to keep them in good condition at least. And for Lena, inn a way. In his way. And he could tell that it was changing, somehow.
His reaction had been inappropriate, not calm enough, not centered enough, not composed enough. But at the same time, there was nothing he could do about it, really. It had just...happened. A breach in self-control. And he couldn't help but think that it was Haven's fault. It had been, after all, two breaches in self control on the same day, the first to fling himself haphazardly in front of a car, and the second after seeing Lena. He was a king for the sun's sake. He didn't do such things. He shouldn't do such things. It wasn't proper.

But...was it entirely a bad thing?

James Dylor

The call was like a siren's song, but the compelling factor was fear, not amour. It said, you will do as I say, or you will no longer exist. Just another bloodstain on the floor for some poor creature to clean up. In this case, James. Or if the bloodstain was James, then someone else. He didn't know who. He'd never thought to contemplate who his replacement would be. Honestly, it didn't matter. it wouldn't effect him in anyway. it wasn't like any servant would purposely sabotage him to gain the position. it wasn't like anyone wanted to be the king's personal servant. That job was more dangerous than vcolcano-diving, it felt sometimes.

James hurried down the stairs, following the current of servants en-route through the servant corridors and stairwells. The line they formed was perfectly straight. each servant in his or her place, shoulder to shoulder with two partners. Or one, for the bookends. One of which was James. Every single servant showed the same profile, tilted down slightly, deferent to the master as a pack of dogs to the alpha. Because that was all they were, weren't they. A rag-tag group of cowed dogs. As he shifted in his spot, taking the chance of casting his bright blue gaze over his surroundings. He spotted Belle and her father and hurriedly looked away, back to the ground.

His Majesty the King started talking just at that moment. James's head was thudding as a stressed headache bloomed behind his eyes. He couldn't take that right now. To be honest, he couldn't take anything right now. Working alone had been alright, he'd been able to distract himself easily with his self assigned tasks. But now he was just a frothing mug of confusion and hurt and other such emotions that refused to simmer down at all. He wished he could throw something. breaking something would work just as well. Or both. At the same time.

It didn't help, listening to the King tell them all about how he was going to make life harder again. When the King stopped in front of a servant a few shoulders away from James, the young man tried to compose himself, and discovered that he'd been shuddering unconsciously. But somehow he knew that the reason he was shaking and the reason the servant before His Majesty was shaking were two entirely different reasons. James had just realized something. He wasn't happy with this. He was quite angry, in fact. One could say that he was royally pissed off, if they wanted to be accurate.

'If anyone would like to complain, step forward.'

James didn't quite know what had taken hold of him, usually he was a mild mannered boy. It was quite possibly that at any given encounter, he'd never spoken more than a dozen words to his King at a time. But at this moment he was sick of it. Sick of all of it. He didn't have a future, hell, he barely even had a present. Why shouldn't he? The electric blue eyes glanced over at Belle once before the owner of the eyes took a deep breath and took a small step forward. His voice was slightly tremulous, he couldn't help it, but for all its softness it seemed to carry through out the entire room. "I do."

He could feel eyes on him, but he couldn't see anything. Nothing at all. Blood had rushed up to his face, and he couldn't make out more than the general forms of everyone. Everything was kind of...dizzy looking. Surreal. But he wasn't focusing on his sight problems, he was busy forcing his next words from his gut.

"I'm fucking sick of this shit. Of-of cleaning your bloody messes of the floor. I don't have to tolerate you, My King" It wasn't a shout, if anything, by the tone it sounded pleasant and conversational, just slightly fearful, perhaps. But his body language was hostile, his fists clenched at his side, and his eyes fixed on his king. He lifted his chin slightly, his head tilted to one side, eyes still sightly pinpointed on the Lykae king. It was a dare. Come kill me. I want it. His face said. It's my turn to be a bloody stain on the floor for someone else to clean up. It's my turn to be done with all this shit. He linked his gloved hands behind his back, his posture perfectly straight. He resisted the urge to look at Belle again. It was a shame, he'd not get to tell her how much her short bout of friendship had meant to him. What it had shown him. How insignificant his life was, and futile. His life wasn't worth all this empty pain.

James was feeling quite treasonous today, apparently.