The Taste of Revenge

Ivory raised his glass as well in a show of comradery that he wished to see dead more than any other citizen of The Light with a smile and a nod, knowing he had to keep an image too, similar to Elior; he needed these people to see him as softspoken and gentle as well, perhaps even see him as a bit simple. These people mustn't know just how much of a threat he really was, and how much of a threat he was about to be.

No, they mustn't know that he fully intended to launch their picturesque kingdom into absolute hell within the next few hours, whether he had to actively search out Elior or not - because while he hated the Prince, that hatred was nothing compared to the pure fucking rage he felt when watching the King. No playing around, no taunting. No, he would follow his plan to a T with the King and Queen as he let his eyes return to the finished food in front of him, sipping on his wine.

He couldn't do anything, no matter what Ivory tried. He watched his sister closely, playing with the fringe of her shawl as he sat by her side. His fingers hurt, having not quite gotten used to using a pickaxe yet and a distinct red oozed from the scrapes on his hand if he flexed them too much. The same kind of red that stained his sister's blankets from coughing up blood. She had become unresponsive at this point, the woman he looked up to for so many years now a husk of what she had been, what she could have been. Their father said that medicine would not be offered to the people of The Dark for at least a month but he wasn't exactly sure why. Did he have to write to the King himself? Would he listen then? He was just a young boy, barely a man, but maybe he could make a change with his letter?

He was making a change now, no kind letter or begging would have helped and he knew that now. Ivory's eyes locked on the glass of wine he held carefully in his hand before finishing it off in one gulp. He needed it if he was going to get through the rest of the dinner party. Then he would dismiss himself, wait until nightfall, and get the hell out of The Light with Elior in tow, whether that be him dead or alive.

"Well, I do hope your son returns soon. Ruling a country cannot be done on an empty stomach, hm?" Ivory added after a moment, his voice a bit airy as he spoke. Perhaps it could be read as daydreaming or a sign of just how tired he was but it was mostly due to him trying to focus his energy on not using the steak knife that say by his hand and lunging for the King himself.
 
"Quite right, indeed. But he shan't be too long, I imagine. A few signatures on a piece of paper can't take too much time," the King continued with a dismissive wave of his hand, chuckling to himself once again as his son's perceived endless kindness was emphasised. As regrettable as it was, Aledeus found himself accepting the fact that Elior prioritised his duty over that of a simple dinner - his presence was missed, and the event would be far more memorable with him sat engaging with their guests, but how could he really foster discontent with his son when Elior was his pride and joy?

No, nothing Elior did would cause disappointment or unhappiness to register in the King's mind, much like how Elior's mother was always quick to offer her son the ferocity of her defence, no matter what that defence was in place for. They had waited years upon years, spanning the decades, for their son, who arrived into the world when they had finally abandoned the hope of ever having a child to call their own. He was their miracle and had gone on to be a figure who the rest of The Light could also look upon and regard with similar depths of devotion and adoration.

Aledeus was far from likely to pin any blame on Elior, or harbour irritation towards him for seemingly prioritising work over their meal. On the contrary, his mind worked to quickly justify that decision; to feel proud of it, rather than criticise.

It was why, after the main course had been served and devoured, just as the dessert was brought to the long table, Elior's eventual presence forty minutes after his apologetic absence wasn't met with critical gazes or disappointed frowns. He had been far longer than he had reassured them he would be, far longer than was justified for the simple signing of a few documents, but his father regarded him with a relieved smile, more grateful to see his son return than he was dissatisfied with the prolonged disappearance. In fact, his joy was so ample that he failed to consider what had kept Elior busy for so long, his mind otherwise engaged with the contentment that the Prince's return brought.

Nonetheless, Elior apologetically murmured his regret to the table as he slipped seamlessly into his seat. His appearance had been carefully fussed over before his return, of course - creases in his clothes smoothed out and his hair combed with precision back into place. He allowed the redness to his cheeks to fade and the thump of his racing heart to subside before considering a return to the table, only doing so when he convinced himself that arriving back for dessert was. regrettably, a necessary move on his part. He wanted nothing more than to keep away from the tedium the dinner had brought on for him, to remain in his study with Nathaniel and lose himself to the devotion shown to him and his needs... but duty called and demanded his prioritisation.

But he refused to adhere to the duty of engaging with Ivory. No, rather than force a smile to his face and turn to the other at his side, he paid him no attention whatsoever. The anger that raged through him when he considered the true extent of Ivory's very deliberate rudeness and disregard was too intense and he would be a fool to bring it upon himself once again; especially not when that mind had been calmed by his own selfish indulgences.

Why would he seek to destroy the pleasure still reverberating in his bones by trying to entertain someone who disliked him? Granted, the feeling was very much mutual but Elior felt justified in his hatred.

How could Ivory claim the same when Elior had presented an impeccable charm; done nothing but be sweet and polite?
 
To dine in silence amongst men and women he wanted nothing to do with was Ivory's definition of hell but he persevered as he poked at new foods, watching as these aristocrats stared at his every action and the quiet whispers and giggles when he didn't quite understand how a roasted chicken worked. It was all too embarrassing as he sat silently, allowing those around him speak instead.

He let his eyes finally lift from his food upon hearing the door open and, in a strange way, found himself being a bit relieved to see the Prince return - and not just because he now knew where his target was, but because at the very least he could be use as the attention grabber and give Ivory a break. If he were to be honest, he wished he could simply returned to the warm bath and fancy salts and petals - but he knew he couldn't. He knew he couldn't just look past his anger and return to The Dark with nothing done because if he did, who was he but an idiot accepting back breaking work for nothing? These people were the reasons behind every single problem Ivory had ever come across.

Well, putting it that way was a bit dramatic but it still was true, if only a bit dramatic.

Once Elior returned to the table proper and sat beside him, he offered to lean over a bit. He could peek just beneath the Prince's collar and took note of the hickeys that seemed to line his collarbones and paused. Was... that really what he thought it was? If they were hickeys then he had been forced for nearly an hour of torture while Elior went and fucked a soldier. If it wasn't hickeys, could it be a physical attack? Had someone tried to get to him before he had? If that was true, he found himself growing oddly... jealous?

He averted his eyes from the Prince's neck and instead locked his gaze on one of the indifferent aristocrats as he finally leaned down to whisper to Elior, albeit intentionally quiet as opposed to the Prince's feigned attempted to be subtle.

"I had grown worried about you. It doesn't take nearly an hour to signs papers." Ivory murmured, his voice still smooth and almost caring, certainly genuine with his concern. He didn't care much for how Elior responded, believing that he was doing exactly what Elior did so often; be so sweet, so caring, that no one could look at him strangely.
 
Keen on getting through the remainder of the dinner without further interaction with the man at his side, Elior reached for his wine in the hope it would dull his senses a little when Ivory sent a question, hushed and whispered, in his direction. He held the stem of the glass lightly, absently swirling the little wine left within it for a few seconds; long enough for him to consider how he ought to respond to the caring nature to Ivory's tone.

Was it believable? Thoroughly so, with the sincerity of it genuinely giving the Prince a reason to pause and consider whether he had judged Ivory too harshly; assumed the worst of him when all that rudeness and blatant disrespect may have simply been a result of nerves. He had every justifiable reason to feel nervous, after all, and though Elior couldn't claim to understand what it was like to be nervous, he knew of the consequences that emotion could have on someone, causing them to react in a manner they didn't usually exhibit.

And wouldn't it make the most sense for that to be the case; for Ivory to simply be nervous i his surroundings, rather than harbour a genuine dislike for him? Elior placed so much confidence in his acting abilities and persuasiveness of his charismatic charm that-- well, surely that hadn't failed to succeed? He didn't want to eliminate the possibility of it failing immediately now there seemed... a justification on hand to better explain Ivory's behaviour, in a way that spared the damage to Elior's raging ego.

It was naivety on his part to dismiss his suspicions so easily, but if there was the chance to believe that his ability to manipulate remained as intact as ever, that he had charmed Ivory as successfully as he had everyone else, then he was going to take it - even if a few further seconds of critical thought would have spared him being taken for a fool.

As such, he set his wine glass down with a smile across to Ivory, his intentions on ignoring the man falling the instant he took his genuine concern to be... well, genuine, and emblematic of Elior's charm having worked to its usual standard of perfection. The same dazzling grin remained in place as he turned his body to fully direct his attention to the other, using that moment to fully absorb the details on display. He didn't find him as worthy of intrigue as everyone else at the table seemingly thought - but to say he wasn't a little taken in by the features so antithetical to his own would be a lie.

"I can only apologise for my prolonged absence, it's most regrettable - but Nathaniel required help beyond signing a few papers, and I would have felt guilty had I abandoned him to resolve his problems himself. I didn't think I would be kept busy for so long but hopefully you haven't had too difficult a time without me? I know the other guests can be rather... unaccommodating, let's say," he responded in return, his own voice hushed to ensure the conversation went unheard by those sat nearby. He could easily charm his way out of the quiet criticisms, but it was better for them not to hear at all and spare him the energy used smoothing the potential cracks.

"How are you enjoying the evening, really? Be as honest as you care to be, I won't take too much offence. Believe me, I'm quite aware how... tedious these people can be," continued Elior, daring to be a tad more playful than he would have preferred to be. Perhaps it was the wine taking its effect, but, more than likely, it was the rush that came with believing that Ivory liked him; that he had succeeded in charming yet another person into believing he was pure of heart when the stark opposite was true.
 
Taking another sip of his own wine, Ivory grew quiet for a moment as he observed the Prince with a hawk-like gaze, one that wouldn't be leaving any time soon now that he knew there was a chance that he might lose Elior. He wanted tonight to go as smoothly as possible now that he had time to calm his anger a bit. He still wanted to bash the Prince's skull in but he had to tell himself that it wasn't Elior's fault that his sister had died. No, his anger was still locked on the King.

And, while it didn't mean much, he did have to thank Elior for offering a break from hearing the man's nearly strident voice. If he didn't intend to let everyone survive, he certainly would kill the King first - Elior second, then perhaps allow the Queen survive.

"It has been... interesting," Ivory answered quietly, his voice low as he briefly looked away from Elior to take in the other aristocrats before landing his eyes on the untouched cake before him. To say he was nervous about it was an understatement, the food having left his stomach a bit unsettled. It ought to come as no surprise though of course, none of the food being anything like the kind he had been raised on. Sweets weren't very common amongst The Dark, the exception being a few cave berries grown on the upper levels of the caves or mushrooms that have a hint of sweetness as well as their typical umami flavor, but chocolate? Vanilla? These weren't things enjoyed unless imported and given how much it cost for something to make the journey to The Dark, it was a rarity to witness it - so rare that Ivory himself had never seen it before. He took the smallest cut into the sponge and offered it a sniff, hoping he was given a brief moment to himself to experience something knew without the judgement of these strangers.

He knew it wasn't the case but he could still wish.

Ivory focused on the flavors and could help but find himself making a face, perhaps not one of disgust but certainly one of confusion. Once swallowed, he had to pause and take in his surroundings. Would it be rude if he threw the rest of the cake out?

"I'm not accustomed to such a large dinner for starters, I tend to eat alone. The food is also, ah... different, to say the least." He eventually continued, tiptoeing around his words rather carefully for a man who spent most of his career carelessly chipping at stone. That was why he was a lapidarist though; despite his harsh, calloused hands and perhaps somewhat standoffish energy, Ivory was secretly quite the gentle person. It was why so many people from his home had flocked to him desperate to start a relationship, even if he had rejected them in recent months to focus on his plan.
 
Not too dissimilar from the laser-focused gaze that had rested upon his features, Elior's own eyes narrowed in on Ivory's without relent. He wasn't entirely sure if he was misunderstanding what felt like tension between them, the gentle words and apparent sincerity only seeming to contradict the intensity of Ivory's watchful gaze - but it wasn't as though Elior was innocent when it came to the juxtaposition, his own sweet words contradicted somewhat by the unrelenting observation.

But he was arrogant enough to believe that his own gaze went unnoticed, neatly hidden beneath a convincing exterior.

His eyes narrowed somewhat at the small sliver of cake that Ivory chose to taste - which was apparently all he was happy to consume. It wasn't worth growing angry over, but annoyance spiked regardless. How dare this stranger, from a world Elior could only imagine was dark and unpleasant, turn his nose up at their food; food he shouldn't ever have been given the privilege of trying in the first place. No, anger was unnecessary but it didn't stop it from sparking into existence, providing Elior the challenge of maintaining his smile even when he wanted to do anything but.

This. This was why he should have stayed away for the entirety of the dinner, indulging in pleasure rather than the pain that Ivory and every guest at that table had piled upon him with their tedium and mediocrity.

"Difference doesn't imply distaste ordinarily but, in this instance, it clearly does. Don't force yourself to finish something you dislike, Ivory. I feel no personal offence, I assure you. It's such a personal thing, taste. What you like, I may not - and vice versa," he quipped in faux reassurance, the gentlemanly understanding entirely falsified to keep his genuine offended outrage at bay. He reached once again for his wine, not fond of relying on it to get him through a meal but, in this instance, it was the only source of pleasure he had now Nathaniel's time with him had been cut short.

A decision he had made and was coming to regret more passionately with every passing second - so much so that he decided, just after the shrill, high-pitched laugh of one of the guests, that he couldn't endure the dinner party a moment more, irrespective of the fact he had literally just returned to it.

"I'm afraid I may have to retire for the evening," he murmured, speaking aloud and directing the table with the same apologetic smile he had entered the room with mere minutes prior. "The throb of a burgeoning migraine, I think. Too much wine, I imagine--"

"Or too much stress, more likely. Dealing with that soldier pest and burdening yourself with his troubles," corrected the King, observing his son through concerned eyes. "No-- no, go ahead, off to bed with you, boy. Don't let us keep you."

"Thank you, father. I wouldn't interrupt the evening again if I didn't feel this headache worsening with each second that passes. Mother, I bid you goodnight. And Ivory-- it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope to see you in the morning, before you leave. It would be a shame not to bid you a proper farewell. Meeting you has been so enlightening, after all," concluded Elior, setting his gaze once more on the man at his side. "Do sleep well and, with luck, we'll cross paths again in the morning."
 
Oh, how did Ivory bite his tongue as he watched the Prince take another swing of wine. What did this weak little Prince have to stress about? His entire world was handed to him on a platter as an entire country struggled below. Muscles flexed under the fabric that wrapped around Ivory's body, concealing most of his skin as there was just another, very small wrench thrown into his plan. Nonetheless Ivory kept his anger to himself, the only sign of his unrelenting anger being the way his hands gripped his fork, long fingers taking note of the ornate pattern engraved in the metal.

It was just like him to grow fond of the artistry presented to him to calm his nerves, wasn't it? No doubt the fork itself was made by a citizen of The Dark. He cut his thoughts short upon noticing being addressed directly, blinking back into focus. He offered the Prince a nod of regard as well as a smile, Assuming he wasn't going off with that random soldier, perhaps this was a good thing? Perhaps Elior was going to actually lay down for a bit, tend to his headache. If he was asleep then he could commence his plan a bit earlier and get the fuck out of The Light.

"Yes, sleep well, Prince Elior." Ivory sent off and offered a small wave with his free hand, those detailed rings he adored once again on display, however briefly. Once left alone, the lapidarist was left to sit silently amongst the royals once again. Absolute fucking hell, but a temporary hell he was willing to trudge through. In the grand scheme of things, this certainly wasn't the worst thing he had suffered through, right? Even if the food was a bit disgusting and the company was even worse. No, he chose to stay positive - leading to the parting smile and handshakes towards the aristocrats to be genuine as he offered them his goodbyes. Bows and minor post-dinner chatter was exchanged but he eventually claimed he had grown tired of such an adventurous day.

He was led to his bedroom and promptly got sick, bits of shell mixed with the bones of the chicken he had eaten on full view. His nerves were beginning to get to him, it was clear, and all of that foreign food certainly didn't help.

Once midnight struck though, Ivory couldn't hold back - couldn't sit on his hands any longer. No, he packed his things quietly and slid his sheathed obsidian blade in the band of his pants, obscured by his undershirt. He moved through the dimmed manor quite well, blending in with the shadows with ease if he were to keep his eyes closed. He had learned where the perfect Prince Elior's bedroom was and he followed the directions as his heart beat loud in his ears. He offered the faintest of knocks, his knuckles rasping against the old wood so gently Ivory was almost afraid the man wouldn't hear. He did it a bit harder a second time, impatiently shifting his feet as he did so.
 
Was... was that someone knocking at his door? At this time of night?

It wasn't unheard of for Elior to get a knock at his door at midnight, but those circumstances tended to be prearranged; times where he had organised for Nathaniel -or the few others before him- to make their way to his room to steal some time together. It was incredibly risky but the risk was solely on their part as far as Elior was concerned, and if they did manage to make it to his door without discovery? Well, he liked to consider himself the reward for their bravery.

The idea, however, that Nathaniel had taken it upon himself to turn at the door without an arrangement in place was... a weird one. Initially, as Elior sat up from beneath the silk covers of his bedsheets, he was fundamentally outraged by the audacity of the move; the blatant disrespect that Nathaniel possessed for thinking his needs and his wants somehow held more value than Elior's own. As such, he was quick to scowl to himself as he flung back the covers and slid on his slippers, determined to reach the door and chastise his lover for his ridiculous ideas, his disrespect, his audacity--

Frankly, the longer he thought about it, the more Elior found himself... impressed. He wasn't used to anyone countering him and his demands, more accustomed -and fond- of his words being followed without deviation, but there was something attractive about the idea of Nathaniel desiring him so much that he pushed aside respect and sought his attention, his proximity, in spite of the risk and the potential consequences that could follow it.

He would be furious with him regardless, but who was he to turn him away after the bravery he had shown in sneaking his way into the castle; in arriving at his door? The knocking was strange -he would have thought Nathaniel would simply enter to avoid discovery- but if anything, Elior was quick to put that down to the soldier's effort to show some respect to him after so brazenly disrespecting the Prince's desires.

No, he could do the charitable, kind thing in putting his fury aside for an hour and instead greet Nathaniel with the same desire the soldier was so obviously feeling--

"Oh. It's you."

The disappointment flooded his features as he examined Ivory stood before him, his lips twisting in disgust the more he considered just how aggravating the man from The Dark was. He attempted to push it aside, even in his tiredness, and approach the situation with the charm expected of him, smiling despite the range of anger beneath the surface.

"I do apologise for my appearance but it is rather late, you know..." He trailed off, hoping that the hint to be left alone was delivered as politely as the smile upon his lips. His appearance, naturally, wasn't anything less than perfect. Even if he had been asleep for a handful of hours, his hair remained neat, his pure silk pyjamas unsubtle in their luxury, his skin moisturised and lightly perfumed from the hot rose-petaled bath he had indulged in before bed. He pulled the eye mask from his forehead, having pushed it up when first woken, and held it in one hand as the other returned to the door knob, hoping to shut it behind him whenever Ivory finished boring him to death.

"What can I do for you, Ivory?"
 
For the first real time since leaving his home of The Dark, Ivory was terrified. He stared at the Prince before him, one hand grasping his hip awkwardly - as if in pain somehow - while the other was still held up in a knocking position. Silence followed briefly, Ivory's eyes darting about the inside of Elior's bedroom before they scanned the man before him specifically.

Had he gone a bit over his head? Ivory was just a man, just a very talented lapidarist. Sure, he was physically fit and certainly a looker but he wasn't special. What if he fucked this up? He had told himself that he was happy to die for his mission, but was he really? Was he ready to die an honorable death if need be or was he just lying to himself to ease the crippling anxieties he forced down, deep within him alongside all of the other complicated feelings he had earned himself over the years. A shaky breath escaped his lips before he finally spoke, trying desperately to focus on the plan and not the slight cringe he felt at the clear disappointment that rested upon Elior's face.

"I do apologize for waking you up at such a late hour but I need you," he began, hesitating. An idea hit him in that moment as he offered a bashful smile. His one hand still gripped the hidden dagger while the other moved to rustle through is jet black hair, the strands seemingly being an exception to his otherwise void-like skin as they shined in the faint light. Granted he doubted Elior would notice given just how dark it was, though this was nothing compared to the darkness Ivory was often subjected to. Another shaky breath escaped.

Elior was full of himself, that was obvious. Perhaps if he played into that selfishness things could move along quicker? He could hypothetically just pick Elior up over his arm and run but the Prince would probably scream. No, he wanted this to go with as little shouting and disruption as possible - the part of his plan that stressed him out the most.

"I have never met a man as beautiful as you, Prince Elior. I... have been pushing you away, trying to keep a distance because I know it isn't right but - but I cannot deny it any longer, and I wish that you would not deny me." Ivory continued, his voice hushed. "I do apologize again, I know you and that Nathaniel man are an item but... perhaps you would spare a moment of charity, in my room?"
 
Elior could have all the time in the world to guess at what Ivory had arrived at his door at midnight to ask of him. Perhaps he sought to pester him about doing more to help The Dark; that wouldn't have surprised him. Hell, if he was honest, he had anticipated a comment on the disparity between the nations at some point during the dinner, having spent a chunk of it -before his absence- preparing himself for the right things to say, the words that made him seem like a powerless cog in the machine, incapable of change, when Ivory leaned over to appeal to his notoriously (feigned) charitable nature--

But, like at dinner, that appeal didn't arrive - and no amount of time on his side could have ever resulted in him accurately guessing just what it was Ivory had arrived at his door to say. The intention was duplicitous, of course, the apparent desire on Ivory's side a mere facade to lower Elior's defences and achieve his aim - but Elior could never have anticipated that either.

Either way, he was oblivious and hadn't analysed Ivory as well as he believed he had.

That didn't mean that the words of hunger were taken as immediate fact. On the contrary, the Prince's brow raised in suspicion, lips even pursed as the seconds dragged by. It wasn't difficult to believe that someone thought he was beautiful -as conceited as it was, he assumed everyone who met him were immediately taken by his beauty- but it was hard to believe that Ivory had hid the appeal so well, without any hint to how he felt. Elior was proof that someone could be capable of expertly hiding their true emotions between a mask presenting the total opposite, but nobody was as good as he was, as great as he was capable of being--

Were they? Perhaps-- Perhaps Ivory was.

And yet, instead of accepting that fact and analysing Ivory further, realising that his politeness might have also been a front for juxtaposing emotions beneath the surface, Elior was too arrogant for that; too caught up in the boost that feeling wanted gave him. His ego yearned for that attention and receiving it off someone who he had earlier believed had failed to be taken in by his charm? Oh, that was nothing short of a win, and by right, he had no option other than to celebrate it.

All at once, the suspicion marring his features, barely lit in the darkness, faded in favour of a slow smile, his body leaning against the doorframe. With no need to disguise his observations now he believed there to be an interest in him on Ivory's part, his eyes casually drifted up and down the other. It wasn't particularly easy to discern him amongst the darkness and the shadows but he had also seen him in the light at dinner - and what he had seen wasn't all that unappealing. On the contrary -and he would never admit it- but he had been quite taking with the strong features; the vibrant eyes.

It wasn't like Ivory was ugly, far from it - so why not indulge himself in a little fun?

"I'm surprised you think Nathaniel and I are an item - or rather, surprised you call me out on it. Rather brazen of you to do so, though I admire the bravery. And respect the observation. Nobody else has twigged that he and I are rather fond of one another. But it isn't, ah... we aren't exclusive, let's say. If someone cute came along and, say, knocked on my door at midnight confessing their attraction for me, I'm within my right to pursue that avenue of interest," he hummed in response, his voice hushed to ensure the antics went unnoticed, providing it a smooth, huskier quality.

"I don't care to deny you, dearest Ivory - so let's take this conversation to your room, yes. I dare say that's a wonderful idea."
 
Last edited:
The brushes of red that seemed to dust Ivory's cheeks weren't fake as he watched Elior seem to shift eagerly into a romantic aura, the red a dark hue yet still stood out against his otherwise vantablack skin. The lapidarist had plenty of confidence in being a proper (if the many men and women he had taken to bed were proof of anything) but they were people he knew, or at the very least people he respected. Elior wasn't exactly on his list of people he planned to woo in his lifetime but here he was, watching as the man accepted his advances.

"I had made the connection between you two when I noticed the bruises on your collarbone. They were either from something intimate or something violent. No matter what, I knew the bruises were intentionally hidden out of plain view as to avoid suspicion with your parents and the other aristocrats," Ivory explained as he took a step back, motioning the Prince to follow. Once he did, a hand firmly yet carefully held onto his hip, offering a brief moment for the citizen of The Dark to revel in his taller height. "I know the people of The Light think that we, from The Dark, are... lesser than you - less intelligent. I can't speak for the entire country but I pride myself in my intelligence, Perhaps that makes me a narcissist." He hummed, his heart once again pounding loudly despite his otherwise calm exterior.

Could he indulge a little? Would Elior be a bit more... malleable, if he were to properly seduce the man? No injury needed, no harm done? It was true, he had been solely dedicated to his work for months now, would he allow himself to dip into a little pleasure? Ivory's eyes shined, a plan brewing in his mind.

The minute the door shut carefully behind him was the minute he pinned Elior by the wrists to the wall, his eyes not filled with lust but moreso that previous curiousity from dinner. Ironically, he needed to approach the situation carefully - even if he had the Prince's hands pinned above his head in a tight grip.

"Now, I'm curious. If your little mate Nathaniel leaves such garish bruises on your collarbones for fun, does that perhaps imply the Prince likes it a bit rough?" Ivory purred with an owlish tilt of his head. His plan would work perfectly. "I can offer rough, Prince Elior."
 
Oh, the urge to consolidate his feelings of superiority by agreeing to The Dark's inferiority was immense.

Yet, regardless of the situation he now seemed to find himself enraptured with, the need to maintain his facade as the angelic Prince was as fierce as ever. If anything, there was an argument to be had that he had to be stronger than ever in his efforts to keep it perfectly constructed and in place, given how easy it would be to allow it to slip when he was caught up in the throes of passion. His partners may see elements to him that those he knew on a non-romantic basis never would, but they still never saw the real Elior.

They could capture glimpses of a playfulness that didn't seem to be present beyond their private moments, even sense a little of the arrogance that the Prince possessed, but not once had Nathaniel, nor the others that caught Elior's eye, seen the future King for who he really was, beyond the mask that only seemed to detach itself when he knew, for certain, that he was alone with only his own company for comfort.

It was why he had to firmly bite the inside of his cheek to fend off the urge to boast of his kingdom's power and status. It didn't matter that Ivory wasn't a permanent citizen of The Light who would take their leave once the morning arrived - just one person knowing of Elior's deception could cause whispers and gossip to spread, for doubt and suspicion to creep in however excellent Elior's manipulation could be. It was safer, smarter, to keep everyone believing that he was a certain way, even if that deception had to carry through to private moments like this, where it would be much more preferable to let the weight of the duty free from his shoulders and, for once, allow himself to be himself.

He just knew, inherently, that he didn't have that luxury; not if he wanted the benefits of it to fall perfectly into place later on in life.

"Not everyone thinks that. There is an unfortunate air of superiority amongst those in my land, I agree, but there are those that feel sympathetic to the suffering; who seek a brighter future. I certainly feel that way. Now is no time to discuss politics but... I'm sure things will change when I'm to become King, Ivory. The power that role will grant me will allow me to put my own beliefs into practise. To honour my words of sympathy with action," drawled Elior with the apparent air of sincerity, his eyes flickering upwards to lock onto Ivory's. The height difference was as infuriating as it had been upon their first meeting, but he again bit back the urge to make that obvious and instead let his lips pull into a smile, however difficult it was to force the expression - both because of his annoyance at Ivory's position in front of him and the pathetic words he had to utter to maintain his charitable, pure-hearted facade.

As dramatic as he was being, he wanted to be physically sick at having to pretend, for one second, that he would help The Dark; that he had sympathy for all those people suffering under the surface. His true opinions were darker than that, lacking in the understanding he claimed to possess, but things wouldn't be going quite as swimmingly if he said outright that he didn't care whatsoever for the communities there; that seeing their lives devastated for his personal gain was a no brainer.

Easing satisfactorily back into the desirous energy, he didn't have the energy to be irritated by Ivory's observations at the dinner table. If it helped lead to this moment, who was he to care about the marks on his collarbone being seen?

"...I am fond of that sort of energy, yes-- just don't leave anything on my neck or face. I'm performing at the Royal Theatre in a few days, the lead actor in a performance of 'The Rose in the Spring'. It's a rather big occasion so... do what you will, but try not to stray too far up, hm? Makeup can only cover so much," he continued proudly, unashamedly boasting of the opportunity he only really gained because he was the Prince - but he knew himself to be a superb actor, so, while he gained the role through nepotism, it wasn't as though he lacked the talent. Hell, he knew he would be the best actor gracing the stage that night, so what was the problem, really?

"But don't take that as a request to be gentle with me. I assure you, I can handle whatever it is you throw at me, Ivory. As strong as you clearly are-" he paused to peer at the hands firmly holding his wrists, a faint smirk pulling back at his lips; "-I promise you, I'm quite capable of holding my own: the aftermath of an adolescence training with the soldiers, really. A task I only took because I had quite the crush on many of them, but let's keep that fact to ourselves. My father would be so disappointed if he knew that had been my motivation."
 
It took every fiber of Ivory's being not to roll his eyes at the Prince's unsubtle brag as he allowed Elior to drawl on. No, he had come too far to ruin everything just because he couldn't be subtle. No, he bit his tongue before stepping back and allowing the other's hands free. He offered Eliior to sit on his bed, untouched since his arrival.

"Okay, good. I want you to do some things for me then, if you would be so willing?" Ivory spoke softly before peering around the room. He left briefly, dipping into the bathroom to emerge with a towel. He skillfully spun it until it was thick but still thin enough to bite down before offering Elior to do just that.

"I... have a specific taste when it comes to my bedroom fun," he explained, his words slow as he spoke in Elior's ear. "Besides, imagine the trouble we both would be in if you decided you simply couldn't handle it all and had to scream my name? I would rather not have my head on a pike because you were enjoying yourself so much, your majesty. Let's just have some fun tonight, hm?"

As Ivory spoke, he had already tied the towel around Elior's head neat and tight. Once sure that the only way it could be broken was by being cut, he smiled wide at the sight. Ah, some comfortable silence. It was true, the sight of Elior gave him more glee that he would be comfortable admitting - but he couldn't dwell on it long. He then moved once again though this time for his bag, pulling out one of his sister's handmade shawls - used appropriately to tie the Prince's wrists together. He offered gentle kisses along the man's neck and collarbone all the while, happy to offer the illusion that he truly was doing this all for sex -

before he moved away and held the crafted obsidian dagger to Elior's throat.

"... I do apologize for having to do this to you, Elior, really. It seems you won't be able to attend your play in the morning, alas. No, you are coming with me back home. Now don't worry - I don't intend to use this on you if you obey me. We're going to go home, your doting parents will beg for your return, and we'll negotiate. Simple." He murmured, his voice - while still not harsh or gravelly like that of his father - certainly held an edge to it as his smile refused to dip. How could he not smile? His plans were working. He grabbed his pack and slipped it on before easily lifting Elior up into his arms, bridal style.

"I would tie you up more but I imagine carrying you while you were hog-tied would be difficult," he noted, his grip around Elior almost protective in a sense as he cracked the window open and peered down at the bushes below. No problem. "We've got quite a bit of a way to travel, so... just relax, I suppose?"
 
If Ivory being the first to initiate their current situation had taken Elior by surprise, then the direction things were quickly heading rendered him stunned, so much so that he was left considering the disaster that his judgement of Ivory had been - at this stage, when he was none-the-wiser to his real intentions, anyway. Oh, he still thought he was insufferable, an irritant that he just wanted to swat every now and then to put him back in his place, but he couldn't ignore the... intrigue that had ignited in him, with Ivory's decision to dominate the proceedings being another reason, upon the many starting to stack up, for Elior to admit that he may have judged too harshly.

Or at the very least, judged before considering that the other had layers to him that he had been wrong to dismiss of in their entirety. If he had, he wouldn't be in close proximity with him now, taking the blindfold and the makeshift gag as a sign of good -no, great- things to come.

That didn't mean he was overly content at having the power torn from his hands before he could lay claim to it, given he held the inherent belief that such control ought to naturally reside there. He could find Ivory's actions brave and be enticed by the unusual approach, one he rarely received from lovers who were too wary of implementing a sliver of control when it would have to arrive as a result of taking it from Elior - and he had never been too fond of that whenever it had been attempted. Yet, perhaps because of his curiosity or because he was still surprised by how misplaced his criticism of the other was, Elior was a willing participant in the direction of the roles - particularly if all he had to do in those few moments was little other than accept the kisses along the warmth of his skin.

To say he expected to feel the cold blade of a dagger against it mere seconds later was an understatement. Initially, in the briefest of moments, he thought it was part of the game; not a weapon but an implement of sorts to aid their pleasure. But no amount of delusion could convince him that it wasn't a dagger pressed to his throat, with Ivory's threatening tones eventually clarifying any doubt that might have remained.

The smile faded from his face as he absorbed the enormity -and potential danger- of the situation - whilst trying to calm the rage within him; the explosive anger that came from being fooled as monumentally as he had been. He had lowered his guard just enough, allowed arrogance to blind him to true intentions of someone who had lied and deceived with the sole intention of doing this to him, and that stung, painfully. He was better than this; too smart to land in a situation where he was made to appear the fool, weak and powerless because of his lapse of judgement.

If he could move his hands, he would love to get hold of that dagger and teach Ivory who he actually dealing with--

As he stewed in his own thoughts, now considerably more annoyed when he was lifted up into Ivory's arms with seemingly no trouble on his part, Elior was struck by an idea. A plan of his own; one that could result in him getting precisely what he wanted far sooner than he could have dreamt of.

He could attempt to struggle in Ivory's arms, make his best effort to fight the inevitable in a way that he was perhaps expected to - or Ivory wouldn't have bothered with the blindfold nor the restraints. If he thought Elior would go willingly, such attempts to restrict him would have gone ignored. And, initially, Elior did plan on kicking up a fuss, doing whatever he could to cause a scene and divert attention to the room before Ivory's plan could be set into motion-- but then he realised, with a spark of uncontrolled delight at his genius and at how close it would bring him to getting what he longed for, that allowing himself to be a captee would work out for the best; ending up in The Dark, awaiting negotiation or, better yet, rescue was the smart play.

How could anyone brush aside the idea of storming The Dark, taking them over, if one of their own had committed such a devastating act against The Light's very own treasured Prince? How could they argue against retaliating with the full force of their army, acting to exact justice for the wronged victim that Elior would be in their eyes?

No, that was the move to make - using the situation he had been fooled into to get precisely what he wanted.

And if he got to kill Ivory at the end of it all under the justification of 'restoring justice', then it was the cherry on top of an already delicious cake.

And so, no movement to struggle against the holds confining his movements would occur. He allowed his expression to appear fearful, unnerved, hoping that it would explain his lack of argument and swift compliance. For added effect, his chest heaved up and down as his breathing became rapid, as though panicked by the uncertainty over his own life - a nice detail he would pat himself on the back for when he had an appropriate moment to do so.
 
As calm and composed as Ivory pretended to be, it was hard to keep that facade when realizing the jump. A hard swallow could be heard but the man said nothing as he climbed through the window and inhaled hard. He was strong but admittedly Elior was a lot heavier than he expected. His brain was screaming, two ideals clashing together.

He could let Elior go, say it was all elaborate role play! He could go home and just work his bones to dust like his grandfather had done and his father was in the process of doing. Wasn't that nice, cozy? Maybe settle down with someone, start a family-

What honor was there in doing that? Not to mention, as absolutely annoying Elior was he wasn't an idiot. He would run to the King and Queen, whimpering about a tale of how he had done something nefarious to the precious little Prince. His head would be on the chopping block before he could even notice - or perhaps he would be hanged and allow The Light citizens to gawk at him. "What a savage," they'd say, tutting and clicking their tongues, "doing such a horrible thing to the young Prince. All of The Dark must be like him-

A long, shaky blink back into focus as he stared at the ground below. He was glad Elior couldn't see the sweat beaded against his brow as he stared down at the bushes, knowing that there was mathematically a larger chance of survival jumping down than retreating and abandoning plan so..

3, 2-

Fuck it.

The tumble into the bushes was noisy but not noisy enough to awaken any curious guards, thankfully. He noted the blood that began to ooze from a fresh cut on his knee and the groaned at the awkward landing on his ankle but it wasn't broken so he would keep moving, pressing Elior close to his chest for protection against the twigs. The rest of the way to The Dark was down hill thankfully and while his movement had been slowed a bit from the pain in his ankle, Ivory moved swiftly nonetheless - full out sprinting once he felt the pain had gone away enough. It wouldn't be until they were past the castle that Ivory would look down at the man in his arms and check him, making sure he was okay.

Much to his chagrin, Ivory felt a hint of guilt creep into him - but he dashed that feeling with a rock.

"I'm not going to hurt you unless you do something idiotic so there's no need to be having a panic attack, Elior," Ivory spoke in whispers as he observed the land as it was bathed in the moon. He paused, if only briefly, to admire Her with wide eyes.

He would miss the moon the most. Hd returned to his moving, nearly sprinting now with a huff.

"You can see this as a… an extreme diplomatic situation, right?" Ivory suggested through heavy pants as he continued, knowing fully that there would be no response as long as the other was gagged.
 
As eager as Elior actually was to be taken to The Dark now he had concocted what he believed to be the perfect plan to achieve his ultimately end goal, that didn't mean he wanted Ivory to, quite literally, leap from the window and take the risk of damage once hitting the foliage below - if only because there was the chance that Elior himself would be hurt in the process. He didn't trust Ivory, far from it, so who was to say the other wouldn't simply let him go upon impact - and with his hands tied together in front of him, how was he supposed to help himself or limit the potential damage? No, he would be flung into face first and, as conceited as it was, the idea of scarring his perfect face terrified him more than a broken arm or splintered kneecap.

He couldn't care less if Ivory himself suffered such injuries after the fall -ideally, he would suffer something as punishment for his audacious crime- but if that meant putting Elior at risk of it too? The Prince could only inhale sharply in genuine discomfort, his eyes clenched shut beneath the makeshift blindfold as he did his best to ignore the sharpness of the night against his skin, the feel of the breeze through his hair--

The fall concluded far sooner than he thought it would, having braced himself to the point that he thought each second of the descent would drag by. Instead, still held by Ivory and thus protected from the brunt of the damage, Elior was able to reassuringly comfort himself without any lasting repercussions - and upon hearing the faint groan from his captor, he was left to satisfactorily deride a great deal of pleasure from whatever pain Ivory had caused himself. It was the least he deserved, quite honestly.

Though he had now decided he actively wanted to get to The Dark, with even the briefest entry there providing him the justification he needed to put his plan into motion with the guarantee of it being fully backed in support of the 'wronged' Prince, Elior wasn't... thrilled at matters having to resort to it. He didn't want to be stuck in a horrid land for an indeterminable amount of time, dealing with a man whose duplicity had, regrettably, pulled the wool over his eyes to a level nobody else had quite managed. Understandably, Elior was furious about it still, even if the seed of wrath that had bloomed relentlessly within him had to be pushed down; not quashed, but momentarily ignored in favour of the perpetuation of feigned fear; of panic and distress and all the wariness that came with the uncertainty of his circumstances.

Was it tempting to abandon the facade and give Ivory the full force of who he truly was? Sure, at least then he could relax and relieve himself of the pressure that came with the pretence, but where was the gain in that? If he wanted to remove himself from The Dark as soon as he could, wasn't it smarter to pile on the guilt? To appear the perfect Prince with a heart of kindness, unhappy with how those in The Dark survived and truly eager to make a change - and thus entirely too pure to be used as a pawn in the game?

He doubted Ivory would be quite as keen to let him go if he spoke of how disgusted he was by The Dark's existence, or admitted to his desires to see Ivory's decapitated head reside in front of the castle in The Light, a warning to all who doubted the extent of the crown's power--

He exhaled softly, the sound shaky in the continued facade. His breathing remained unsteady, uncertain, as the other's sprinting commenced, any fear Elior knew he ought to feel in the situation naturally expected to spike the farther they ventured from the comfort of Hollowslocke. An attempt to speak, to appeal desperately to Ivory (as he knew he would, again, be expected to do) sounded from beneath the gag, albeit inevitably muffled by the restraint of it. He tried again regardless, the tone increasingly desperate in nature. He didn't want Ivory taking him back before he had reached The Dark, there was no point in his plan if that became the case, but he wanted to at least start to instil the guilt and give Ivory as difficult a time coming to terms with what he was doing as was possible.
 
There was a long period of silence that followed, the only noise being the occasional grunt or curse under Ivory's breath as he traversed new terrain, watching everything, everything, with an air of pity. He did wish he could have stayed a day longer, perhaps try some more… interesting food from The Light, let his hands run against the green grass that grew beneath them. Perhaps he could have gotten a better view of the artwork, feel the brush strokes of raised paint with a new found curiosity.

No, that wasn't allowed. A hero didn't get distracted by silly things like that and, to Ivory, he was the hero; the man who would bring change to his people, right? He tuned out Elior's whimpered attempts at words quite easily, however much said Prince thought it would guilt him. His mind was in constant tug-of-war over how he felt about the man and it - combined with the bright light from earlier - was only making his headache worsen. He could only imagine how bad it would be if Elior could speak.

Both sides of his head could agree that the gag was a good idea.

A relieved sigh escaped Ivory upon noting that the guards that stood proudly by the entrance to The Dark were gone, most likely taking a break. It was very rarely that anyone moved throughout the tunnels to the surface bar raw materials so it wasn't a surprise that it wasn't the most bustling place to work. Best of all, it meant Ivory could finally leave a land of unknown and work amongst familiarity. The rough shuffle of Ivory's feet through tall grass and dirt changed to that of wet stone almost instantly, the air changing and the temperature dropping almost instantly upon entering the mouth of the cave.

The sconces that lined the first mile of cave was purely for The Light, the further he carried Elior offering less and less of those shadows - until they were left in the nearly pitch black known in The Dark. Sounds became echoed the further they moved in and Ivoey's body did physically shiver from the damp chill it offered, however welcoming it was for the lapidarist.

"You know, I ought to earn some praise for tricking you so easily, you know. I know you pride yourself in your intelligence and poise, Elior. Yet here you are, bound up tight all because you couldn't say no to my advances," laughed Ivory, his voice echoing a bit through the empty cave tunnels. It wouldn't be much further until he would drop Elior off at a house long abandoned by its owners. Furnished not nearly as well as a palace though wasn't empty, the keys sat at the base of his bag. He would keep Elior there until everything was smoothed out.

"You can sleep soon, if you'd like. I imagine it will be hard for you not to, what with no sun and all - thankfully. The Light is beautiful but I can do without that blasted sun."
 
  • Like
Reactions: potassiumboron
Remain in control. Keep it together. Breathe.

Anything Elior could do to remind himself of the importance of a good plan and seeing that through to completion and success, he did as firmly as he was capable of - even if the warmth from The Light leaving his skin in favour of The Dark's colder temperatures did enrage him. It may be the best thing possible for the progress of his plan, he wasn't able to deny how perfectly the situation would work out for him if all went smoothly, but he wasn't able to fully focus on the satisfying elements of it when he was constantly reminded that he was being kidnapped by someone as lowly as Ivory; torn from the heat and the beauty of The Light to the cold and the dark of-- well, The Dark.

He wasn't able to see for himself the surroundings he would inevitably be spending some time in but he didn't need the blindfold remov3d to have made an instantaneous judgement. No, if anything, the blindfold was doing him a favour, allowing him to take refuge within his imagination, reminding himself of Hollowslocke and the beauty he would witness once more when he did return home. Without his sight momentarily cut off, he would undoubtedly see a land he took immense issue with - and as marvellous as his acting skills were, he doubted he would hold back a grimace.

Fortunately, he had some time to prepare himself and act accordingly when he was forced to take it in. Until then, he continued to inwardly comfort himself, as well as soften the anger and convince himself that the act he put on was the best bet to achieve success; to guilt Ivory to such an extent that he released him from the prison The Dark was much sooner than he anticipated.

It was why he had fallen silent, unable to even force himself to feign the panicked breathing or attempts at appearing desperate, appealing for Ivory's sympathy. He would have to reengage with the act eventually, when they came to a stop and his blindfold and gag removed, but until then, he found further solace in solitude, sinking deeper into both his own thoughts and his reassurances that he could do this; he could remain calm, proceed with the angelic act and not let the mask slip, however many factors came into play to make it incredibly tempting for him.

He wanted nothing more than to be able to smirk at Ivory, tell him his actions had gifted Elior everything he had desired, perhaps even get the opportunity to cuttingly delight in delivering him a few more home truths-- but that would impact the plan and nothing could get in the way of that. Not until it had seen its successes come to fruition.
 
More silence followed bar the rustling of fabric as Ivory did his genuine best not to just drop the Prince on the hard stone bed. It wasn't gentle, far from how he would treat someone he genuinely cared for, but it wasn't like he threw Elior down onto straight stone with all his might, right? That ought to count for something, he told himself. Besides, it wasn't completely stone; there were a few layers of blankets, the bed not too dissimilar to his own.

Admittedly, it was nothing compared to the beds in The Light but that wasn't something either of them could dwell upon, was it? More rustling, as well as a clear grunt of frustration when it was hard for Ivory to find the matches he had hid within the one pocket his leather pack featured, that of which was used to light the candles lining the small bedroom. A quiet curse escaped Ivory's lips when the match grew too short, the lapidarist's sharp maw carefully suckling on the mark. It all seemed to take so achingly long despite the anticipation being no more than a few minutes before finally, finally, Ivory removed the cover over the Prince's eyes as well as removing the gag.

As far as an echo could travel in the tunnels, the stone walls would cut any sort of yelling down easily. He learned that as a child.

"Welcome to your new home, your highness." Ivory finally spoke with the faintest hint of a sneer, his arms crossing over his chest as an admittedly wide shit-eating grin rested on his lips, sharp teeth on full display. It was the first genuine smile he had felt in months.

"There's no goose feather pillows or cotton sheets but I did what I could to make you comfortable," he continued, his words genuine as he unfurled his crossed arms. Despite the darkness, the walls - a stark white sort of marble, easy to carve in whatever shape the artist chose - contrasted with his own skin. Ivory's colorful eyes were wide now and far more striking, as were his pearly white teeth as he took a careful seat down at the edge of the marble slab he and many others of The Dark would call their beds. "I unfortunately cannot untie you. Oh, imagine if someone saw you! That is, assuming someone found you that is. Knowing you, you'd scamper around and find yourself in an old stone deposit that's been long abandoned. I've heard our bones aren't much different from yours, so I doubt your remains would be given a second thought once you were found..."

A casual shrug, Ivory's body movement being significantly looser now that he was somewhere he knew he had the upper hand, after all. He was home. Sure, the hot water and those goose feather pillows were amazing but they weren't him. The harsh stone wasn't comfortable for many but he wouldn't have it any other way. Words often praised by his sister when he mentioned the idea of emerging to the surface.

"Seriously, I would recommend you don't try to make a run for it. I don't want to kill you, Elior, really. I just... need you to make some changes around here, yeah?"
 
Oh, this... this was so much worse than he ever could have imagined.

In fact, he was so caught off by how utterly depressing his new surroundings were that he couldn't even concentrate on the throbbing pain shooting up his spine from the drop onto the bed. As much as he might have wanted to play on the pain, stir up some guilt to better serve his plan, it was immediately undercut by his disgust and sheer horror at the bleakness of the room, the sparse interior lacking in the fine touches and luxury he innately deserved. He blinked a few times as though everything he desired -silk sheets, expensive drapes, gold surfaces- would suddenly materialise before him.

He knew, deep down, not to expect luxury in somewhere like The Dark but he couldn't have prepared himself for just how different it was to Hollowslocke, the gloomy aura to it all making him want to crinkle his nose and grimace - even if physicalising that disgust wouldn't have done him much good.

Granted, his patience and ability to remain in control seemed more than eager to desert him, both wearing increasingly thin as he was forced to sit and endure Ivory's blatant satisfaction, the delight that rolled off him in waves causing Elior's expression, one of neutrality, to finally dip.

"You could have asked for my help without kidnapping me. I thought we got alone quite well, Ivory. I thought you liked me, as deeply as I liked you. You took advantage of my kindness, my... trustfulness, and you committed an act I can't defend in bringing me here. That-- is cruel and unfair and I-- don't hold it against me if I say that I can't bear to look at you. I'm hurt that you-- you would resort to capitalising on my interest in you, rather than simply ask me for my help. I'd have-- have done my best to provide it; to convince my father. There was no need for this," he returned in a mutter, his eyes locked on the bed beneath him - not necessarily to enforce the protestation that he was 'upset' and 'hurt' (no, that was bullshit) but because he knew if he did glance up and lock eyes with the other, he would only cave to breaking his character and displaying a smirk of his own.

The urge to rub the plan in Ivory's face was intense, with the delight he could garner from seeing that smirk fade comically quickly from his face in response being inevitable - but he had made his mind up in continuing the facade, however feeble his hold on it was becoming. The struggle was dominating every thought in his head, his features visibly twisting and contorting in the genuine difficulty he was having in maintaining the appearance of a pathetic, wronged Prince, unable to even communicate with force the extent of his distress because he was so good, so pure, so kind--

"You really are an insufferable little cunt, do you know that?" He suddenly blurted, his eyes darting up to meet Ivory's the moment the words, with weighted venom behind them, were spat from his lips. He knew instantly that there was no recovering from it - how could he pretend that they were uttered as a result of stress when they were spoken with such disgust; a disgust he wasn't considered to be capable of by even the people closest to him. No, trying to back-peddle in order to continue a now doomed facade was pathetic, ultimately useless, and so he wisely chose to abandon it altogether.

In doing so, his demeanour shifted as though a switch had been flicked. The abruptness of it was almost eery in nature: his hunched positioning to appear cautious and withdrawn disappeared in favour of a relaxed approach; eyes that darted about anxiously now stared fixedly at the other; a voice that had once been airy and light had deepened a tad, a rawness introduced into it in spite of the unbearably posh nature of it remaining a constant - and the downturn of his lips, the faint trembling of them, had been entirely replaced by a smile of his own.

"All of this effort you've gone through, all of the time and the planning-- it's commendable, truly. I mean that from the bottom of my otherwise unsympathetic heart. But it must hurt you, deep down, knowing that you've gone through such a hard time to save a land that, ultimately... well, it just isn't worth saving, is it?" He continued in the same slow drawl, cruelly drawing out each word to emphasise the taunt behind them. His smile deepened as he eased back, grimacing briefly at realising his sore back wasn't met with the beloved feather pillows spread across his bed back home but rather more hard, cold stone, but that wasn't enough to stop him now his lips had loosened and, for once, he had the opportunity to be his true, authentic self with someone.

"Really. It's so depressing here. You people, living like moles under the ground... I'd feel sorry for you if I actually gave a shit."
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back