(no subject)
[Day 13, 5:07 am]
Yuuri walked out. The wimp is always fleeing confrontation, so it isn't much of a surprise that he up and left. His whispered words hang in the air, even once I can hear the faint murmur of the guards outside the door, punctuated by the quiet, sad sound of his voice.
My fingers halt their work on the buttons of my shirt as the sounds fade. Head cocked to one side, I listen, and tell myself over and over that his leaving will only make my own escape easier. I can't sit here in the castle like some empty-headed, idle, useless noble while Greta is in danger. I won't.
Abandoning the buttons for the moment, I tuck the tails of my shirt into my trousers and then reach out to hook a finger in the collar of my jacket. It is still too dark to see much, but the jumble of things pushed off the table is a deeper pile of shadow a few steps from where I stand now. My sword isn't here, but if I think hard, I vaguely remember having left the knives I'd hidden on my female body here in this room. The recollections from those days have a somewhat hazy, dream-like quality, and my lips twist into a scowl of self-loathing at the remembrances.
Kneeling, I pick through the pile, hands tracing the edges of the objects, trying to find the sheathed knives by feel. I voice a low hiss as my touch traces the sharpness of broken glass, a short, deep but narrow slice opening across the tip of the third finger on my left hand. Thoughtlessly I slide the injured digit between my lips, the thick copper-salt taste of blood intense on my tongue.
After a moment more, I have the knives. They are not what I would wish, short and ill-suited to the way I've been trained to fight, but until I can retrieve my sword they will have to do. My hand moves away from my mouth, the sting changing to a deeper throb in the air. Ignoring it, I shrug into my jacket, tucking the knives into my waistband beneath it.
Slowly, I walk toward the bed, though I don't know why I linger. There are a thousand things I should do: pack, eat, ready a horse... leave. I reach without thinking, straightening the blankets on my side of the bed until it looks like no one has slept there. The only sign of my presence is a small smear from my bleeding finger along one side of the pillow. Stepping back, I feel somehow hollow, as though I have done far more than erase a tiny part of myself from this room. Before I can think on it, I turn my back toward the bed and walk toward the door.
I should be surprised by the men clustered outside the door, or angered. I should feel something, but I don't. The brighter light in the hall is enough to make them all faceless, nameless, but the weight of their anger and suspicion lays heavy on my shoulders regardless.
"Lord von Bielefeld, we," a voice, and I can practically hear the man twitch and swallow to brace himself when I turn a flat glare in his direction, "We've been ordered not to let you leave the castle."
Of course. I may refuse to take his orders, but the soldiers would never dare to disobey their King. I think I am smiling, though judging by the sudden shifting of the men around me, it is an expression that is less than pleasant.
"I'm sure you have," my answer is more even than I expected, only the barest sharp edge audible. "Does that restrict me from going to the kitchen to have breakfast?"
"It should," this voice is different, deep and angry. "However, or orders don't extend to keeping you under arrest within limits other than those bounded by the castle. Some of us will accompany you."
Ah, this one is angry. I can almost feel the way his temper bristles, the way he is ready to fight any response I should make. A man thoroughly loyal to the Maou. And, if I am not mistaken, one who seems to have a very bad habit.
"Listening at doors..." before I can finish, another voice cuts in. This one is enough to make my eyes go wide and my head snap around.
"It seems the rumors are true, and you're in a bit of trouble, Kakka."
The brunette's smile verges on a smirk, and he stands with hands dangling loose at his sides, blue coat rumpled. Under these circumstances, I would have been glad to see any of the members of my personal guard. Any but this one.
"Hardly," I bite the word out, and flick a dismissive glance over the men gathered in front of me. "I think I can handle getting breakfast without any trouble. Though I do commend your concern, Ansgar."
"Think nothing of it, Kakka," he replies, having drawn close to my side while I spoke. His hand is a brief point of pressure on my lower back, gone almost too quickly to notice. "I could use something to eat myself, so I think I'll join you."
Barely, I manage to keep my tongue locked behind clenched teeth. Giving a short nod, I turn. Four of the guards trail behind us as we walk in stiff silence toward the kitchens.
[OOC: For the moment, the thread that follows is closed and will be going on even though I'm going to go ahead and get Wolf moving in Day 14 also.]
Yuuri walked out. The wimp is always fleeing confrontation, so it isn't much of a surprise that he up and left. His whispered words hang in the air, even once I can hear the faint murmur of the guards outside the door, punctuated by the quiet, sad sound of his voice.
My fingers halt their work on the buttons of my shirt as the sounds fade. Head cocked to one side, I listen, and tell myself over and over that his leaving will only make my own escape easier. I can't sit here in the castle like some empty-headed, idle, useless noble while Greta is in danger. I won't.
Abandoning the buttons for the moment, I tuck the tails of my shirt into my trousers and then reach out to hook a finger in the collar of my jacket. It is still too dark to see much, but the jumble of things pushed off the table is a deeper pile of shadow a few steps from where I stand now. My sword isn't here, but if I think hard, I vaguely remember having left the knives I'd hidden on my female body here in this room. The recollections from those days have a somewhat hazy, dream-like quality, and my lips twist into a scowl of self-loathing at the remembrances.
Kneeling, I pick through the pile, hands tracing the edges of the objects, trying to find the sheathed knives by feel. I voice a low hiss as my touch traces the sharpness of broken glass, a short, deep but narrow slice opening across the tip of the third finger on my left hand. Thoughtlessly I slide the injured digit between my lips, the thick copper-salt taste of blood intense on my tongue.
After a moment more, I have the knives. They are not what I would wish, short and ill-suited to the way I've been trained to fight, but until I can retrieve my sword they will have to do. My hand moves away from my mouth, the sting changing to a deeper throb in the air. Ignoring it, I shrug into my jacket, tucking the knives into my waistband beneath it.
Slowly, I walk toward the bed, though I don't know why I linger. There are a thousand things I should do: pack, eat, ready a horse... leave. I reach without thinking, straightening the blankets on my side of the bed until it looks like no one has slept there. The only sign of my presence is a small smear from my bleeding finger along one side of the pillow. Stepping back, I feel somehow hollow, as though I have done far more than erase a tiny part of myself from this room. Before I can think on it, I turn my back toward the bed and walk toward the door.
I should be surprised by the men clustered outside the door, or angered. I should feel something, but I don't. The brighter light in the hall is enough to make them all faceless, nameless, but the weight of their anger and suspicion lays heavy on my shoulders regardless.
"Lord von Bielefeld, we," a voice, and I can practically hear the man twitch and swallow to brace himself when I turn a flat glare in his direction, "We've been ordered not to let you leave the castle."
Of course. I may refuse to take his orders, but the soldiers would never dare to disobey their King. I think I am smiling, though judging by the sudden shifting of the men around me, it is an expression that is less than pleasant.
"I'm sure you have," my answer is more even than I expected, only the barest sharp edge audible. "Does that restrict me from going to the kitchen to have breakfast?"
"It should," this voice is different, deep and angry. "However, or orders don't extend to keeping you under arrest within limits other than those bounded by the castle. Some of us will accompany you."
Ah, this one is angry. I can almost feel the way his temper bristles, the way he is ready to fight any response I should make. A man thoroughly loyal to the Maou. And, if I am not mistaken, one who seems to have a very bad habit.
"Listening at doors..." before I can finish, another voice cuts in. This one is enough to make my eyes go wide and my head snap around.
"It seems the rumors are true, and you're in a bit of trouble, Kakka."
The brunette's smile verges on a smirk, and he stands with hands dangling loose at his sides, blue coat rumpled. Under these circumstances, I would have been glad to see any of the members of my personal guard. Any but this one.
"Hardly," I bite the word out, and flick a dismissive glance over the men gathered in front of me. "I think I can handle getting breakfast without any trouble. Though I do commend your concern, Ansgar."
"Think nothing of it, Kakka," he replies, having drawn close to my side while I spoke. His hand is a brief point of pressure on my lower back, gone almost too quickly to notice. "I could use something to eat myself, so I think I'll join you."
Barely, I manage to keep my tongue locked behind clenched teeth. Giving a short nod, I turn. Four of the guards trail behind us as we walk in stiff silence toward the kitchens.
[OOC: For the moment, the thread that follows is closed and will be going on even though I'm going to go ahead and get Wolf moving in Day 14 also.]