Snippet #2254907

Despite the fact that the green eyes were fixed on the taller servant, James didn't register that Hassen was coming towards him until it was too late to even attempt to escape. The other had gotten down on his hands and knees, a silent sign that the other servant wasn't going to do any damage to him, not that James could stop him. Instinctively he moved to defend Linnie, block her from Hassen with his body, but ended up falling against her shoulder for a second before the human servant had him, dragged him a very short ways across the blood stained rug, and he was up and over the other's shoulder. It wasn't a strange movement, to be slung like a limp doll, Drake found it the easiest mode of transportation, and James was used to it. He didn't like it though, even in his wearied, injured state he was going to vocalize just how much he hated Hassen carrying him around. Just as soon as he recovered from the vertigo, what was left of his blood rushing to his face and dribbling over his chin and down his cheeks like backwards tears.

His torso being angled nearly straight down didn't help the situation very much, his body was trying to make enough blood to clot the wound, and it was draining out of him as if he was a dead animal: faster than it could do much good. He couldn't squirm himself free, he knew Hassen's strength and his determination, and at the moment he was too weak to do much of anything other than clutch the human's back, the limping gait of the man making him feel as if he'd fall any second.

When he managed to get his voice back, or what constituted as a voice for the tongueless creature, he started up immediately with a screech that was more of a muffled whine. Then he demanded to be put down, which sounded like a cat in a very small box being kicked repeatedly, since he could do no more than utter vowels in the back of his throat. Hassen was the only person he talked too, or pretended to talk to, as it was. There was a good chance the man couldn't understand him at all, James wouldn't be able to understand himself if he didn't know what he intended to say, but it made him feel better just to make sounds. Drake would have none of the nonsense, and most of the humans they'd met either disregarded him as a servant or didn't live long enough for him to make senseless conversation with. Perhaps the only exception had been Gepetto, but he hadn't done much conversing with that man, in all honestly, he'd just needed the companionship of someone who didn't want to kill him, even though it had only lasted less than two days.

Usually he only vocalized to Hassen when he was displeased, often when they fought he would express his annoyance. He'd spoken quite a bit when he'd taught the servant to write with his other hand as well, Not much of it had meant anything at all, but it helped him keep his patience, because the whole business was rather trying and nerve wracking for him. He didn't like being near Hassen, because quite frankly the man scared him. And he hated Hassen besides because Drake treated him better. It was for a good reason, Hassen would actually die if someone tore out his throat with his teeth. And even though he hated the other with his heart and soul, he didn't want him to die. Then he'd be alone with Drake again, who's attentions were decidedly more sour unless souls were involved, which was growing less and less since their stay at the old manor.

The boy wailed wordlessly a little bit more, his evident distress growing fainter as time wore on until he fell back into fatigue, the short burst of energy lost. He fell limp, his hands out below him, reaching towards the ground. He closed his eyes, submitting for the moment, until he could escape whatever it was Hassen had in store for him, of which he had no idea. He hadn't really thought past the current moment, actually. Whether it was more torment or coddling, which the human edsporadically prone to, mostly directed towards a pet, (The headless kitten had been another time James had to speak, and one of the only times he'd truly felt sorry for the man, watching him care for the decapitated feline had sent shivers down his spine) James decided he wanted none of it.

By the time they made it to the kitchen, James was mostly out, completely still, one eye half open and glazed. His body had put out all efforts to heal him, which would on its own take the better half of a day, replenishing nearly all his blood. The scar of the wound would last three or four days, until it returned to a normal state. Healed slower than topical wounds, but faster than skeletal fractures. When he was shifted he let out a soft distressed sound and his muscles collectively twitched, as if he'd just woken from a dream in which he'd been a single second from hitting the ground, stirred from his almost sleep, but he fell back into the softer plane quickly, managing to find enough energy to clutch the back of Hassen's attire, reminded again that he felt as if he'd fall at any second, but not of exactly what was going on outside of the fact that he was in severe pain and he wasn't lying on the ground.