Send “Auction” for your muse buying mine as their slave
Derek snarled lowly but kept his head down as he was transferred to the person that bought him, seeing a small female form before him now.
Autumn huffed. “Fine. One day. You want anything, /anything/, you gotta ask for it, or get it yourself. After that there better be plans for the next week.” She came and knelt before him, putting a hand under his chin and lifting it, examining his face. “You better be worth all this effort is all I gotta say. You look like a waste of money to me.”
When she pulled his face up and told him he was a waste, he shut down. He just stared at her with dead sort of eyes and murmured a low, “Then sell me back.”
“Can’t. You’re already free. Won’t. Nobody goes back.” She rocked a step back and folded her arms. “Find your spirit.”
“Oh, no, of course not. I forgot. You don’t actually care about anyone.”
“What is this about? I never said that.”
“Oh, you very much did. Something about, effectively, the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few or something. Basically, you only give a damn about humanity as a whole, not any personal elements of it.”
he’s stressed out, and it’s obvious. he only does that thing with his fingers when he’s s t r e s s e d. loud SNAPS of fingers and CRACKS of knuckles echo through the room as he paces the room. his footsteps are even, but his heart rate is not… IF they can hear that it’s not obvious, because nobody seems to stop him from his nervous antics. but, that BACK and FORTHpattern of footsteps and fingers should be annoying someone, right??
“Can you stop that already? I’m trying to study here, and you’re making it really hard.” As if the frustrations rattling in his head weren’t bad enough, he has to express them physically? With a huff, she closes the book over her pencil and half-turns in her chair to stare at him. “You want to tell me what’s wrong, or are you just going to drive me up the wall til one of us snaps?”
The seneschal executed a brief bow and withdrew, leaving the bedroom door open but closing the door to the outer chamber. After a discreet few moments a young boy, hardly more than ten, opened the door cautiously. “Milord? I’m supposed to help you dress … “
Dressed in his undergarments as he attempted to find the remainder of his clothing, Isaac whirled to face the small child hovering in the doorway, and he regarded him with pity. “I’m mostly done, child, but thank you all the same.” He flashed him a polite smile and then frowned. “But if you could help me find my clothing, that would be much appreciated?”
Silently, the boy pointed to a shirt draped over the firetools, then knelt to reach under a chair. He reappeared with Isaac’s breeches and an expression that suggested he thought Isaac was a bit slow.