The Taste of Revenge

"So… the facade finally drops then, huh?" Replied Ivory as he watched, the grin fading slowly. No longer was he sat confidently, arms folded in triumph. No, his victorious high was short lived upon hearing the scathing words from Elior.

He wasn't surprised, simply… disappointed. For the briefest moment he did genuinely hope that 'the golden child' Prince was truly some perfect angel that could do no harm to the smallest of creature; the part of his brain that told him to run back to The Dark with his tail between his legs, wrong. If it were true; if the hundreds of years of animosity many of The Dark felt towards the royal family were all for naught? Ivory would be not only embarrassed but devastated. Those months he spent on the plan, pushing those he loved away for all of this? He'd be an asshole, plain and simple.

He would be an asshole but he was okay with that, he wasn't okay with hurting an innocent man - but luckily for Ivory, none such man sat before him.

"We live like moles because your family put us here." Ivory snapped, his voice no longer the soft and kind tone shown to those he cared about, rather instead like a blade against steel; sparks in his eyes as the metal hit the wrong edge of the rock. "I know about what your family did; I know what your people did, Elior. This - I know it isn't right to hurt those who are innocent but you aren't innocent, are you? You're just like your ancestors before you. It's disgusting, really. Kind of hilarious too, knowing you still hold that pompous attitude even down here."

The obsidian dagger rested on the very edge of the bed. Ivory's eyes moved to it before his fingers traced its edge carefully, the misshapen dagger certainly not his best work but it was still awfully nice compared to many made. He held the edge to Elior's throat, pushing just hard enough until he saw a small band of blood.

"There are three ways this can happen, I'm aware. The ideal situation is that your people leave mine alone and you no longer exploit us for nothing. We get better healthcare and medicine, you get your materials and pay the full price. Another option is that I must kill their Golden Child because my requests haven't been made. Lastly, and I'm sure it's the perfect scenario for you, my attempts to help my people fail and my head ends up on a pile in front of thaf pretty palace of yours. I don't want to hurt you, Elior - it's true, you're awfully handsome and I'm not a violent man. I just… I need to do what's right for my people. If killing you is what I need to do, then I'll do it."
 
"I don't recall doing anything that affected your existence down here, Ivory. I'm not the King, after all. Your quarrel is with my father but considering the lack of blood on that blade, I can assume he's still alive and breathing in his bed back in Hollowslocke?" Responded Elior dryly, his eyes momentarily darting to the dagger at his throat before returning to settle on Ivory's face once more. The position of it against his neck, sharpness intensified whenever he was forced to swallow and inadvertently apply pressure, wasn't a comfortable feeling, particularly when the threat of his life meeting an abrupt end was one he had little choice but to accept as a possibility.

Desperation could drive most people to commit actions they might never have previously thought themselves capable of, and when Elior had made little secret of his disgust for Ivory, what was really stopping the other from disposing of the Prince there and then? He doubted it would happen anytime soon, believing that the more peaceful of options would be pursued before murder, but he would be a foolish man not to recognise the chance that he would meet his end in The Dark, at Ivory's hand.

That hardly meant he was prepared to start grovelling pathetically for his life - he wouldn't ever give Ivory the satisfaction and, even if he didn't care too much about doing that, lowering himself to a position of ridicule, of inferiority, was never something his ego would allow for.

Besides, the facade had been dropped. Now was a chance to be himself and if that led to his untimely demise because he was too fond of letting truths leak from his lips in typically callous fashion, or pompously mocking Ivory's plight, then so be it. He would rather die being honest to who he was than feign it in the slim chance that Ivory would let him go home any time soon.

"You know, you'd have stood a better chance of things if you had killed my father for me. I'd have felt indebted to you, taking such a risk and removing him from the throne he's ridiculed all these years through his ineptitude. I'd have punished you with the gallows, of course - but you'd have gone to your death at least having my respect-- or the slimmest sliver of it I would allow myself to offer you. Your anger towards my father is obvious-- yet he's still breathing? Still sleeping soundly in his bed? Don't you wish you shoved that dagger into his chest? Wouldn't that have been satisfying? But no. No, you're an eternal disappointment." Elior continued tauntingly, a slight shake of his head arriving to emphasise the genuine dissatisfaction he felt at knowing his father was safe from harm, whilst he was having to endure the indignity of The Dark and a blade threateningly placed to his neck.

How on earth was that fair?

"If you're quite done playing at being the big bad guy-- I'm hardly quaking with fear, Ivory. You're rather embarrassing yourself, so step back from my fucking throat. You aren't going to kill me, not tonight at least, so let's stop the pretence. Really, it's rather cute seeing you attempt to scare me into submission, something rather attractive about having you loom over me like this, but-- well, it's pathetic and any delight I initially garnered from it has worn thin. So scoot back and take a seat far from me-- you are quite disconcerting up close."
 
Ivory stood in silence for a moment as his cheeks seemed to radiate the same deep red hue his eyes did, said eyes wide in a mix of horror and embarrassment. Anger certainly was the main fuel behind the sudden burning red in his otherwise vantablack skin. No longer did those eyes hold their owlish appearance, replaced instead by an unsubtle glare down at the man before him. Nonetheless he moved the dagger from Elior's throat to rest inside it's holster, if only for now.

"Embarrassing myself? I'm not trying to be the big bad guy, Elior. I'm the fucking good guy!" Ivory hissed before his eyes moved away from the man, the blush still on display as the candlelight flickered. "I didn't kill your father, you fucking ingrate, because I don't want to kill anyone. I-I'm not a murderer, I'm..."

Blink. Blink.

"I know this may seem a bit drastic but drastic matters had to be taken. I took you instead if simply killing your father because I know how much people adore your act. Even my father respects your family for some reason, imagine how heartbroken he'll be once I tell him the truth - how heartbroken everyone will be," he continued after a pause, his voice returning to it's usual calm and soothing tones. He stood up from the edge of the bed after letting his hands run against the fabrics, most likely handmade by the people who had died in the same house. The thought sent a shiver up his spine, not the cold. Adjusting the candles a bit, Ivory then moved to the chair in the corner of the room - perhaps not offering the most comforting appearance of two eyes and a blush that was soon fading now that he was no longer in the direct light of he burning wicks.

"If we are being honest here, Elior, it's true. I've had countless dreams of bashing your father's skull in against the walls of my home before. I've pictured your father getting sick just like my sister had, watching him pushed down stream like her. Those feelings weren't completely aimed at you, until I saw you. You just - you have the face of an asshole, to put it bluntly." He shrugged, his hands held up in admission- though only the briefest of shadows could be seen of the motion. "I would like to... avoid such violent thoughts, though. I'd prefer action, diplomatic sorts. I know how much you matter to your parents, its... it's rather sweet, actually, I will admit. A bit sickeningly so, the way your father defended you so rudely leaving dinner like that to, what? Fuck that soldier boy? How naughty, I'm sure he would never believe the truth, and I'm sure your little friend would be hanged at the gallows before you admitted the truth as to why you have those bruises there. Alas."

The brief spike in anger had gone, though Ivory was no idiot - he was sure that Elior would do all he could to just bring that anger back. He had to remind himself to stay calm, things couldn't get out of hand all because he had a spike in anger.

"As I said before, I suggest you get some rest. You can try some of Rufioh's Quarry's best cuisine come the morning. It's a town I never really came to often before given the fact that it's been pretty dead for a few decades now, but I know there's a lovely market here." He explained, his tone genuine as he described the barren former mining town, now depleted of resources. His fingers traced the rings that lined his fingers, the stones casting brief flashes of light against the candles. "Or stay awake, I don't really care."
 
Elior was left grinning widely once the other took the few initial steps back. It perhaps wasn't too wise to tempt fate and physicalise how smug he was at his request being honoured, at having successfully talked his way out of having the dagger pressed up against his throat, but holding back on emoting how he felt when this was the first opportunity he had ever had to be himself wasn't all that likely. No, even if it led to consequences and put him at risk of a more difficult time within The Dark, Elior had reasoned that it was worth it.

He could either spend his days holding back just for the sake of avoiding a punch - or accept that a beating or two was inevitable and enjoy himself as much as he was capable of throughout it. After so many years locking away how he felt and dealing with the migraines that came with withholding so much of himself from view, the chance to finally communicate it, the opportunity to express himself, was almost... cathartic.

It wasn't ideal for Ivory to be met with someone seemingly keen on ridiculing every move he made without caring to be subtle in the intensity of those critiques, he knew that.

He just didn't particularly care.

"You've dreamt of smashing my father's skull-- oh, Ivory, that's rather brutal. I had no idea your thoughts were so disgustingly violent. I doubt the good guys harbour such horrendously dark thoughts," he quipped tauntingly, shaking his head to himself to emphasise the horrific nature to Ivory's confessions. Not that he remotely felt appalled by them, of course - if anything, he found the intensity behind Ivory's desires to be rather intriguing. It made the other far more interesting, but he wasn't prepared to provide him with a compliment, at least not one of that nature.

"And yet-- you didn't act on those desires, did you? You cowardly backed off, retreating from an action that would have helped your people more. My father would do the world more good dead than he ever could alive. You had a marvellous opportunity to bring some good to the world, as the good guy should do. But alas. You're a coward. I see that; I respect that, in fact. It's difficult to be brave. It comes with risks. You're safer as the coward, Ivory," he hummed in continued criticism, his eyes lighting, momentarily, in amusement. His body language altered as he eased into the flow of the taunts, his body leaned forward to drink in the unease and the anger he was hopefully causing. To say he was thriving off Ivory's discomfort was an understatement: he had now come to long for it; desired to see him flinch in horror or recoil in self-judgement.

It was the only slice of entertainment Elior was going to get whilst tied up on a horrendously uncomfortable bed. How could he be judged for doing whatever he could to keep him sane when the world he had been thrown into had the potential to drive him mad with rage and disgust?

And yet, that amusement and the smug energy was short-lived. He should have anticipated a reaction from Ivory; some sharp words of his own to counter the ones flying remorselessly from Elior's own lips. If he had come to realise one thing about ivory, it was his unpredictability - with the fact he had successfully tricked Elior and now had him held captive only epitomising that point better than anything else could. Sure, Elior might have worked out a way to make the most of his situation but that didn't change the fact that, ultimately, he had been fooled. With that in mind, he knew he had a lesson to learn in never underestimating what Ivory was thinking; never think he knew him when the other was capable of throwing him for a loop and engaging in a set of actions that Elior, even if he thought himself a genius, hadn't considered.

It was why he was left to stew in outrage at himself for failing to prepare himself sufficiently for the charged barb; the taunt about the moment he had shared with Nathaniel when the dinner was ongoing. The idea of his father ever finding out about it didn't scare him, per se - but it did send a rush of anger through him, because he knew what the response to his preferences would cause. His mother might not disown him but she would be horrified at the idea, growing emotional when she realised that her son wasn't going to fall madly in love and have the romantic, fairy-tale marriage with the woman they had chosen for him to wed. His father, meanwhile, would vocalise his shock with anger: however deeply he loved his son, there would be no forgiving the actions he had taken part in. That anger would have been present if he learnt that Elior had slept with anyone outside of marriage - but if that someone was a man? He would be treated with by his father with disgust; with outrage.

"...I'm not a coward like you are, Ivory. I wouldn't harbour my desires and keep them locked up in my head. If I have these bounds removed, I'm more than willing to act on the desires currently running through my mind by tearing out your throat. So fuck you," he sneered viciously, his jaw clenched as he fought back the urge to try and commit that action there and then. He exhaled sharply and turned his head to the side, focusing on a corner of the room to avoid having to lock eyes with Ivory.
 
"Language, your highness," Ivory drawled slowly, painfully so as he watched in amusement. His hands slowly returned to his lap, resting neatly. "By your logic, you're the biggest coward of them all. You've spent your entire life with a facade instead of exposing your true feelings, hiding your real self. Isn't that cowardly as well? You can say that you've done it to get what you want, or perhaps you were afraid to upset your family? I can't read your mind, Elior, and I fear what I would see if I could." A chuckle followed, his mood having seemingly stabilized.

The similarities in them both was frightening, witnessing an otherwise prim and proper Elior lash out like a wild animal. He couldn't blame the man, he would probably do the same if he were in that position - the only difference being that Ivory had the strength to get out after years of grueling physical labor. Sure, the last year or so was thankfully lacking in menial labor and the constant ache in his body but he still had to work hard to get where he was. He was no scientist, that was certain, but he figured the people of The Dark's bones were either far weaker, or far stronger, than that of The Light. Maybe he could find out with Elior -

Blink.

"I would like to say that not acting on my desires is a sign of self-control, not cowardice. 'When you do stupid things, stupid things happen', as my grandfather often would say. If I simply stormed your palace and sliced your father's throat, what would that mean for me? You would be in power and you're a grimy little liar, huh? I would be at the gallows, like you said, and nothing would have happened. I know you don't care about my people, drop the act. Your father, I hope, at least has a heart and is willing to listen if I return you untouched. No, restraint is important - I'm sure you've had to do just that all your life. How sad." He hummed before letting his own eyes finally move from Elior to focus on the candle beside him, watching as the wax dripped on the stone dresser. He would clean that later. "You're lack of control is kind of pathetic, actually."
 
"Of course I don't care for your people. Did you think the personality I falsified held a sincere consideration for your kind, Ivory? Far from it. Don't be ridiculous. You can all burn for all I care," he spat venomously in response, the vitriol at the heart of the retort contorting his features so they mirrored the poison being spewed. By candlelight, said features were dimly lit - granted, the flickering light highlighted the symmetrical angularity of his structure, but when his head was dipped forward slightly and his lips pulled into the unrelenting scowl, the overall impression was more eery than anything else.

He exhaled through his nose and averted his gaze once more, forcing aside the barrage of criticisms that cut him deeper than he wanted them to. He could handle the remarks to some extent, allowing most to simply wash over him as the uneducated ramblings of an inferior fool but there were some words that hit close to home; some remarks that rendered too painful to ignore.

Because it was... cowardly, wasn't it? To be a grown adult, someone loved and adored by all in his kingdom, but stealing moments of pleasure behind closed doors so his parents never discovered those preferences? He easily justified the facade as a whole, the genius of it (in his eyes) merely lost on Ivory for a multitude of reasons, but it wasn't quite as easy to justify his continued decision to hide an aspect of him that wasn't criminal. Hiding his disregard for the populace, his innate disgust for anyone he didn't see to be on his level (which was everyone)-- well, that made sense given his ambitiousness and lofty prospects, but hiding his feelings for the men that had come into his life over the years?

It brought up doubts that he didn't want to contemplate - and in his steadfast refusal to do so, he opted to take out the anger it brought up on Ivory. Granted, he didn't need much of an excuse to aim his vitriol at him but now he had more of a justification behind it to do so.

As subtly as he could, he flexed his fingers to test the tightness of the rope around his wrists. Despite the years of training he had voluntarily taken part in (albeit for reasons he hid from his father, pretending he was there to toughen up rather than spend the hours contentedly watching the soldiers at work), he hadn't developed enough of a physicality to break out of the confines. And hell, even if some miracle occurred and he managed to loosen them to an extent that he could slip the rope off, how would he get back to The Light; to Hollowslocke? He didn't know where in The Dark he was and even if he did, Ivory made it sound as though the tunnels that connected the kingdom were complex.

And like hell would he ever consider relying on a stranger in The Dark for help.

Miserable and now entirely fed up, he flopped back against the typically hard surface behind him and dully rested his eyes on Ivory - or what he could make out of him amongst the dim light in the room.

"I hope you're happy that I'm going to miss my performance at the royal theatre. I've been practising my lines for the past month now. It would have been a remarkable debut. I'd have had the crowd chanting my name, lavishing me with adoration. You've robbed The Light of that and it's absolutely egregious," he muttered in genuine seriousness, a slight pout even residing on his lips at the injustice of Ivory's actions and all the consequences they had provoked.

"But I don't suppose you care about the arts. You don't strike me as being civilised enough for that sort of appreciation, or you'd never rob my people of the chance to see me perform. I would have been sublime; everyone says so. I'm a wonderful actor - as the fact the love I receive off the idiots that make up the population of my kingdom serves to prove, hm? And yet-- I'm stuck here with you rather than providing them with a historic performance on stage. You really are cruel to have deprived the kingdom of that."
 
"Ah, yes. I am, aren't I?" Ivory replied simply, returning his gaze to Elior as he watched the pout form. An audible snort of disbelief escaped, how could he still act so petulant in this situation? A smile found itself on Ivory's lips in amusement as he eased back a bit, no longer holding a formal pose if Elior chose not to do so either. Instead he eased back, his own bones aching as he did so - the crack in his knees was subtle but still filled the silence as he folded his legs neatly. He offered a simple shrug in response, obviously not falling for the pout however cute it was.

"I wouldn't say no to you acting your performance, if you'd like. That voice you used, the one you've lied to your people with - it's annoying. I much prefer the real you; it makes me want to punch you in the throat but at least I know you're being honest with me." Ivory admitted before pushing to his feet, those quiet snaps and pops once again heard now that his body had relaxed.

"I would say stay here but you and I both know that you won't try and run. I will be right back, you will need water. As I said, I can grab us food in the morning , but it's important to stay hydrated." He stated before giving a quick glance to Elior before seemingly disappearing into the darkness. It wasn't more than ten minutes before he returned though, two glass goblets in hand - their craft was quite nice though certainly lacking in any refined adornments Elior might be used to. His thumbs rubbed the small chip at the bottom of the one goblet, both filled with fresh stream water, before offering a sip to the tied man from the otherwise perfect cup.

"If you drink it, I won't have to force you to do it. Wouldn't want to mess that hair of yours, hm?" He spoke, his tone soft - almost as quiet as it had been in The Light. That being said, his free hand rested within Elior's hair nonetheless, a reminder that he was more than ready to grab it if need be.
 
Just because he wasn't prepared to run out amongst a potential maze, confusing turns and twists in the dark being too much of a risk in spite of his desperation to leave... well, it didn't mean that Elior wasn't eager to loosen the bounds to his wrists. If he had the ability to use his hands, he could at least use it to his advantage and catch the other by surprise, perhaps even overpower him with that element on his side and force him to lead him through the underground network until they emerged out of the darkness and into the light--

The idea remained in place even if he had already recognised the flaws in it. To force Ivory to do anything, he needed to first overpower him and the chances of that were so slim that Elior had to admit to himself being second best in terms of their separate strengths. Ivory easily won that contest, which left the only option of forcing him to do anything being to get his hands on the dagger or any weapon of some kind-- but that, like everything else, rested upon him loosening the rope.

And no amount of struggle seemed to do the trick. He turned over onto his stomach and desperately wriggled both his hands even if the friction it caused rubbed the skin beneath the ropes raw. He was sure he could feel the sensation of blood trickling down his arm from just how frantically he struggled against the confines, but no pain emerged; not when he was so caught up in the desperation of just getting the fucking rope off--

He sat up just in time for Ivory's return, a dull glance sent upwards at his captor as though he had spent the entirety of his absence doing little else than sitting upright, bored out of his mind. He wanted to flinch at Ivory's touch out of disgust but, realising it could be mistaken for fear (which would have been mortifying and a dagger to his ego), he forced the urge aside and obediently took a sip of the water.

He didn't hold back on his response to it, his nose crinkling in dissatisfaction.

"That tastes abhorrent. Water in The Light is purer. Cleaner too, I imagine. Can't you bring me some wine instead? I can't believe for one second that you have decent wine -where you'd find the grapes is beyond my imagination- but whatever you have that is close to alcohol, I'd be happy to try it. Anything to dull the pain of being in your utterly tedious company would be heavenly, Ivory," he hummed, albeit with a roll of his eyes. It wasn't tiring, the endless barrage of quips and cutting comments. If anything, he hadn't felt more awake and alert than he was now, embracing the full force of who he was without the exhaustion that came with hiding it on a daily basis back home.

But the situation he was thrown into was draining. He didn't fear being kept in The Dark for weeks to come, entirely confident that his troops would find him before his father did the ludicrous thing of cooperating with Ivory, but all the darkness, the lack of fresh air, the energy-- that was tiring on him, sapping him of the energy he wanted to cling to.

He couldn't be entirely certain that Ivory wouldn't take his taunts to heart and simply slice his throat in his sleep, after all.

"I told you before: mess me up however you like, but don't bruise my face. I may not have a performance to keep in mind but I would like to keep my beauty intact. A bruise would only mar it, and I don't think perfection should be muddied, should it? It should remain intact; pristine," he egotistically drawled, lifting his head and tilting it in a way that the light best captured his feature for emphasis. "See? Perfection. Let's keep it that way-- put simply, your hands can touch anything but my face. Punch me, kick me, bite me-- just leave my face alone, hm?"
 
Another blink, though not to hold back his anger - no, it was out of confusion at the water comment. What followed wasn't an angry snap or cruel words but a laugh. A brief one, but a genuine one nonetheless as Ivory's sharp teeth were on full display. He then paused to take a sip for himself out of the glass, his fingers meanwhile absently running through Elior's hair. Not aggressively, rather… oddly affectionately so, the lapidarist having always found comfort in touch and textures. Elior's hair was soft, what he imagined a puppy felt like.

"It definitely does taste differently but I wouldn't say that's a bad thing. Personally I think this water is better - better tasting, better for you. It has minerals in it, obviously - ones that make your teeth nice and strong, or that's what my mother always told me." He explained, a smile still ion his lips despite Elior's annoying words. At any moment he could use his grip on the Prince's hair and simply bash his face against the edge of the bed, and the thought came to him at the mention of keeping his perfect fucking face-

Blink.

"i feel like you might secretly want me to bite you, Elior. I know you enjoy keeping up a cowardly facade amongst your family but you don't need to lie to me. Is that why you're mentioning this? Do you like it rough, your highness?" He asked, the taunting unsubtle in his voice as Ivory did finally grip the man's hair - not too tight as to cause pain but tight enough to force the man to look at him proper. "It's kind of funny, if you ask me. Fucked up too. You're fucked up."

Another laugh before he released his grip and once again returned to running his hands through his hair before grabbing his own cup and enjoying the water, sighing. His eyes were locked on what appeared to be mere darkness to the unadjusted Elior but was really an entire kitchen area, Ivory's eyes scanning it absently.

"Our wine is made from provisions given to us - raisins. It isn't really something sold, more so something a family makes - but I'm sure I can fetch a bottle somewhere. I know Emory's mother lives near here…" he said, more so thinking out loud than anything. He took a moment to enjoy the water again before glancing to his side, at Elior. "I don't know if you can handle it, though. That wine - the kind we had for dinner? Oh, it was so weak it might as well have been juice! This stuff has a kick, I don't think you could handle more than a glass."
 
"Oh, I'm sorry. The man who put a dagger to my throat and kidnapped me is calling me fucked up? Am I hearing that right? If I'm fucked up, you're in an entire category by yourself, dear Ivory. There's no word to describe what you are if that's the case," countered Elior, a similar moment occurring as a laugh escaped his own throat; one just as genuine in its disbelief at Ivory's had been mere seconds prior. He didn't want to laugh and share that moment with Ivory but withholding it when the other had genuinely uttered something that amused him was impossible. The words themselves were almost ludicrous, the statement (in Elior's eyes) having a million things wrong with it--

But he derived genuine humour from it, however unhappy he was with the realisation and the consequences that his laugh represented.

He wanted to regard Ivory poorly, with venom and poison and disgust. He wanted to do nothing but make his life as miserable as possible; never fail to drop a cutting comment or a barbed jibe whenever he had the opportunity to do so. Sharing a moment where they had both laughed at something the other had said wasn't a part of the plan and, thus, was something he could only curse himself inwardly for lacking the self-control to withhold the urge; to keep it locked behind the walls he ought to have been an expert at maintaining after so many years practising restraint.

He hadn't had much of a complaint in mind when Ivory had started to run his fingers through his hair without the roughness he anticipated but, coming to realise that he was letting far too much slide and risking making things a little too easy for Ivory, he made a show of snatching his head away just seconds before Ivory retreated. It did little to disguise the fact he had spent longer perfectly content with Ivory's actions... but he could ignore that; put it down to the shock of Ivory saying something relatively amusing.

Now his senses had returned, he was back on board with his plan - and allowing anything Ivory said or did to potentially disrupt it just couldn't happen. Not again. Not even once more.

"I don't remember what wine we had at dinner. I imagine it was exquisite but the specificities are lost on me. I was rather busy having sex with Nathaniel. Next time, I'll remember to stop the butler and ask for details before I head off to get fucked, okay?" He bitterly grunted in reply, making little effort beyond the statement (that of which dripped with sarcasm) to actually engage with Ivory. He had far more to say, more insults resting on the tip of his tongue as he eagerly sought to shift the energy back to the negativity that ought to have remained a constant, but doing so when he was suddenly as exhausted as he was seemed pointless.

He wasn't sure he could deliver a devastating blow if he yawned midway through the sentence, eyes half-lidded in his sleepiness - and yet, against his better knowledge, he attempted it.

"You're utterly boring. I'm sure you're aware, but it is amazing just how tedious you--" he trailed off, the worst occurring as his words slipped in favour of a small yawn, his eyes already dropping despite his best efforts to hold his head up and keep them open. "You're a fucking--" another pause, this time accompanied by his voice growing sleepy: "--you're just annoying, that's the... the headline here. You're annoying."
 
"Took you awhile to get there, didn't it?" Replied Ivory with a snort, having grown quiet to allow Elior time to speak. Of course his hand no longer rested within the other's locks, it instead moved to grab a few extra blankets that had been tossed to the ground. They weren't fine silk or fresh cotton but they were sure as hell close so, after setting both of their glasses to the side, Ivory got to his feet to place the blankets over his kidnapped Prince.

He hadn't been kidnapped. This was… consensual in some way. He was not a bad guy. A bad guy would act on his impulses, would hurt those who hurt him without a second thought. No, he was making sure Elior was warm with some soft blankets! Sure, he was still tied up but - it was just the cost of Justice. He tucked Elior in, the blankets reaching the man's neck before he stepped back and rested his fists on his hips.

"Just get to bed, yeah? If you plan to sling insults at me, do it while you're actually awake - don't insult me like this," he huffed, his words spoken like a parent scolding a child. The last blanket he grabbed for himself, wrapping it around himself as he took a seat back on the chair across from the other. He had a plan, his eyes glancing briefly away at seemingly more darkness to Elior, rather than the slate slabs that sat neatly by the chair. He had to write a few things, he was sure word would get to The Dark within a few days so he needed to write what he wanted now. Unlike the Prince, Ivory was still full of energy - hell, he wasn't the type to sleep very often anyway given his otherwise previously strict work schedule. He had leeway now given his new position, but old habits died hard within him it seemed.

"I'm going to blow the candles out now, yeah? I have things to do so… sleep. I've found the sound of the River is actually quite relaxing, so…" Ivory continued, his words not above a whisper as he blew the candles beside Elior out. He left one, a candle for himself to help write what he needed.

His plan: he would write his requests out and send it through the mailing system - used frequently through The Dark of course, though rarely did it make contact with The Light. He would venture out to the market, grab some ingredients needed as morning began to approach - indicated by the glowing mushrooms opening their gills and casting light within the tunnels similar to late dusk; bright enough to see for the average Light member but still dark enough to otherwise be enveloped in shadows. He would grab some wood resources as well to start up the hearth in the kitchen, perhaps Elior would appreciate the new experience? Sure, food from The Light wasn't good but he would be lying if he said he wasn't happy to have at least been given the opportunity to try it, revenge plans aside.
 
Any chance Elior had at actually fighting off his tiredness met a brick wall once the blankets were placed over him, with a gentleness that only made him grunt in an attempted effort at disgust. He wanted to roll his eyes at the consideration offered; mock it with every ounce of his energy, but the desire to do so also faded when the comfort they provided to the chill in his bones was far too snug to risk having it ripped from him.

Sure, he found a multitude of reasons to criticise the blankets: they weren't as soft as the ones that lined his bed at home, the material hardly as plush or luxurious, but he would be lying if he said that they didn't do the job they were supposed to do in keeping him warm.

And so, despite the flat grimace that rested on his face at Ivory's momentary proximity to him, Elior wasn't able of keeping his eyes open for more than a few seconds. Eventually, the exhaustion won: everything he had endured over the last hour or so had understandably worn him out, the tension in his body that he hadn't even been aware he had been carrying finally allowed the chance to release.

Adopting a comfortable position wasn't easy when his ankles and wrists remained bound, the tightness of which sent continuous throbs of pain through him, but he was at the point of tiredness that he could have gone to sleep anywhere, in any condition.

His head dropped forward a minute later as a deep sleep took hold, his dreams igniting almost immediately afterwards. He dreamt, as he was often prone to do, of his coronation; sitting atop a grand throne as his people cheered raucously on the sidelines, screaming joyfully until their throats became raw at the sight of the golden Prince taking on the role as their King. He felt the sun warm his cheeks as he surveyed the crowd, drinking in the adoration and indulging in the worship-like devotion from each and every person within it.

His eyes continued to scan the crowd until, even in his dream, he came to realise that he was actively seeking someone out. The devoted smiles on the faces of his subjects were nice to witness, pleasurable to his raging ego, but they weren't what he wanted to see. His eyes continued to search, growing more desperate and even frantic with each second that passed and, so engrossed in the endeavour, he failed to notice the sun disappearing from the sky, behind cover of grey, ominous clouds that seemed to grow and expand across the previously blue sky until darkness engulfed the land entirely.

And then he found who he had been looking for, the feel of Ivory's dagger against his throat giving him cause for alarm-- until ivory leant down from behind him to whisper in his ear, that action causing a tingle, a shudder, to spread down his spine--

His eyes opened and the dream came to an abrupt end, even if the confusing -and not all that agreeable- nature of it remained present in Elior's mind. It-- didn't mean anything, of course. No, he was tired and stressed and under duress - the dream, in all its perplexity, was merely a repercussion of everything he had recently gone through-- and was still going through.

He exhaled under his breath, softly, as his eyes adjusted to the room. A part of him initially believed he was back home, back under the quilts of his bed, until realisation sunk in and the pain from the rope burns along his wrist kicked in without remorse. Another exhale sounded, this one shaky as he attempted to acclimatise to the pain as best he could, before he remembered Ivory. Granted, he couldn't entirely think of the man without also recalling his dream, but he did his best to push the horror of it aside.

"Ivory? Are you-- are you there?"
 
The distinct sound of pots rattling was Elior's answer, followed by a sharp 'shit', though a familiar one nonetheless as Ivory hurried to peer into the bedroom.

It had been a day, to say the least. Having had written his, he cringed, manifesto, he had set the piles of sturdy slate to the side. He woke up early to realize he had slept so awkwardly on a stone chair. Sure, it wasn't much different from a stone bed but the bed at least offered movement, the chair instead keeping the sitter in one spot. The adrenalin from the day had worn off and the damage from the fall hit him hard but he didn't have time to dwell on it. There was a salve his mother had shown him to make when he was younger but he was too tired to recall the ingredients now, not to mention the likeliness of the materials being available wasn't high. As a result, Ivory would simply have to deal with it.

And so he did, pushing himself from the chair sat across from Elior's bed to do as was plan. Step one, mail out his letters. That went smoothly, the mail carrier thankfully oblivious to why he had returned so early from his trip to The Light. Then to the market, where he had been forced to listen to the butcher explain some stupid story about his day. A lonely guy, clearly, and Ivory wasn't willing to make him feel any lonelier by simply cutting him off. No, much like Elior he needed to keep up a good appearance. He was the good guy. After keeping his own dialogue short, he was able to buy quite a bit of food from the different stalls, most being from The Dark's own biome, thankfully. He managed to return to the abandoned home with having only broken one spider egg from it's carton. Then he started on breakfast, a strange excitement suddenly flooding Ivory was newfound energy.

That an a cup of tea helped too, having bought some as well for the both to enjoy.

"Yes, I'm here. I'm glad you're awake, I was worried you wouldn't wake up at all." He admitted with a shrug, that of which was far more visible now that there was some bit of 'light' shining into the home, if you could call it that. The marble that made up the house was easier to see now, the walls almost an odd peachy color in reality, a fact the candles couldn't show well. The room itself seemed to open up, the sight of the chair Ivory sat in as well as a dresser and bookshelf were on display, their design lacking the intricacies that most homes had given the area they were in. The bookshelf lacked books, instead containing small statues that Ivory assumed it's former residents had made and, while they were far from perfect, they were too charming to simply toss out. They didn't matter though, his attention instead on the hog-tied Elior as he moved to light the candles by the bed.

"Breakfast is almost done - though I suppose it's lunch now, huh? Almost, at least. You slept quite a bit." The man explained casually, as if the person he was speaking to wasn't a kidnapped Prince who wanted him dead. No, he spoke as if Elior was one of his mining buddies as he presented a plate of food and a cup of tea, a wide smile on display. The food did look very well plated, even if the food seemed a bit... scary.

"I made scrambled nymphs with roasted truffles and some smushed glowberries. Had to smush them, your teeth are too soft to handle the skin, i think. I've got steamed cave spider as well if you can handle it. I've also got lingzhi tea, it shoud help numb any pain your feeling," he explained quite proudly, presenting the dish to the Prince with a hum before resting it down briefly to help Elior sit up. Only then would he take a seat on the edge of the bed once again, fork in hand waiting to offer food.

"Try not to be the dramatic brat you are and spit it out, genuinely try to eat it. You need the energy and protein, hm? Then after you try everything you can babble on about how your food is somehow superior like I know you will. Just... give it a shot, yeah?"
 
Ultimately, Elior didn't know whether to be thankful that he wasn't left alone in an environment that inevitably disgusted him (his critical glances around at the decor were far from subtle) or offended that he was forced to endure more of his kidnapper's company. His dream had done little other than complicate matters internally, though it had succeeded in at least making him determined to outwardly critique everything Ivory did and insult everything he said.

If he maintained the negative energy towards him, perhaps it would dismantle whatever ludicrous emotions were silently growing within him. Ivory was attractive, that much he had always believed, but what good did it do him to feed that admission with any energy now? Ivory was cute but he was also the person who was holding him hostage; the person that sought to dismantle the plans that Elior quietly held and had spent years patiently awaiting the day to put it into fruition. If Ivory got his way and the King negotiated with The Dark, Elior would never be able to see the juxtaposing nation overthrown; he would never be able to take it over with the vociferous support from his people he knew he would receive if things went his way.

Ivory was an irritating threat to everything Elior had spent his life yearning for - so like hell could he allow himself to slip up and consider Ivory as anything but the bug he needed to squash.

It wasn't so much if he could overthrow him and The Dark; it was merely a matter of when.

He had had years of practise being patient, after all. A few days, enduring Ivory and awaiting just one chance to fall into his lap, was nothing in comparison.

"You are kidding, aren't you? Please tell me this is what you consider comedic in The Dark?" The Prince blurted once Ivory came into view and took a seat on the bed. In doing so, Elior attempted to shift away from him as best he could, uncomfortable with the proximity for a multitude of reasons - granted, anger at Ivory was the main one, the idea of being so close to someone who had thrown him into a situation (regardless of the benefits he believed he could gain from it) being uneasy at best and disgusting at worst. But the dream that had consumed hours of his subconsciousness had only provoked... an attraction he, now desperately, needed to brush off.

It would do himself no good to feed it energy and let it bloom from the small bud it currently existed as.

"I'm not eating fucking spider. You've lost it. You've absolutely lost your mind, Ivory. If you think I am allowing something as disgusting as spider to pass my lips, you really are far more sick and twisted than I imagined," he snapped, the abrupt force behind the venomous words causing his voice to break a little. His lips twisted into a grimace as he reluctantly eyed the plate in front of him, his stomach emitting a growl he could only curse himself for - he couldn't argue that he wasn't hungry when the evidence countering it had given him away.

"I'll-- try some of the berries. And the truffles. But nothing beyond that. If I starve whilst I'm here, that'll fall on your head-- much like the axe that I intend to swing myself when you're arrested for your crimes, but alas, that's only a dream at this moment in time," he proceeded, inwardly cursing him once again for even using the word 'dream' when he was determined to put it behind him, but, with a polished smile and his shoulders pushed back to at least proceed with some dignity, he obediently opened his mouth to be fed. It was demeaning but Ivory clearly had no intention to remove his binds to allow him to feed himself-- which was probably wise.

Elior had eyed the fork the moment Ivory sat down, after all. Without hesitation, he knew, if given the chance, he would have swung it as an improvised weapon, aiming for Ivory's neck--

"Can you hurry up already? I'm, quite literally, wasting away here," he grunted dramatically, giving the plate a nod for emphasis. "Honestly, some berries and that's it. I'll spit out anything else you try to feed me. That's your one and only warning."
 
There was a pause before Ivory spoke, a clear expression of confusion first. He had been told that people outside of The Dark weren't quite as fond of spiders as a whole,let alone seen as pets or food as they had become for his people. Watching the dramatic display of disgust, that confusion turned sly - though he said nothing of it, instead allowing Elior to spew off his disgust.

"As I said at dinner, cave spider is almost exactly like your 'crab'. Some spider, their exoskeleton can be boiled straight off. More often than not though you have to crack through it to get to the meat inside. It's actually quite sweet, though it really depends on the breed," Ivory explained slowly as he scooped up the berries after stabbing some of the fresh truffle onto the fork as well. For a little surprise, he hid the nymphs under the truffle and motioned for the other to open his mouth.

"I had a pet spider once, actually. When they're domesticated, depending on the breed, they can live up to about five years? Mine lived for eleven. Named her Chancy. Sometimes it makes me sad, knowing we raise spiders for food - but the morality of eating meat itself is something I don't have time to dwell on," he snorted, shaking his head. "Spiders are a big part of our diet, actually. Spiders and mushrooms, mostly. Lichen too, though that's pretty seasonal while mushrooms are pretty consistent and... I know you don't care about any of that."

He paused, waiting for Elior to take a bite before continuing.

"I do hope you like the nymphs, and that you can handle them. They're a bit crunchy as well, but they've got this great flavor when you roast them. Nutty, kind of?" He hummed, before taking a piece of the cooked baby spiders and swallowing it whole. He nodded and offered a thumbs up for emphasis, proud of his attempt at cooking given he wasn't exactly the best. "They're a whole thing too. Taking the babies away from their mother always sounds so horrible, blah blah blah. I don't think it's much of an issue given the fact that cave spiders usually abandon their babies - or at least the kind that are domesticated, like I said. Chancy wasn't like them, she was the most loving girl I've ever met." He spoke affectionately at the memory.

"As for these hollow threats, Elior, what are you going to do?" That sly tone slowly creeping into his voice. "Are you going to yell more? Complain? Is that what you'll do if I feed you more spiders? Please, don't be ridiculous. The closest form of attack you have against me is biting me and, as we've established, it seems you're the one who enjoys being bit."
 
In what was yet another example of Elior failing to think two steps ahead when it came to Ivory, there was no consideration that the other might quietly load the fork with one of the staples of the meal the Prince had explicitly asked not to be fed.

Were the situations reversed, he would have done the same without hesitation, the amusement he would garner from feeding Ivory something he stated he would dislike in the chance he inadvertently praised it afterwards being far too tempting to ignore. It would provide Elior with all the ammunition he would ever need to taunt Ivory; to remind him of how confident he had been in turning his nose up at what The Light could provide, only to end up obliviously enjoying it.

And yet, he failed to consider even for a second that that trick would be pulled on him. By now, with all he had learnt about Ivory, he ought to have built up some awareness that the other was capable of pulling off a deception with remarkable expertise - and though Elior's praise wouldn't go as far as to build Ivory up to be his equal in the field, he also couldn't deny that he was decent liar. At least, Elior seemed to fall the deceits time and time again, as evidenced by his decision to take the spoonful offered to him without any hesitation or doubt.

That came with the inherent extent of his ego. Even if Ivory had made it abundantly clear that he didn't care about Elior's title and saw no reason to give it even a scrap of respect, the Prince still believed, innately, that what he said would instantly be respected, even by the enemy. If he told him outright that he didn't want to try the nymphs or the spider, then, however delusional it was, he thought Ivory would respect the gravity of his word enough to honour it.

Clearly, that naivety, born from arrogance, came back to bite him when Ivory made it obvious that that wasn't the case.

In horror -and disbelief that he would even attempt to blatantly disrespect him in such a way- Elior's lips parted and his eyes widened a tad, locking on the plate in front of him as if to analyse everything on it; to desperately try his best to dismantle the smug revelation from his counterpart. He couldn't, of course: with Ivory's sly smile as proof, Elior was left with the dawning realisation - and his stomach swirled with nausea as a consequence of it, not helped by all the talk of spiders.

"Shut the fuck up," he murmured weakly, his brows furrowed as he struggled to stop his mind conjuring up the images of what he had eaten. Though already pale, his complexion became paler in his queasiness, the grey tinge seeming to have arrived within it in seconds.

He didn't have the energy to respond to the taunt or even shoot a mere glare up at him for it. No, as tempted as he otherwise would have been to match the energy and throw a scathing insult back at him, he wasn't even sure he could speak without the threat of throwing up becoming a reality.

"I don't-- I-- I'm going to throw up," he confessed, voice small like that of a child appealing for comfort. His head bowed as he attempted to compose himself, his breathing growing deeper: in through the nose and out through the mouth. "S-Seriously, I-- I'm going to be sick."
 
"Oh, jeez. Really? I know you've made the claim of being an excellent actor but this is far too dramatic, dear Elior." Ivory replied, his voice airy and light, teasing. Nonetheless he grabbed the bucket not too far from the bed and offered it promptly. Sure, he found the whole thing funny but he didn't want to clean up any vomit today, if he could avoid it.

"Now, is it the taste or is it the food itself? Because I know I'm certainly not a seasoned chef but the nymphs were fresh, that I am certain of." He continued, shaking his head. "See, I'm a little disappointed. I ate your... crab and chicken with honor, ate every morsel even if it made my stomach churn. This is downright disrespectful, Elior! Imagine what would have happened if I treated your delicacies with the same disregard you offer mine?" He continued, his words mocking despite the fact that he once again held the back of the Prince's head with kind touch, gentle in the way his fingers once again felt the other's hair and ran through it. He waited patiently for the deed to be done, finding himself getting genuinely impatient.

"If you don't get sick, I will be very impressed actually. It will mean not only is your stomach stronger than you think it is, it means that I did an alright job at cooking," Ivory hummed, his voice no longer taunting in nature, moreso contemplative. "I never had the strongest stomach in my family either. I would often be teased by my sister when I refused to eat cave spider myself, but I always found the texture of the nymphs to be kind of nice. That with some cave carrots? Delicious - though the carrots are out of season... hm. Sorry." He spoke, his tone holding an air of honesty. He paused, letting the silence ruminate for a moment before continuing.

"I suppose it was cruel, wasn't it? I was hoping, genuinely, that you would enjoy it." Ivory apologized, his eyes glancing away briefly, only to return. "Now get sick already, or I'll make you sick."
 
"You thought I would enjoy-- what did you call them? Nymphs? Y-You're mad--" He mumbled viciously, only to meet another unfortunate pause when a wave of nausea rolled over him, undoubtedly caused by the continued mention of what he had swallowed down - and hopefully kept down. Throwing up might make him feel better but the idea of having Ivory continually taunt him for hours, even days, over that action was bound to be far worse than the nauseated feeling could ever be.

No, as keen as he had been of getting everything out of his system just seconds prior, a clarity had formed to remind him that doing so was bound to be far more detrimental in the long-run than the sickening feeling would ever be. The latter would disappear with a little breathing and dedicated; the former, however, would hang over his head, constantly brought back to the front of any conversation if Ivory ever felt the desire to taunt him with it.

If the situations were reversed, he wouldn't hold back on throwing this in ivory's face, mocking his shaky stomach with cruel glee.

He could only expect Ivory to do precisely the same - and for that reason, however shaky his stomach genuinely was, he wasn't going to give him that
satisfaction.

"And you can't cook for shit, either. Might help if you had proper food at your disposal but it wouldn't surprise me if you fucked up quality ingredients too," he continued eventually, the period of prolonged silence ultimately necessary on his part in order to fight off the constant swirl of nausea within him. He hadn't fought it off particularly effectively, the feeling remaining present but at least softened, the intensity of it dipping enough to allow him to raise his head, the colour returning (albeit slightly) to his cheeks.

"I'm-- fine, I'll fight it off. But this does nothing to convince me that you're particularly good at anything. You're just a continual disappointment, aren't you, Ivory? To me, to everyone else too, I imagine. A real... fuck up," came the predictable hissed insult, accompanied by the severity of a glare that refused to soften even if ivory's movements were gentle in nature. If anything, the kindness of them provided Elior with the impetus to be cruller; harsher.

He wasn't going to find himself in a situation that provided Ivory with any kindness; that gave momentum to the unfortunate nature of his dreams. No, he would force himself to be unrelenting in his cruelty if he had to be; if it warded off any instinct he might otherwise feel to be... playful with him; nice to him.

"Get your hands off me, I'm fine," he added sharply for additional effect, attempting to pull his head away without disguising the desperation behind such an effort. "I'd rather starve than eat another morsel of that shit."
 
"You should at least eat the truffles and berries. I've heard that truffles are actually quite a luxury up on The Light…" Ivory began, his tone wary in nature. He fully intended to keep Elior alive, his anger permitting, so the idea of the Prince dying from starvation was... well, it was embarrassing. That being said, he wasn't going to allow good nymphs to go bad and grabbed the rest of the baby spiders and pushed them onto his own plate. He took another bite, humming in contemplation at the flavor. "Hm... maybe you're right. Needs more seasoning - but hey, I'm always up to learn a new skill."

He spoke so casually, the cruel words spewed from Elior's lips seemingly having no real effect - or at least on the surface level. In reality, he found that anger he wanted to avoid brewing, his jaw chewing the immature shells of the nymphs extra hard - the bursting of their abdomens being enough to distract him just a little, but not enough to diffuse his anger completely. His eyes returned to Elior after they peered at his own plate, another soft hum in contemplation.

His fingers, the pads like sandpaper from the years of physically labor, gripped into the Prince's hair as he forced the man to look at him. The yank wasn't strong enough to hurt the other, he was able to make such thing sure. Nonetheless, he held the grip in place that Elior couldn't look away.

"I may not be an excellent cook, but it isn't right to spread lies, dear Elior. You and I both know that you adore that crown I made. I could see it, that look in your eyes. Not to mention, I would say your mother would be inclined to disagree as well. Hell, I know for a fact your mother would be groveling, begging at my feet to make her more jewelry. I know you people love your pretty jewels, I saw the way you eyed my rings." He spoke, his tone shifting as his voice grew more gravely. Angry. "I would bet my life that your mother would be just as eager to take me to bed as you were last night if I made her a crown with even the fraction of care I had with yours."

Blink. Ivory released his grip, offering a gentle pat instead.

"I know I can improve on my cooking, and until I hear a response from your father, we'll have plenty of time to work on that, hm? I could head to Aerowyn's Cove, their market has all of the unique seasonings and such. That's where my richer clientele live most often - they're the closest to the surface, some of your greedy ideals must have rubbed off on them. Nonetheless. Unlike you, I do try to better myself every day. If you had seen the first necklace I made, you'd laugh." He chuckled, a switch seemingly flicked. "If you really do hate the nymphs, I won't include them in any more meals I make for you. I can grab the seasonings and add it to the cave spider though, I don't want to let that meat go to waste."
 
It was naive to assume that his cruel words, as cutting as they were, would go without some sort of repercussion - or at the very least, a reaction, verbal or physical, to indicate the anger he had caused. Elior expected it, even if Ivory maintained a relatively calm, unaffected demeanour. No, Elior knew enough about the other to know that he was capable of harbouring his true emotions effectively, if his behaviour at the dinner table in The Light, fraternising well with the King despite understandably despising his very existence, served as proof of anything.

So he couldn't claim to be surprised when that action eventually arrived, the harsh grip on his hair and the slight tug demanding that he lift his chin and meet Ivory's gaze making him smirk to himself in satisfaction. He hadn't been particularly effective at predicting Ivory's actions, his unpredictability proving to be far too successful for Elior's liking - so when he had managed to guess one of his moves, like hell was he going to allow the moment to slip by without congratulating himself for his genius.

Apparently, the dire situation he was caught up in and the horrors he felt he would continue to experience within the hellhole would never be a justification not to indulge in his own arrogance. It was as intrinsic to his character as everything else about him was - it wasn't just going to evaporate because he was stuck in a place that refused to cater to his ego.

If anything, it gave him more of an excuse to demand respect. Rather than retreat at hitting a wall, he felt the need to push harder until he broke it down. Was it realistic to expect Ivory to change his mindset and suddenly bend to Elior's every will and demand? No - but Elior was hardly something who cared for realism if it stood to dismantle what he wanted.

"...You're not my mother's type. You could throw countless crowns in her face and she wouldn't go near you, so don't flatter yourself. She's a hysterical woman with absolutely no qualities I deem respectable, but she at least has her loyalty to my father. That isn't easily severed. It certainly wouldn't be cut by you, so really, your raging ego rather blinds you," he retorted with, hilariously, no self-awareness to the fact the same statement could be said of him. Rather, content that he had made a scathing criticism based in fact, he pushed himself back with the same smirk pulled at his lips, entirely satisfied with how things had gone.

Aside from almost throwing up and sounding like a pathetic child seeking comfort because of it, anyway.

"As for me almost sleeping with you? Let's agree not to talk about it, shall we? It's mortifying that I even considered it," he grunted with a roll of his eyes, lips curling in apparent disgust as he took advantage of the increased light in the room to take Ivory in properly. Feigning disgust was easy but it wasn't as easy to do so when what he observed stood contrary to that emotion-- because, despite the differences, Ivory wasn't disgusting. No, he was... cute; attractive.

As the memories of Elior's dream continued to tauntingly prove, he had always known that fact to be true, however hard he fought against it.

"You've seen Nathaniel, hm? He's my type. Strong, handsome, devastatingly so. You... aren't, are you? You just... you were there to satisfy an itch I had. Nothing more, nothing less. And you barely managed that."
 
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