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Post by RisuChan on Oct 19, 2003 15:18:46 GMT -5
[character POV: Die]
"No, I don't think I do understand. Explain to me why I should permit my master's perfectly respectable sister to continue to associate with a group of ragamuffin bohemians who have insulted a lady to her face?"
"He didn't mean it that way," I say, rubbing my temples to try to ward off the tension-headache. Actually, I'm fairly sure he did mean it that way, but Kaine's still gasping and hopping on one foot clutching at the knee I kicked really hard, so he's not going to be correcting me any time soon.
Martin is still looking at me with an entirely too expressionless face.
"He was as surprised that she slapped him as you were. He only compared her to a bouquet of flowers." Every word of THAT was true. He was trying his damnedest to provoke either blushes or outrage, but I don't think he'd have imagined he would actually get outrage... let alone a girl with enough spine to slap back.
Unfortunately, I know him well enough to know that this has now put her in the category of interesting. THAT has got so much potential for danger that I shudder to think...
One crisis at a time. One at a time. Right now, 'no blood on Merry-chan's conservatory furnishings' is the biggest target to aim for. Worry about the rest of it later.
The girls are back. Merry looks irritated. Luccia looks nervous. I have a sinking feeling that this means she knows Martin is not the type to let a slight to her honor slide away easily.
"So what did we miss?" Merry asks a little too brightly.
"We've got one last shot to retake here, and then we can tear down the lights here and take everything up to the roof. If we can shoot you and Kaine at the harpsichord one at a time, so we can composite each of you in as a transparency in the other's timeline..."
"Right, right." Merry walks over to Kaine and offers him her hand and a determined smile. He's still not putting any weight on that knee, but the man is the consummate flirt. Even with a flat-chested precocious preteen hellraiser like Merry. He shoots a pointed look at Martin and me, then bows over the back of Merry's hand and kisses it; then he escorts her over to the harpsichord, visibly limping.
She looks a little dazzled, despite how blatantly she was asking for that, and a little worried too. "What happened?"
"Oh, Die is a terrible brute some days. I don't know how I've survived his temper..."
I bite down hard on my first three responses to that, and try a sickly smile toward Martin. "Let's just say Kaine has been reprimanded for his behavior from my side too."
Luccia takes her servant's arm and says something in a carefully low voice, leading him toward chairs at the side of the room. I don't have the concentration to spare to worry about that; I stalk back over to the grinning cameraman.
"What?" I growl.
He hastily wipes the smirk off his face. "Nothing! Nothing at all..."
"Right. So we need to shoot it four times -- each of them needs a regular exposure and an overexposure so the composited-in layer can look a little bleached out even with the transparency..."
"Sure thing, boss." He's still struggling with that grin. If I actually survive the next couple of shoots, I'm going to have to have words with his supervisor.
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Crystallyne
Junior Member
You're just jealous because the voices only talk to me.
Posts: 71
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Post by Crystallyne on Oct 20, 2003 16:38:24 GMT -5
[character POV: Martin]
"No, I don't think I do understand. Explain to me why I should permit my master's perfectly respectable sister to continue to associate with a group of ragamuffin bohemians who have insulted a lady to her face?"
It's hard enough for me to reign in my temper right now, just thinking about Luccia being insulted, and now this idiot is trying to fob me off with a completely pathetic excuse? I can feel the rage in my heart expanding, turning ice cold. These are the warning signs for me, and if I want to maintain any semblance of control, I'd better start locking down my emotions.
"He didn't mean it that way," I hear Die say tiredly, and I absently note that the man is under a lot of stress and looks weary, rubbing his temples as if in pain. To his side, Kaine's gasping and hopping on one foot clutching at his knee, the one that Die kicked really hard. That moment was a tiny little ray of pleasure for me, even though I'd much rather have been the one to do it. At the moment, that sight is the only thing that's helping me keep hold of my own violent urges.
I make sure to keep my face expressionless, wanting at least one sane person to realize that I'm not a man to cross.
"He was as surprised that she slapped him as you were. He only compared her to a bouquet of flowers." If that was the case, then why did she slap him? Luccia is not a wild, willful child. She is reserved, and composed, and if she slaps someone, that means they deserve it. Memories of the first time I met her drift through my mind.
The girls are back. Merry looks irritated. Luccia looks nervous. What now? If it's another problem, I'm going to kill all these annoyances and worry about it later, I swear on my honor.
"So what did we miss?" Merry asks, her voice grating on my fraying nerves. That doesn't help me calm down any, and as I take a deep breath, Die answers quickly.
"We've got one last shot to retake here, and then we can tear down the lights here and take everything up to the roof. If we can shoot you and Kaine at the harpsichord one at a time, so we can composite each of you in as a transparency in the other's timeline..."
"Right, right."
Merry walks over to Kaine and offers him her hand and a determined smile. He shoots a pointed look at Die and me, then bows over the back of Merry's hand and kisses it. After that he escorts her over to the harpsichord, visibly limping.
Damn that man, he even flirts with children! I had thought my opinion of him couldn't sink any lower, and yet it does. He is poison, and I won't let him near Luccia unless I'm dead, and even then I'd find a way to protect her.
Merry looks a little dazzled, apparently affected by Kaine's kiss, and a little worried too. "What happened?"
"Oh, Die is a terrible brute some days. I don't know how I've survived his temper..."
I almost laugh at the expression on Die's face. He turns an interesting pale green color, and turns to me as if to try to apply a little damage control. I almost told him to not bother, but I like watching him squirm as he tries to talk his way out of it...
"Let's just say Kaine has been reprimanded for his behavior from my side too."
Luccia takes my arm and leans close to me. I hadn't even realized she had come over to me, I was so intent on my prey.
"Martin? Please, let me explain. Let's go over to that little nook over there, I need to talk to you. Please." I can't resist her, especially when I know that she's upset, and I can tell that she is. She's trembling slightly, and while it isn't visible to others, I can feel it clearly from the way she grips my arm. I let her lead me toward the chairs at the side of the room. Glancing back once, I can see that no one in the room will overhear us. Die looks like he's about to kill that fool cameraman, the one grinning like he's a clown.
As we near the chairs, Luccia seems to sag a little, and immediately my full concentration is on her.
"Luccia? What's wrong, little one?" I speak softly while stepping slightly behind her to support her unobserved with an arm around her waist. She trembles even harder, and I quickly guide her to a seat.
"Oh, Martin, I'm so sorry!" she whispers, as soon as she's seated, and I can hear the tears in her voice as well as see her eyes shining with them. Apparently this day is taking up all of her energy.
"I never meant to worry you. Kaine was teasing me, but I didn't understand, and it sounded like an insult to me, even though he was using the most extravagantly flattering terms, so I just reacted. I didn't even realize that I was going to hit him until it was already done." Luccia's voice is so soft that I have to bend down to hear it.
Damn it! If only we were anywhere else, I could comfort her without fear of revealing my secret. I do the only thing that I can at the moment, which is stand in front of her, shielding her from sight of anyone else in the room so that she can at least maintain the illusion of composure.
"Luccia. It's not your fault. You did exactly what I would expect you to do in that situation, and I'm very proud of you. You defended your title and your honor, and I would expect no less from you." I keep my voice very gentle and as sincere as I can. Luccia has gotten so much better at reading me that I have to use everything in order to convince her.
She looks up, and smiles hesitantly, but her lips are still trembling. I sigh, then reach down and draw her to her feet. She leans against me, and I wrap one arm around her shoulders, stroking her hair gently. I can't stand to see her so upset, and I make sure to keep her completely against me so that nothing is revealed to the people behind us.
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Crystallyne
Junior Member
You're just jealous because the voices only talk to me.
Posts: 71
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Post by Crystallyne on Oct 20, 2003 16:44:11 GMT -5
[Character POV: Luccia]
"So what did we miss?" Merry asks, her voice slightly louder than usual. Nice, Merry. Terrific job of 'keeping an eye on them'. Die answers quickly, apparently way more stressed than usual. I can understand that, just from looking at Martin. At least someone in here understands that it's not a good idea to upset my brother.
"We've got one last shot to retake here, and then we can tear down the lights here and take everything up to the roof. If we can shoot you and Kaine at the harpsichord one at a time, so we can composite each of you in as a transparency in the other's timeline..."
"Right, right." Merry walks over to Kaine and offers him her hand and a determined smile. He shoots a look at Die and Martin, then bows over the back of Merry's hand and kisses it. After that he escorts her over to the harpsichord, visibly limping.
Now what happened? Did Martin do something already? I can feel my nerves start to shatter. I really don't know how much more of this day I can take. I'm not used to going through so many intense emotions, and they're taking so much out of me.
Martin, to my trained eye, is looking murderous, while Merry looks a little dazzled and a little worried too. "What happened?"
"Oh, Die is a terrible brute some days. I don't know how I've survived his temper..."
The relief that sweeps through me weakens me even more. Thank God I got here in time. Martin hasn't done anything yet.
Die turns an interesting pale green color, and turns to Martin with a grimace he tries to pass off as a smile.
"Let's just say Kaine has been reprimanded for his behavior from my side too."
I can't take this anymore. I want to talk to my brother, now. I walk over to his side and take his arm, leaning close to him. I can feel him tense slightly, and it hurts me. He didn't even notice I was beside him. That one little thing is one too many. I can feel my strength crumbling, and I have to sit down somewhere and talk to Martin alone.
"Martin? Please, let me explain. Let's go over to that little nook over there, I need to talk to you. Please." I've started shaking, and I wonder how long my knees will support me. Martin lets me lead him toward the chairs at the side of the room. Halfway there, my knees start to give out. I'm almost at the end of my rope, and I wonder absently if I'll just collapse onto the floor.
"Luccia? What's wrong, little one?" I hear Martin's voice softly from behind me while feeling him slide a supportive arm around my waist.
Little one. Such a precious endearment to me, the only pet name Martin has ever given me, and I start to shake harder, trying not to cry. My hand involuntarily goes to my neck to the angel pendant there, and Martin helps me over to the chairs as I try desperately not to burst into tears and embarrass myself further.
"Oh, Martin, I'm so sorry!" I whisper, and to my shame I can actually hear the tears in my own voice as I feel my eyes prick with tears.
"I never meant to worry you. Kaine was teasing me, but I didn't understand, and it sounded like an insult to me, even though he was using the most extravagantly flattering terms, so I just reacted. I didn't even realize that I was going to hit him until it was already done."
I can't get my voice to work properly, and Martin leans over to be able to hear me.
"Luccia. It's not your fault. You did exactly what I would expect you to do in that situation, and I'm very proud of you. You defended your title and your honor, and I would expect no less from any lady."
I look up at him, hearing his words and tone of voice seemingly from a long distance away. I would never have expected such kind words from him. He's usually so distant. I know he cares for me, I know he loves me, but here's the proof, and right when I needed it most.
I hear Martin sigh, then he reaches down and takes my hand, pulling me to my feet. I'm standing right in front of him now, not two inches between us. My legs are still weak, so I lean against him, pressing my face to his chest, and he wraps one arm around my shoulders. I can feel him stroking my hair gently, and it once again brings tears to my eyes.
I let Martin support my entire weight, selfishly indulging in a moment of relaxation from this most complex of days. I let all of my worries about Merry and Kaine and Cain and Die just slide away from me. I'm in my brother's arms, and he's protecting me. Nothing else matters at this point. I have my family.
Then Martin says something, and I'm so tired it takes me a moment to understand him.
"Luccia. I'm taking you home now. Then I'll come back later and deal with this myself. Don't worry about it any longer."
I stiffen in his arms, an immediate reaction. I can't let him do that! He'll kill people and get in trouble! I won't lose my brother again! Martin feels my shoulders tense up, and he frowns slightly.
"What's wrong, Luccia? I said I'll take care of it. I just want you to relax at home now."
I have to stop him somehow. But how to convince him? My mind rushes frantically over the past few minutes and stops on Martin's reaction to Kaine kissing Merry's hand. There, that will convince him!
"Martin, you don't know how much I'd love for you to take me home right now, but I promised Count Cain that I would be responsible for Merryweather. She can be quite headstrong, and she's coralled everyone into doing this night-time shot on the roof for the band's music video. I'm not too terribly eager to do this with her, but I have to be there in order to keep an eye on her. I don't want to leave her all alone with only the band members, especially not Kaine."
There, his eyes flickered for a minute. Now to press the point home.
"And it is my responsibility as both a lady and as a friend to Merry. I'm fifteen, but she's only eleven, and I want to make sure she's alright."
Martin's arm tightens around me, and I realize then that I've won. I relax against him once more, taking shelter in his strength for just a little while.
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Crystallyne
Junior Member
You're just jealous because the voices only talk to me.
Posts: 71
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Post by Crystallyne on Oct 20, 2003 16:47:55 GMT -5
[Character POV: Martin]
I won't let Luccia stay here any longer if this is what happens daily around this place.
"Luccia. I'm taking you home now. Then I'll come back later and deal with this myself. Don't worry about it any longer."
She stiffens immediately, and I can feel a frown forming despite all my control.
"What's wrong, Luccia? I said I'll take care of it. I just want you to relax at home now."
"Martin, you don't know how much I'd love for you to take me home right now, but I promised Count Cain that I would be responsible for Merryweather. She can be quite headstrong, and she's coralled everyone into doing this night-time shot on the roof for the band's music video. I'm not too terribly eager to do this with her, but I have to be there in order to keep an eye on her. I don't want to leave her all alone with only the band members, especially not Kaine."
The memory of Kaine flirting with Merryweather comes back to me, and I realize that Luccia has a very good point. Besides, Riff did ask me to chaperone this little video session tonight.
"And it is my responsibility as both a lady and as a friend to Merry. I'm fifteen, but she's only eleven, and I want to make sure she's all right."
I'm going to have to let Luccia stay. It's not a pleasant thought, but at least I'll be there to watch over her. Luccia knows my decision before I even say anything, and she leans back into my embrace with a sigh. I can hardly blame her for worrying, though.
"Well, Luccia, you still won't have to worry anymore about Kaine. Riff asked me to chaperone this little video shoot along with Sakura, from the top floor. So Kaine won't try anything with either you or Merryweather while we're there."
She mumbles something that I don't quite hear, and I lean down a little bit more.
"What was that, Luccia?"
"I said, please try not to do anything to Kaine tonight, Martin. I don't want you to get into trouble with Yuki-sensei. You know how mad she'd be if she found out."
That startles me for half a second until I remember that I hadn't given Luccia her envelope. So Luccia doesn't know about Yuki-san's departure yet. Good. She'd worry even more if she knew that I had a whole year in which to practice my "lower" skills. On Yuki-san's orders, no less. Irony is a wonderful thing sometimes.
Luccia has stopped shaking, but I am reluctant to let her go. In all my wanderings and schemes here, I realize that I've left Luccia pretty much on her own, and I resolve to spend more time with her as soon as things get back to semi-sanity.
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Post by RisuChan on Oct 20, 2003 19:39:22 GMT -5
[arriving from the hallway conversation with Riff at sakuracrisis.proboards22.com/index.cgi?board=yukiverse&thread=1065278287&action=display&start=25][Character POV: Sakura] From my vantage point at the door of the conservatory, it looks like the mayhem and carnage is dying down at this location... next to be hauled up through my own home, naturally. A quick glance around the place gives me enough of an assessment for the moment. Assorted longsuffering tech types taking directions from the very frazzled violinist; the lead singer entertaining himself by toying with the Count's sister, the little blonde who looks so startlingly like Ellone; some other corseted neoVictorian refugee huddled in a corner shivering with the aftermath of something, and Martin the steward from the third floor making an attempt at keeping her from falling apart entirely. No blood yet, no sirens, haven't heard any gunshots or screaming, and nobody else seems particularly traumatized, so my best guess is that, like Riff, the poor woman having well-bred not-quite-hysterics must feel some kind of responsibility for reining in that little blonde banshee who set off this whole mess. Right. I walk over towards Martin and the unfamiliar woman. I don't see Martin at the Friday night servants' gatherings very often, and he keeps to himself when he does come, but at least I know his name. "What kind of wild-eyed schemes has the little minx over there plotted up since Riff let her out of his sight?" The girl says tentatively, "Riff did try to get her to promise not to plan anything else for the evening..." "And did that promise last longer than thirty seconds after he left the room?" Her cheeks pink a little. "She hasn't said anything out loud..." "Right." "She's a very creative child," the girl says, somewhat apologetically. "She can get creative with her own dwelling-place as much as her brother lets her get away with," I reply, sour-voiced. "I am not, however, letting her get 'creative' on my apartment." "Don't you mean 'with'...?" I consider that for a moment. My grasp of modern grammar is not entirely what it should be. But... "No, I think I mean 'on.' As in 'getting medieval on one's ass' and the like. Which we may need to do to her, come to think of it." The little blonde's section of the film shoot is finishing up; she comes trotting over with what she clearly intends to be a Shirley Temple heartwarming smile. It wavers just a little when she notices that it's having no effect whatsoever. "You're the genius responsible for this?" I ask her. The sarcasm is not lost on her, but still she nods vigorously. "My name's Merryweather Hargreaves. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir." She holds out a hand to me. I know my cues. I drop to one knee and kiss the back of her hand... and let her feel just enough pressure from my grip to make her realize I could snap her bones like an eggshell if I cared to. Her eyes widen a little. "My name is Sakura," I tell her. "And if I were you, I'd reserve judgement about whether my acquaintance is a pleasure or not until after you've finished whatever idiocy you're planning for the part of the building which I live directly beneath." Her eyes widen, and then narrow. Great. Takes a hint only long enough to start calculating alternate angles of attack, eh? Brat, you are several hundred years too young to pull anything past me. Don't make me damage you too badly when I convince you of it.Standing again, I look around at the various boxes and crates having light and sound equipment being stowed into them. "All this stuff goes onto the roof, then?" One of the techs nods, so I pick up a crate with each hand. The violinist looks over at me then, momentarily puzzled. "The name's Sakura," I tell him. "Riff's deputy for the evening." And possibly your worst nightmare. Although after tonight, I may be vying for that position with the little she-imp here... "I live on the top floor. The elevator doesn't go all the way up to the roof. We'll set up a staging area in the central lounge and then do a bucket-brigade to get them up the last set of stairs. So if we're done here, what are you standing around staring for? The sooner we get up there, the sooner you get it over with, and the sooner I don't have to deal with this anymore! Move it, people!" [Next stop: the Bloodhound floor for transfer to the roof and acquisition of more unwilling victims: sakuracrisis.proboards22.com/index.cgi?board=yukiverse&action=display&thread=1065434677&start=3 ]
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Post by RisuChan on Oct 26, 2003 11:24:21 GMT -5
[This is a jump ahead in the timeline just so Carole can have Cain wake up "tomorrow" if she wants... this comes after the music-video-making scene which hasn't been written yet... I was hoping the other timelines were going to catch up relatively quickly, but maybe not. I feel bad for Carole being on hold waiting for the rest of us to catch up to her... ^^;; ]
[middle of the night, after the music video shoot which hasn't yet been written ^^;;; ]
[character POV: Sakura]
It's been one hell of a long night and it's barely past midnight yet. The film crew hasn't left any gaping holes in our roof, and the little blonde witchlet has been safely (and forcibly) returned to her room; if I were the Count I'd put the little minx on a leash and chain her to a bedpost whenever she wasn't being actively supervised. I'm amazed at his forbearance, however much she complains about his restraints on her lifestyle. Since I'm already on the first floor, I might as well start my patrol from here.
A scent in the hallway stops me cold in my tracks.
Chateau Montifaud cognac, at least a century old, and wet carpet.
WHY, THAT PRETENTIOUS LITTLE SNOT--
That does it. I rip off my crucifix and drop it to the floor like the ridiculous hobble it is, let my material form drop away, and walk straight through his wall. You DON'T treat century-old Chateau Montifaud cognac that way!
There's a bookshelf on the other side of the wall; I walk through that too, twitching from a combination of the tickle of the paper and the sheer seething outrage. There's glass all over the floor -- Sevres crystal -- and the carpet is drenched with a treasure more precious than blood. I should know. Spilling blood doesn't bother me in the least.
I'm sure Riff would have quite a few things to say to me if I strung up his arrogant little lordling like a side of meat and left him to bleed his life out screaming for forgiveness of his varied sins. So instead I bend over his bed and put a hand through his skull and storm through his mind until I walk into his dreams.
hunted...
darkness, fog, chill, a great black tree...
an echo of the father's voice, laughing, closer now...
Yeah, yeah, whatever. I've caused more nightmares than he's ever had.
The 'self' that I finally run to ground in this nightmare-scape looks up at me from a child's face, maybe eight years old, his eyes enormous with terror.
Then he focuses on me, and he blinks in some bemusement.
"You're not Father..."
You only WISHED your father was your worst nightmare, you narcissistic little brat. "Your father can go bugger himself. We have something much more serious to talk about."
He looks past my shoulder and his eyes widen again, and he flinches back against the tree, then gasps in pain at the bark digging into bloody wounds on his back.
"Out of my way," his father's voice says from behind me, and a whip cracks across my dream-self.
That does it. Calling up this much power spills over even in the dream world; my hair crackles with something like unholy static electricity, floating around me like a demonic halo, and I turn the face of a monster toward a man who only wishes he knew how to give pain.
"You pathetic excuse for a wannabe sadist -- are you proud of yourself? It takes a real man to beat up a child half his size, doesn't it! If the kid was any taller you'd be in danger of getting your shins kicked when he thrashes in agony, and we can't have THAT now can we?"
"Who do you think you are?"
"Someone with a FAR more important matter to discuss with the Earl of Hargreaves, you impotent little tinhorn dictator! Sod off and go get your jollies kicking puppies or something!"
There's a half-strangled sound behind me. I don't care whether the little snot is amused or horrified; his father's the one with the horsewhip.
"Why, you--" He takes another lash at me.
The things aren't hard to catch when you're willing to step in to have them snap around your forearm and don't care whether the free end takes an eye. He clearly wasn't expecting that. And he doesn't have the wit to let go of his favorite toy when I jerk on it hard enough to make him stumble forward.
"Like I said," I tell him grimly, "you'd have gotten your worthless skull ripped off and handed to you on a silver platter if you'd ever picked on anyone your own size before."
His eyes are going a little wider now. That's better. I hate it when they're too stupid even to know they're looking straight in the eyes of their own personal demon from hell.
Now that the realization has sunk in a little, I lunge for him.
"Don't--!"
For a minute the voice startles me. Nobody human is going to have the breath to make a sound when I've got both hands around his throat. Then I remember there's another arrogant Hargreaves here to vent my frustration on. Fortunately, I have a lot of frustration available for the venting. He can wait his turn.
"Don't," the boy says again. "He's my father."
As tempted as I am to rip the man's head off in his dreams and see if that exorcises at least one of the kid's personal demons, I suspect it would probably just traumatize him further. Instead, I wait until his dream-father's body has stopped struggling and twitching and trying vainly to breathe, then toss the limp and unconscious body off to one side.
"Right. He's yours to deal with some other time." For whatever sick value of dealing-with this kid has in his nightmares. "Right now you're mine to deal with. Wake up already."
I grab his dream-consciousness by the scruff of the collar and unceremoniously drag us both back out of his head.
(part 1 of 2...)
[belated note: urgh, when did it decide that a capital D was a grinning smiley? @_@ hopefully fixed now...]
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Post by RisuChan on Oct 26, 2003 11:24:38 GMT -5
[part 2 of 2...]
Even semiconscious, the boy's huddled up in a little ball of pain, still flashing back to his father and that damned whip and still not completely cognizant of the fact that he's really not going to be whipped again.
No, he's not going to be that lucky. I have far more serious matters to talk about.
"How do you think you're going to explain yourself this time, you egotistical little narcissist?"
The child cowering in his semiconscious mind responds promptly, if almost incoherently, to authoritatively barked orders. "...threw him out..."
"What?"
"...I... I threw him out...!"
"SO WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH THE DECANTER OF COGNAC?!"
He uncurls a little and blinks at me, his eyes still white-rimmed with terror -- or maybe that was me. "Cognac...?"
He sounds so totally bewildered that it pisses me off even further.
"The decanter of century-old Chateau Montifaud cognac you just threw on the floor in your pathetic excuse for a self-indulgent pity party, what else?!"
With the covers pulled up to his chin and those enormous terrified eyes staring at me, he looks far too much like the beaten child his father had traumatized.
This is no time for me to be getting soft. Priorities are priorities.
"So you threw him out because he couldn't spend every conscious moment of his life catering to your every whim? How unbelievably mature of you!"
"I told him that!" the boy cries, and his voice trembles on the verge of breaking. "I told him he didn't have time for me -- I told him that... that's why..."
"That's why you decided to rip the last remaining constant out of that poor devoted idiot's life just when he's already had the rest of his universe turned inside-out and stir-fried? And that's why you thought it would be such a good idea to waste a treasure like Chateau Montifaud on your floor? So that someone else comes in and cleans up your messes yet again?"
"That's not true!" he cries, in shaking outrage. "It's not true-- I... I sent him away for his own good! He couldn't have lived a year like that--!"
"You're too damn right about half of that. But you sent him away because your arrogance-blinded narrow little world view couldn't conceive of any middle ground between 'he lives and breathes for me' and 'I've been abandoned yet again, poor pitiful me!'"
"How dare you? Our relationship is none of your business!"
"When you use a ninety-three-thousand-yen decanter of century-old Chateau Montifaud cognac in Sevres crystal in order to throw fits of infantile pique, I damn well MAKE it my business!"
His jaw is hanging open slightly. Good to know I haven't lost my touch just because I feel a little sorry for him.
"Now, a rational person would have looked at your butler having his own personal nervous breakdown and said 'all right, you need some help, here's what we'll do. Tell me how many of the staff you need for house management, tell me how much of their time you need; you're accustomed to managing a mansion, we'll sit down and figure out what resources you need in order to make it happen.' But no, not you; you decided to pull the last dependable purpose out of his life just when he's been made personally responsible for managing something no single human ought to have to put up with."
"And that's why I let him go!" the boy replied, ashen-faced and shaking all over. "I don't know how to run a house. I could only have gotten in his way. I know that. He's better off without me..."
I really can be a nice guy. I'm careful not to snap his neck when I reach over and cuff him across the head. He doesn't even look any more concussed than he has for the rest of the conversation. And I'm even careful not to shake him so hard as to cause brain damage when I reach over and catch him by the front of the nightshirt and rattle him a little.
"Did you ever stop to think that anybody who pours that much of himself and his self-concept into serving someone else is just as codependent as you are?"
"But... he'll be happier if... if he doesn't have to think about me..."
"If you really think that, then you're too damned blind and stupid to still be breathing," I reply flatly. "You live in this building. You are still breathing. That means that you can't possibly be that stupid! And you're also a damn sight better at taking care of things by yourself than you want to admit when you're too busy wasting priceless cognac on your self-pity fits!"
"He doesn't have time to take care of me along with everything else," the boy whispers, glaring down at his bandaged hands.
"Damn straight he doesn't," I snap right back at him. "So start taking care of yourself, instead of destroying an invaluable treasure to make a mess for other people to clean up!"
I stalk over to the bed and stare down at him from three inches away. I'm sure he can see my face from the faint greenish witchlight of the amount of sheer power I'm trying not to pour through his body in order to fry him to a crisp.
"Because you're such a thoughtful self-absorbed histrionic little toff, you thought it would be a good test of his true devotion, is that right? He disobeys your orders tomorrow morning and comes to check on you, and finds glass all over the floor and the place reeking of priceless alcohol, and he berates himself for another nice long while about how he's failed to meet your tyrannical whims and fancies? Or he doesn't disobey you and some other servant comes in, and quite rationally grumbles about being made to clean up a spoiled brat's mess, and you get to have yourself another self-indulgent pity party about how the only one who's ever understood you has been snatched away, because Riff would have cleaned up after your childish fits without daring to venture a word of protest?"
"That's not true!"
I brace myself for him to throw himself at me; instead, shaking all over, he gets out of bed and kneels on the floor and starts picking up the shards, awkwardly, because the bandages make it difficult for him to bend his fingers well.
"That's not true," he whispers again, staring down at the floor; I almost expect the cognac to burst into flame from the heat of that golden-eyed glare. "I just... I wanted... to make it easier for him..."
I'm trying to be nice. I bite back my first sarcastic comment about how making expensive messes for other people to clean up is obviously a nobleman's idea of helping. I even bite back my second sarcastic comment about how obvious it is that he's had someone else to clean up after him his whole life. Anyone who's ever dealt with quantities of broken glass goes and gets something to use as a dustpan and brush, even if it's just two pieces of paper.
I get a couple of pieces of stationery off his desk and kneel beside him to start scooping the shards of crystal into the trash. The paper is much faster, and much less painful if something slips. There's nothing to do about the cognac itself at the moment; that would need a wet-dry vacuum at the least, and I'm sure this kid has no idea where to find one of those.
When the last of the crystal on the floor has been dealt with, I chase him back into bed so that he's close enough to the candlelight for me to take his bandaged hands and look them over for the glitter of any remaining glass splinters.
I plan on sending him back to sleep and convincing him the rest of this was just a particularly vivid dream with his own subconscious providing the scolding. So I don't want there to be any evidence.
Really.
And dammit, I am not going to feel sorry for him.
His father isn't even very good with a horsewhip. The next time I lay eyes -- shortly to be followed by hands -- on the man, I'm going to give him a proper demonstration of how to use a horsewhip. A very thorough and advanced lesson in how to cause real pain with a whip in configurations his limited little brain could never have imagined.
The boy's eyes are guarded and skeptical while he watches me look over his hands. "So the glass is gone. Now what?" he asks me, warily.
"Now you learn to stop and think instead of just reacting!" I tell him, exasperated. "Stop and think how he feels. Do you honestly -- honestly believe that he'll be happier when he doesn't have to think about you? Do you think he even could stop thinking about you? Just like that? Do you think he could just stop thinking about you any more than you could just stop thinking about him?"
"...Oh." He looks down at his hands again, and touches one of the bandages; I don't need to guess who put them on him. Then he looks up at me again, with a rather cheekily sardonic twist to that wry grin.
Talk about nerve. The boy has plenty of that. It appears to run in the family.
"You should be more careful," he says, pulling the sheets up and pausing for a wide yawn. "If you don't watch yourself, you might be in danger of causing people to think there are occasions on which you're not a perfect bastard. Of course, you're still an arrogant elitist oenophilic culture snob."
Hmph. I bend over close enough that he can feel the chill of power in my words as I murmur into his ear, "Next time your father decides to pretend he's the worst thing that's ever walked through one of your nightmares, tell him to keep an eye over his shoulder looking for me."
He shudders and pulls the blankets over his head. "God, I want this nightmare over with already...!"
I'm not sure whether he means tonight or this year, but I privately and silently second the motion. The books still tickle when I walk through them, but I'd better go and reclaim my crucifix before some overambitious housemaid 'cleans it up.'
Some nights, I think that the most contemptuous curse word ever invented is "Humans..."
[ed note: urgh jr, see also smiley-killing note above...]
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Post by GhostCarole on Oct 27, 2003 23:58:05 GMT -5
Hi, Crystal here!
::ducks thrown objects::
Hey! Anyway, just saving a spot for Carole to post a reaction from Cain, if she wants it to happen in the night time.
If not, Risu-chan can surely delete this, with Cain happily waiting until morning to react.
~Crystal (gotta love the fact that guests are able to post here too)
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Crystallyne
Junior Member
You're just jealous because the voices only talk to me.
Posts: 71
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Post by Crystallyne on Oct 28, 2003 0:06:02 GMT -5
[Character POV: Martin]
It's the middle of the night, and Luccia wants tea. Hot tea, no less.
Julian was eagerly volunteering to go get it for her, but now that Yuki-san isn't here I want to be extra careful to keep to our established roles, so here I am, trudging down to the kitchen for tea. To be fair, though, Luccia's earned a treat, after holding up so well during that circus mascarading as a video shoot. I'm just thankful that it's finally over. Even the memory of those hours passed is enough to make me sympathize with poor Riff. I wonder how he manages to put up with her constantly?
Wait a minute, how did I end up here? I look around, startled. Somehow, I've gotten off on the first floor instead of the ground floor, and now I'm standing in the Hargreaves' hallway.
Please, whoever's listening, please don't let that little whirlwind be awake.
The moonlight shining through the window glints off of an object on the floor. Coming closer, I recognize it as the cross Sakura had been wearing all night. After seeing the decor in his living area, there's no mistaking who owns this particular piece of silver.
What's this doing here? Hmm, did Sakura run into trouble on his first night-watch? If so, I pity the poor fool that chose to mess with him. After observing Sakura and the others that live with him all night, I've come to the conclusion that they're not human, either. Oh, they hide it well. But no one is that strong, or that silent. No one human, that is.
It doesn't phase me nearly as much as it should. It's actually a comfort knowing that something non-human is in charge of the night-time hours. Sakura should be able to handle any of the other creatures populating this building, at any rate.
I straighten and put the crucifix in my pocket. I'll just return it to him tomorrow when he gives Riff his "report". Riff will want me to be there, I'm sure. And if Sakura hasn't told him already, I can assure him that the music video was "supervised". Controlled, no. Sane, no. Pleasant, definitely no. But supervised, yes.
Sighing slightly, I turn back towards the elevators. Luccia wants tea, I remind myself. The kitchen is on the ground floor. I silently debate on whether the convenience of a modern-style appliance in our floor (like a microwave) would outweigh the disadvantages of form and comfort. I know Luccia doesn't care for modern technology, and I'm not too fond of it myself. Julian would probably enjoy learning to use them, just in order to be able to actually serve us while we're all at home. He hates playing at lord when he really wants to fulfill his duties as servant.
Why is this elevator taking so long? Only the thought of my aching calves prevents me from taking the stairs.
Finally the doors open and I step inside. As the doors close, I catch sight of a faint greenish light approaching the hallway I had just vacated. Probably someone using one of those electric lights instead of a proper candle.
The doors open silently once again and I step out into the ground floor. Okay, kitchen is that way. Shaking my head, I just hope I don't run into anyone else tonight.
[Next stop: The kitchen for tea - sakuracrisis.proboards22.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=yukiverse&thread=1064964629&start=30 ]
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Post by Carole on Nov 4, 2003 17:45:28 GMT -5
[Rather short, I know...but there's only so much moping I can make Cain do by himself XD]
[Character POV: Cain]
Sleep has left me.
It’s been several hours since that nightmare occurred. Although I’m having trouble believing it was just a nightmare. The glass on the floor is no longer there, after all.
Unable to sleep and quite shaken, I had thrown on a robe and retreated to my study. The smell of old books and leather was much more calming. Lighting all the lamps I had tried to busy myself with reading, but finally gave up when I found myself reading the same pages over and over. I’ve been switching between pacing and sitting in my chair staring blankly into space. At the moment I’m currently seated behind my desk.
Was I wrong?
This question and many others have been plaguing my thoughts since I sought refuge here. I honestly thought I had done the right thing by ordering Riff away.
Now I feel as if I know nothing. My mind is filled with more questions than answers. My sleep deprived and distraught self is probably allowing me to be more concerned with that creature’s (because that was no man) words than I normally would, but I see truth in what he said.
And that does nothing to ease my mind.
I turn the page in one of the books I had laid out on my desk in an attempt to distract myself. It’s useless. I’m not able to concentrate.
Light from the early morning is starting to filter in from behind me through the curtains. I hear the sound of footsteps outside my study. The servants are awake.
And soon to follow would be Merryweather. Unless, of course, the events of last night wore her out.
The servants have likely already noticed the absence of a certain butler. A simple explanation is all I would have to give them. But my precious sister…
Maybe she will be too wrapped up in her latest fixation of music videos to notice.
Yeah, and maybe Jezebel will announce his undying love for humanity.
I bury my head in my hands. This study and it’s mountains of books hold no answers for me.
I do know something, though. Today I have no desire to meet with the world outside my walls.
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Post by RisuChan on Nov 10, 2003 22:49:29 GMT -5
[character POV: Riff]
When I open the door to Master Cain's rooms as quietly as I can manage, the smell of spilled alcohol is strong enough to be nearly overpowering. It shakes me, and I pause for a moment to catch both my breath and my equilibrium.
I slept very little last night, between making lists, making plans, and worrying about what I was about to do this morning. In all my years as Master Cain's servant, I have never once walked into his rooms intending to defy him to his face and to remain there until the bitter end of the shouting match likely to ensue.
Of course, Master Cain had never previously dismissed me from his service, either.
Pushing back the lingering twinge of pain at that thought, I carefully made my way across the room to the heavy curtains blocking out the morning sunlight, and opened them just enough to look around the room.
The pool of spilled cognac is visible, splashed across the floor at the base of his bookshelf, but there was no telltale glitter of glass -- not until I looked into the wastebasket.
For a moment, that in itself baffled me.
The cognac shattered last night -- with his hands bandaged, perhaps he lost his hold on it -- and he didn't call me to help? Why didn't he--
...oh.
Definitely not enough sleep. But I certainly wasn't in the habit of thinking of myself as discarded by my lord on a level that deep in my consciousness.
...And I don't intend to start, either.
The door to his bedroom is cracked open a bit, the bedsheets rumpled and abandoned, and the door to his study is closed. I wonder if he has had as difficult a night as I have. I hope not. I wouldn't wish my past night -- my past twenty-four hours, in fact -- on anyone.
It takes more courage than I'd expected, to walk toward his door in the full awareness that I am about to provoke a fight. I have never once provoked him intentionally. I know how sensitive he is; I've done all that is in my ability to comfort him, to shield him from any thought of friction between us. As his devoted servant, it is my place to do as he wishes, when he wishes.
A servant has no place arguing with his master, defying him...
...but then, when he declared me no longer his servant, he forfeited that right to order me to obey him without any thought of resistance.
If he wishes to order me to obey, then first he must reclaim his right to command me. In the meantime, I will do as I must, despite the knowledge that I defy him to do so.
And after all, it is not the first time I have contradicted an order for his own sake. If I hadn't followed my intuition to his side any number of times when I'd been ordered to remain elsewhere...
...the results don't bear contemplation.
Still, it is harder to do than I would ever have imagined. I've only lifted my hand to knock, I haven't actually made contact with the door, and yet I hear his voice from inside.
"Williams, if that's you, go away. I don't wish to be disturbed."
His voice is hoarse and ragged, and it tears at me to hear it. I lean against the doorframe for a moment, torn by an agony of indecision. I cannot leave it like this -- but perhaps I should wait for the wound to heal in both of us, for the memory not to be so fresh...
...and he hears the absence rather than the presence -- lack of departing footsteps in response to his command.
"I said leave me alone!"
My hand is opening the door before I realize what I'm even doing.
"Williams, you impertinent--"
Then the door opens enough that he can see my face. Master Cain stops short, staring up at me for a moment, his face a tangle of emotions too intertwined for me to read.
A moment later, he finishes the sentence. "You impertinent wretch, what do you think you're doing? I gave you an order. Leave me."
"My lord," I reply, "that is the one order I will never obey."
He turns away from me sharply, torn by his own internal struggle. "Get out. Nothing's changed since last night. I told you that you are dismissed--"
"You can't have it both ways, Master Cain," I tell him, as gently as I can. "If you declare that you have dismissed me from your service, then you can no longer give me orders and expect me to obey. If I am not to be your servant, then I will be here at your side through my own will, rather than yours. But I will be here. My mistake, last night, was in believing that you were the only one with the power to make that choice. I have lived by your orders for so many years that I had forgotten what it is to have choices of my own... but I do remember, now. It is your choice to say whether or not you permit me to retain the title of the steward of your household; but it is my choice to say that whether or not you call me your servant, I will remain here at your side through as much of this as I can. If not as one who serves you, then as one who has loved you for years."
It hit him harder than I'd expected; he swayed on his feet, and clutched at the velvet of the window curtains so tightly his knuckles were white. "Riff--"
"My lord, you cannot discard what I am to you with a handful of aching words," I told him. "I have watched you grow from a precocious child to a brilliant and admirable man, and I am, I dare say, closer to you than almost any of your own blood kin. That is not a thing which can be so easily dismissed. Revoke my title if you wish. But unless you plan to have me removed from the premises by force, I will never leave you alone again. You told me often that I would never escape your grasp. It's my turn to return those words to you. You are mine, my lord, and I will never again let you go."
"Yuki--"
"The woman can go fry herself in a hell of her own choosing," I tell him, with an uncharacteristic note of bitterness audible even to myself. "The house can go fry itself. I'm sure it will try its best to do so, no matter what I choose. I will do my best to keep this place sane. There will be times when I will not succeed. There will be times that I, as the manager of the building, cannot do all that I wish I could do for you, my lord and my master. But I will do everything that it is in me to do -- both for this house and for you. And I will not allow anyone to tell me that I cannot serve you both to the best of my ability. I will not accept it from her... and I will not accept it from you, my lord."
This is the breaking point; I can hear it in the way he's breathing. All I can do now is stand and wait to see which way the tempest blows me -- whether I've destroyed the rest of our kinship with my defiance, or whether he is willing to accept the fact that he's finally found the one order I will never obey.
Oddly enough, I'm almost calm, now that it's all been said.
"How dare you?" he whispers.
"It's rather simple, sir," I say, and realize that I'm still shaking despite the peculiar echoing silence inside. "If I am your servant, then I will accept your orders. But if I am not your servant, then I accept no orders but my own. During this last night, I decided what my orders to myself were to be. If you wish to countermand them, sir, you'll need to accept me back into your service first."
"With, I presume, the same result, if I were to give the same order?"
I shrug a little, almost embarrassed. "It's been so long since I've been my own master, I'd almost forgotten what a stubborn individual I can be, when left to my own devices, sir."
"You muleheaded idiot..."
"Yes, sir," I agree, without a moment's hesitation. "It would likely be in both our best interests if you were to permit me to resume my place, so that I can accept your orders again. But that is your choice, sir, just as it is my choice to be here, now, through my own will. So what is it that you wish, my lord...?"
"Not 'what is it that I command?'" He still refuses to look at me.
"That depends on your own answer, sir."#nosmileys
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Alter
New Member
Posts: 35
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Post by Alter on Dec 24, 2003 11:18:07 GMT -5
<Character POV: Cashian>
The doctor condition actually worries me that much that I eventually decided to check him first time in the morning.
Not that I want to act as a worrisome old hag, I just need to discuss my newest assignment, now that the sixth floor residents is all covered. And tell you what, it's fairly easy when there's no psychos with some psycho power involved. Truth to be told, he actually didn't welcomed the prospect of a new surveillance mission, given that the safest floor is out of option.
Okay, so maybe he acted like a worrisome old hag. Got any problem with that?
"I will have problem accessing to my own room if you standing there, Cashian," Doctor's low voice looming from behind him. Involuntarily he gave a tiny yelp and jumped aside.
"D..Doctor! Don't freak me out like that!" ......and stop short when I see his clothing.
Long and hooded black coat covered black clothing he wears underneath, and in his one hand is an eerie mask.
Delilah's Major Arcana meeting...at this morning hour?
he chuckled a bit, damn him and his twisted preference for 'coming out from nowhere' habit to freak the hell out of other people. I continued glaring as he walked past me, inserts the key, and push the door open. I followed him inside.
"you obviously lacked of training to not noticing my presence, Cashian" he turned and began taking off his coat, "better be careful. Delilah didn't have tolerance with incompetency," and then with three long strides, seated himself behind the desk.
"try to be around a little more, Cashian," he smiled humorlessly at me, "At least until you had the adult body you desire most"
I found myself gritting teeth and glaring at him angrily. But he seems amused to see me even more fuming
"I trust you still has competency to bring me the report then?"
"obviously you lack of the said competence--didn't check your desk last night," I retorted sharply as Doctor look questioningly from behind his desk. "I delivered them yesterday afternoon, you know, when you go climb a tree instead of meeting me here"
I wondered if I have gone too far as Doctor sharply pushes his glasses further up his nose. He began arranging the file that stacked on his desk, extracting one map--my report and reading it--all in complete mute silence.
I stood--also in silence and slowly hated everything that going on. Hating him to dare try to provoke me. Hating myself for being successfully provoked. Hating the Doctor for leashing his own anger at him. And hating himself for lashing back that anger.
God, he even hates the terrible feelings he feels at this very moment.
I had tried to formed an apology, but can't find the courage to speak it aloud. If the words seems very awkward in his own mind, the cold atmosphere that quickly surrounding the Doctor makes it even more harder to say.
And judging the Doctor, he might find it more insulting than soothing.
The heavy air of silence continued on for 5 more minutes, and when I actually consider to leave Doctor alone to read the report, he closed the file, and (for the first time since I came) looking directly into my eyes.
It would be much relieving if he looking mad instead of looking expresionless like that.
"my apology, 'Trump-kun" finally, he said calmly. "But I'm afraid I had given you an entirely wrong task"
I deliberately casts aside the fact that he was addressing me as nothing more than a mere underling, "Wrong task?"
"the surveillance mission should be on fifth floor residents, not on sixth as I previously assigned you...."
<Alter note: sorry if it's crappy, but I think it's time for Delilah to get into 'action'. Probably getting Jezebel's paired post sometimes soon ^^.....>
[Risu's note: did the smiley killing thing for Alter... wondering what the heck is going to be going on too... ^^;;]
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Post by Carole on Feb 7, 2004 1:48:15 GMT -5
[Character POV: Cain]
I’m not quite sure how much time has past since I first came here…an hour…two hours? And sooner or later I’m going to have to leave, and do something to get my mind off all of this.
But I seem to have receded into some sort of slump. I don’t want to move or do anything.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t regret the dismissal. Because I do. I did it because I though it was the only thing I could do for Riff.
Riff…
I slam the book shut on my desk angrily and think to myself, “It’s done and over with. Thinking about it couldn’t possibly change this.”
I manage to pull myself together somewhat. After all, I am a Count with a little sister to take care of and a household to manage now that the butler…is…
There’s the sound of footsteps approaching my door. Probably Williams….
"Williams, if that's you, go away. I don't wish to be disturbed."
I’m surprised not to hear the sound of retreating footsteps, and my voice sharpens.
"I said leave me alone!"
To my even greater surprise the door actually opens. The nerve of the man.
"Williams, you impertinent--"
I can’t finish the sentence…because it isn’t Williams at all….it’s Riff.
I immediately wonder if the whole situation wasn’t some nightmare, and that I’ve been asleep in my study after having a few too many drinks, and the past day or so was all just in my imagination.
The bandages on my hands say differently though. And so does the expression of Riff’s face. He’s not here to bring me tea, or tell me about the latest trouble Merryweather has caused. He has something to say, otherwise he wouldn’t directly disobey me.
I don’t want to hear it. I just managed to scrape myself together.
"You impertinent wretch, what do you think you're doing? I gave you an order. Leave me."
He doesn’t hesitant at all which makes his answer resonate even louder in my ears.
"My lord, that is the one order I will never obey."
I turn away, “Get out. Nothing's changed since last night. I told you that you are dismissed--"
"You can't have it both ways, Master Cain," I tell him, as gently as I can. "If you declare that you have dismissed me from your service, then you can no longer give me orders and expect me to obey. If I am not to be your servant, then I will be here at your side through my own will, rather than yours. But I will be here. My mistake, last night, was in believing that you were the only one with the power to make that choice. I have lived by your orders for so many years that I had forgotten what it is to have choices of my own... but I do remember, now. It is your choice to say whether or not you permit me to retain the title of the steward of your household; but it is my choice to say that whether or not you call me your servant, I will remain here at your side through as much of this as I can. If not as one who serves you, then as one who has loved you for years."
Each sentence, with his outpouring of words, is breaking down my resolve. I can’t form the words to order him away once more or to call for those that would come and drag him out.
“Riff--”
"My lord, you cannot discard what I am to you with a handful of aching words. I have watched you grow from a precocious child to a brilliant and admirable man, and I am, I dare say, closer to you than almost any of your own blood kin. That is not a thing which can be so easily dismissed. Revoke my title if you wish. But unless you plan to have me removed from the premises by force, I will never leave you alone again. You told me often that I would never escape your grasp. It's my turn to return those words to you. You are mine, my lord, and I will never again let you go."
I’m not used to having my words turned back on me. Especially in such a way as this. I manage my first protest.
“Yuki--”
He cuts me off.
"The woman can go fry herself in a hell of her own choosing. The house can go fry itself. I'm sure it will try its best to do so, no matter what I choose. I will do my best to keep this place sane. There will be times when I will not succeed. There will be times that I, as the manager of the building, cannot do all that I wish I could do for you, my lord and my master. But I will do everything that it is in me to do -- both for this house and for you. And I will not allow anyone to tell me that I cannot serve you both to the best of my ability. I will not accept it from her... and I will not accept it from you, my lord."
I can feel my anger starting to boil up and overcome other emotions. I don’t like and am not used to being disobeyed in such a way, especially from Riff…then again the fact that it is Riff has probably kept me from loosing my temper sooner.
"How dare you?"
“It's rather simple, sir. If I am your servant, then I will accept your orders. But if I am not your servant, then I accept no orders but my own. During this last night, I decided what my orders to myself were to be. If you wish to countermand them, sir, you'll need to accept me back into your service first."
"With, I presume, the same result, if I were to give the same order?"
"It's been so long since I've been my own master, I'd almost forgotten what a stubborn individual I can be, when left to my own devices, sir."
"You muleheaded idiot..."
I let you go…
"Yes, sir. It would likely be in both our best interests if you were to permit me to resume my place, so that I can accept your orders again. But that is your choice, sir, just as it is my choice to be here, now, through my own will. So what is it that you wish, my lord...?"
…and you discover your free will again….
"Not 'what is it that I command?’”
So what do you do with it…?
"That depends on your own answer, sir."
You come back to me.
Finally I look at him. He’s waiting quite patiently (or so it seems) for my response. I take a few moments until I’m able to speak as normally as possible.
“So, you’re here to stay…is that it? This is where you want to be, so this is where you are going to be? What if I told you, that I no longer want you to be here? That, as a matter of fact, your position is already filled? Would you still feel the same way? If you had known that, would you have still come here saying the same things?”
With each sentence my words are becoming sharper, as pent-up emotions start to emerge.
“I had no doubts that you would serve both this floor and the building to the best of your abilities. I know that you’ll try to be in too many places at once and that you’ll run yourself right into the ground. Numerous times, in fact. Can you live like that for as long as that woman is gone, or even survive it?”
I pause for a moment.
“I’ve no desire to see you like that, all because you did not wish to leave, and I wanted you back."
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Post by REWR on Mar 2, 2007 8:20:44 GMT -5
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Post by qweasd on Aug 5, 2007 23:04:03 GMT -5
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