Return from the Night

[Seven]

((Where do the lowest ranking Guardians live again? What level?))

Thrasymachus stands just outside his door. He raises a hand and puts it over the key hole. This is a magical lock, after all, that requires his aura to unlock. Though surely, a person with much greater magic than he might be able to break through regardless. The door clicks, swinging open for the return of its master. He steps inside, silently motioning for Asila to follow with the flick of fingers. Unlike what Somriad's room must have been like, his quarters are relatively small, the ceiling low. Thrasymachus himself doesn't seem to fit very well in the room, he looks disproportionately tall with the ceilings hovering just about a foot or two above his head.

The room itself is cold and dark, windowless of course, with no lights other than the flickering of fire in a fireplace. It would be straight ahead from the entrance, with two arm chairs in front of it in that picturesque fashion. Though there is hardly need for the two, as he rarely has company, it creates a good sense of symmetry. He has wooden desk in the southwest corner, right beside a bookshelf--also proportionately large for the small room, almost touching the ceiling. His furnishings, apart from that, are few, the room fairly undecorated. No pictures, no mementos...nothing to indicate a person was actually living there as compared to just spending the night. Gray drab walls...or at least that's what they looked like in the dim light--though somehow Asila could doubt that the room ever got brighter than this-- and a wooden floor with an extra rug by the arm chairs. What made the room feel more unfinished yet was the fact that Thrasymachus apparently does have a bit of extra room on the south eastern side. From the wall structure, it looks like it might have been a small, doorless den. However, it is completely empty. The only thing contrary to this minimalist, utilitarian room is the bed. It is on the immediate right at the entrance of the room. It is a canopied bed, with sheer curtains hanging from it. The bed itself is placed in an unusual nook, surrounded on three sides by walls. ((What I'm thinking is REALLY hard to describe....)) It was as though the room was designed to have a short corridor to the main part of the room, when someone decided it would be cool to have a bed in the entrance. As a result, upon entering, the short hallway would be straight save for the on the right where the wall turns out, then back in. With the bed in it's place, it does make the hall straight though.... ((Perhaps I should draw a picture?))

((sorry that took so long, but I wanted to try to explain my mental image of his room...though the description failed...))

In any case, Thrasymachus walks in, reaching the fire place. He stares into it thinking for a moment. Should Asila near it, she'd realize the fireplace is emitting no heat. His face always looked so stern.

[Forsaken]

((First of all, your description is just fine! I really can see what you're talking about. Second of all, lower-ranking Guardians would probably have rooms on the lowest levels. Technically, the Guardians can choose a room wherever they would like (with higher ranking Guardians having priority)), but most of them would be fond of convenience and choose a room that wouldn't require them to climb up and down any more stairs than necessary. And I can just see the Guardians going out of their way to find the smallest room to assign Thrasymachus, since I doubt they'd allow him the small freedom of choosing for himself since they see him as a lesser being and would remind him of this in any way they could.))

Asila followed when Thrasymachus beckoned her inside. She was careful to school her face into a neutral mask, but she felt as out of place as Thrasymachus looked. Everything was so different from the accomodations she'd known for the past three years. There was no small room just inside the door for her to call her own, her new master really did seem to tower in a threatening way beneath the low ceilings, and finding herself in her master's room made her feel distinctly uneasy. Somriad almost never allowed her entry into his suite. And the exceptions went very badly for her.

Yet she maintained the same distance between herself and her new master as she had throughout the part of the night she had spent with him, because it was what she had always done when guarding her master. She wasn't supposed to leave until she was dismissed.

But her master didn't say anything, choosing instead to stare into the strange cold fire that burned in the fireplace with a displeased expression that she was struggling to interpret. Nothing was going as it generally did between Guardians and their Forsaken, and she didn't know what to make of the situation.

Maybe she should say something? But what? She couldn't ask him how he was, if he was tired or what he was thinking. That wasn't any of her business and she didn't want to be accused of questioning her master. And she wasn't about to comment on his room. Clearly it was second-rate at best to the grand suites of the ranked Guardians, and she valued her barely-healed form to much to say anything that may remind him of the difference.

It was probably best just to play the role of silent, easily-forgotten bodyguard. That tactic generally proved safest.

So she chose to stare blankly at the fire and hope the situation would become clearer on it's own.

[Seven]

((I thought so. Just wanted to double check. and I have to say...OH NOES! Did Asila get raped by Somriad those time she "entered his chamber?" Sadness.))

Thrasymachus had been leaning forward on the back of the second armchair, as he looked into the fire, but it only made him seem that much taller when he gracefully pulled himself up again and straightened. He brushed himself off for a second, pulling of the dark blue trench coat and letting it hang folded over the back of chair. He turns around, tanzanite eyes closed, and addresses Asila calmly. But an order, nonetheless. "We must speak. Come and be seated." His voice was always stern.

[Forsaken]

((Maaaaaaybe.))

Asila shivered, dread racing up and down her spine and nipping at the tips of her fingers so that they tingled. She curled them into fists, careful this time not to let the points of her claws pierce her skin, then told herself to be calm and relaxed them. He sounded calm, but that didn't make her feel any safer. She knew better than to trust the expression of a Guardian. They were always hiding something.

So she crept as quietly as she could to the seat that Thrasymachus wasn't touching. However, her wild outfit made perfect silence impossible since the chains clinked softly as the links brushed together while she moved. Delicately she lowered herself onto the chair, looking as though she expected it to snap closed on her like a bear trap, and aimed a single side-long glance at her new master before looking back to the fire. Staring was unforgivable. She'd done so once already and she was hoping he'd forgotten. She wasn't going to remind him.

[Seven]

((*tear* Poor asila. At least you don't need to worry too much about T doing that. He'd be too freaked out to consider it an option.))

Well, on one hand, Asila would be correct. Thrasymachus was hiding something, though more so from Somriad than her. But he did intend to make her obedient, loyal to him, so that might be seen as treachery as well. Thraysmachus himself did not sit, but remained standing. He gently glided from the back of the chair to the front of the fireplace. At the point Asila would be staring at, she'd be able to see his legs just to the left. He flexed his fingers, silently trying to think of where to begin.

After a moment, his voice almost suddenly pierced the silence. "As I am sure you heard earlier today, Somriad gave me the right to forge a connection into your mind. However..." he paused almost dramatically. "...I'm not yet sure I'm going to exercise that option." He paused again, waiting to see what sort of response he might get from this.

[Forsaken]

((I got that impression from him. He reminds me of Molly in his type of darkness. *smiles*))

Asila just barely managed not to flinch when her new master's voice broke the silence. Only the slightest twitch of one ear disturbed the tense stillness that marked her at the moment.

When his words filtered through her mind, her reaction was relief. Nearly every tense muscle relaxed, the tension around her eyes softening, ears inching forward as the ligaments pinning them back loosened their hold. As subtle as the changes were, they made a huge difference in the energy she was broad-casting. Instead of appearing poised, ready to flee at any moment, she now seemed to relax into the chair even though the posture of her spine had not changed at all.

"Thank you," She murmured on impulse, then immediately wanted to kick herself. Why? Why did she say that? She just set herself up for insult and injury! So stupid, so incredibly stupid! She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself, cringing.

[Seven]

((Molly...*sighs dreamily* What a guy~*ehem* shutting up now.))

Thrasymachus fell silent for a moment, watching her curiously. For a moment, he wondered if he came off sounding too kindly or something, for her to jump to gratefulness so quickly. "You're welcome," he says absently, but with an intake of breath that was indicative to the fact that he was about to say 'but.' "However, I said I was thinking about it. " However, now that she felt grateful to him, he didn't want to lose that notion. People did strange things, at times, out of gratefulness. "You see, I favor the idea of not turning your mind into mush," he explained, though he readily realized that his logic was still odd by Guardians' standards. Most probably preferred a mindless Forsaken, but clearly they could discard theirs and make a new one whenever. Thrasymachus, on the other hand, had the feeling that Asila was going to be his only Forsaken in a long time. But, he did not want her to know this, since she might end up giving herself self-importance that would make her unreasonable. So he brushed over the matter lightly. If she questioned him, he could always say that she was merely a loan from Somriad, and he wished to return her in a similar condition as he received her. "However, this will no doubt be impossible if start to act up. As long as you behave yourself, and follow orders appropriately, we can have this arrangement, and I will feel no need to pry into what you're thinking to find out how much you despise me." He almost smiled here, slightly amused by his own joke, and though he didn't, the tone of his voice did sound lighter at that point. "So, do you agree to these terms?"

[Forsaken]

Asila cracked one eye open when he actually said "You're welcome". As off-handed as the response may have been, it was still a kind one and, therefor, the absolute last thing that she had expected from him. But when he didn't suddenly lash out at her, as would have been the case if the words had simply set the stage for some kind of twisted psychological attack (precisely what kind would stem from such words she couldn't even guess, but stranger things had happened), she opened both eyes fully, staring into the fire as she listened closely to what he was saying. One ear was now facing entirely forward, the other still slanted halfway back, and added the bewildered appearance to her person that she had managed to keep off of her neutral countenance.

When he asked her to agree to his terms, she paused, a slight indent forming between her eyebrows as she considered. She knew there would come a time when she wouldn't want to obey him...but that was something to worry about when it actually happened. For now, she had a chance to keep a second alien voice out of her skull. And that was an offer that she wasn't about to pass up.

After this moment's reflection, she nodded. "Yes. That's more than I expected. I'll...try not to disappoint you." But she would. At some point, she would. There were still things that mattered more than her welfare, and it was those things she couldn't deny. Everything else she could fight, but not her sense of what should be.

But he didn't have to know that now. He'd find out soon enough.

[Seven]

He graces her with a smile. "Good." If he was so amiable, it was because he was still hatching a plan in the back of his mind. One that would lead to Asila's obedience. "But, be forewarned Asila, if you but once disobey a command, I will be forced to create the link." To him, this was psychological warfare. And from what he understood, Asila still had enough of a human mind to be susceptible to it. For one, he had to be grateful to Somriad for having cursed her. It means he wouldn't, and he could avoid the demonization he was well aware that a Forsaken with any sanity would view their Guardians with. He could be the good guy, so to speak--the human one. For once, perhaps he could put that humanity of his to use. The problem, as he saw it, was that Guardians were clearly hypocrites. Like Evangeline, pretending to mother her Forsaken, saying it was the best she could do for them. Inwardly he scoffed, wondering how anyone could be strung along by that. Beauty must do wonders after all. Guardians words and actions didn't add up, and in the end, the cruel actions speak loud than any well phrased speech.

How glad he was that Somriad gave him the 'okay' to link with her. By not exercising that option, it made him out as kind. No doubt that Asila would still be mistrustful, wondering what he was up to, but little by little, she might begin to wonder if he had just done it out of kindness, she would begin to think maybe he was different, perhaps his humanity saved him from being a beautiful monster like the others. Maybe he was just like the other humans, somehow naive to what the Guardians were doing, following faithfully in their footsteps for the sake of the greater good! He would have snickered at his own thoughts if no one else were around, but instead he carefully kept his straight face. Obviously, none of the former were true, but it would be advantageous for Asila's thinking to start heading down that path starting now. There would be other driving factors as well, just as the simple desire to hold onto some freedom. And freedom is precious. Having a master who couldn't read her mind would probably be something she'd desire to hold onto.

Of course, he knew that just that alone wouldn't amount to much, but it left potential in its wake. When Asila would disobey him, for surely she would, he would have to forgive her. In fact, he could probably set up a scenario for her to disobey him. Something where no other people would be around to criticize him for his 'inability' to tame a Forsaken of course. Continuing, once she disobeyed him, he could pretend to be worried, stressed, maybe even with the slightest hurt in his eyes ("if that wouldn't be overdoing it, though it would have to depend on the situation," he noted to himself). He could pretend to be restraining some angry, pace about the room, and then sigh tiredly. And then, sitting on the edge of his armchair with a hand to is forehead, he could softly say, "It's ok, just don't do it again." And surely then, Asila would be filled with all sorts of negative, confused, turbulent thoughts and feelings, because most all people feel guilty when they betray someone's trust, only to be forgiven. Trust. People believed in those they trusted, even if it defied all odds. His mother had been foolish enough to believe all those lies Diaturnus had fed her because she trusted him.

Of course, these was just planning ahead. Exact details would have to be determined later, but having a general scope of what you are aiming for never hurt. Thrasymachus, bent on succeeding where Somriad failed, was all for trying out his new method. He had to earn her trust, first of all. Once he had that, other things would fall into place. Asila's mind was still eroding because of Somriad's link, so he hypothesized that as both trust and erosion gained on her, she would eventually begin to forget who she once was, what she had been fighting for, and why she had ever opposed the Guardians to begin with. Then, Thrasymachus' never fading presence, the only sure thing in her life, with her growing trust, would yield devotion. And, if for whatever reason, he found that this brainwashing wasn't working, he could always just resort to creating that link and starting over.

He paced toward the other end of the fireplace almost unconsciously. He earnestly wasn't used to having people around the little room, and he was used to enjoying what little room he had, but when caught himself, he recognized this would probably be perceived as odd, and stopped.

"Onto the next matter of business..." he began. Suddenly, he found himself standing behind her chair. Was I pacing again? Damnit... Surely she felt uncomfortable now, but he took the opportunity to look her over observationally. He took a few steps away, now standing by the back of his chair rather than hers. As he opened his mouth to speak, he nearly asked her what her experience with Somriad was like. He quickly caught himself, shutting his lips, in disbelief with himself he was about to ask that. He tried to convince himself that the only reason he even so much as thought about asking about Somriad was that he wanted to know Somriad's tactics to gain a one up on him. Deep down, he knew it was actually because he was denying insecurities and suddenly wanted to know what real Guardians do with their Forsaken. Real Guardians... he abruptly was filled with disdain again. Hate because he knew that no matter how much he denied it, the only reason he felt disdain is because he couldn't be like them. Hate for Somriad because he silently idolized him. But he had learned early on he would never fall into Somriad's favor, no matter how much potential he would show...unlike Somriad's own child. Curse the fates! Why couldn't Aine be born to his father? An idiot for an idiot!

His face still remained completely still, like flawless marble, but his fingertips were pressing just slightly into his chair's fabric. He moved away, fingers lingering on the chair in one final caress before departing as he walked away from it. In his pacing, he had come to a complete circle, standing once again on the left side of the fireplace.

He picked up as if he had never paused. "My first rule is that I expect complete honesty. I would even like you to be....to be candid and frank with me," he added in almost wistfully. His tone became stern again though as he continued, saying, "Candidness, however, is not to be mistaken for the right to disrespect me. But if there is something on your mind, or you feel I'm making a dire mistake in some action, please voice it." Once again, his words were tactfully chosen. A true Guardian would have never admitted to the ability of making mistakes. He would not have either, before other Guardians, but before this Forsaken that he wished to emphasize his humanity to, he took advantage of it. It was about time he got to take advantage of his human roots, after all....

He waited, once again, for her response.

[Forsaken]

((Poor T! It really doesn't seem fair that Aine would be born with the advantage of powerful parents, and he really is a preening idiot, and T would be stuck with the disadvantage of 'lowly' heritage when he's the one with ambition! *shakes her head, grinning* What a messed system we've formed.))

Asila sighed heavily. If she messed up once, then she'd get another voice in her head. She'd seen that one coming. While her new master was lost in his own thoughts, she was wondering how long she would have until she made that critical mistake. It might be a while. Thrasymachus wasn't allowed to be part of the interrogations or the ceremonies. And those were the circumstances under which she became...difficult. And when she was away from him, she wouldn't have to worry about failing to follow orders exactly, because he wouldn't know. So it was only while she was with him that she would have to worry.

For a moment, she felt relieved. If he'd been any other Guardian, she would have been in the clear. Your average Guardian rarely put himself in danger.

Then she remembered that Thrasymachus was out nearly as consistently as the Nightwatch, fighting against the individuals that she had once fought for.

She frowned. This wasn't going to be easy. She had forgotten how difficult it was to choose. With Somriad, it was only a matter of doing what he said or try and fight doing what he said. With Thrasymachus, she had a real choice. She could keep what small amount of freedom she had just gained, or choose that action that would earn her yet another set of shackles and cost her that novelty, freedom, that she tasted now.

She wasn't entirely sure which master was better.

...and she wished he wouldn't stand behind her like that. The position had her flattening her ears against her head once more. But he moved away, lightly gripping the back of the other chair in a tense way (tense for a Guardian, that is) that didn't make her feel any more relaxed than she had when he was directly behind her and out of her sight.

But uneasiness and confusion seemed to be the themes that ruled the night, because even when he finally left the chair in favor of the fireplace, where he was in view and wasn't caressing furniture in a way that her thoughts darting in panicked directions, he once again spoke words that shouldn't come from a Guardian. She just couldn't understand him, and so she didn't know what to expect. Right now, nothing was adding up. She kept expecting him to be like Somriad, or Desire, or Evangeline, or even Aine, but none of them would have ever granted her permission to speak with the degree of freedom that her new master was allowing her now!

She hesitated, trying to figure out what he was really saying. But when she couldn't read him, she decided to try a simple "If that's what you want. But..." She didn't continue. She was doubtful of this supposed "freedom" (however limited) of speech that she had just been granted.

[Seven]

((*nods* I was thinking of it the other night, thinking how much Thrasymachus must despise Aine...My poor baby! *hugs T*))

He couldn't help but smile again as he watched her. It seems he was confusing her with acute precision. And confusing people was always good. It kept them on their toes. "Phase one in progress..." he thought to himself. This time, he actually did chuckle to himself, making him look quite handsome and pleasant as compared to his usual brooding self. "Please, there's no need to be so timid. Otherwise, what good would be the freedom to speech?" Suddenly feeling the slightest twinge of awkwardness, he turned away, staring back down into his beloved cold fire. He really was feeling tired.

When he began to speak again, his voice lost that light-hearted quality it possessed when he laughed, returning to it's former serious tone. "To be perfectly candid on my part, I wasn't expecting Amplus Magister Somriad," he called him by his full title, since he was aware that the man might be watching them, "to so suddenly call me over and...ehem...lend you to me. So I'm afraid I don't have very much prepared as far as other rules and accommodations go..." He was afraid that he was sounding flimsy, and weak. So long he had thought about what he was going to do with a Forsaken, what he'd tell it--where had all those thoughts gone? The thoughts of Somriad and Evangeline silently crept in again, making him, to his displeasure, wonder what they would have said to a new Forsaken. Granted, this wasn't so much his Forsaken as his test, changing everything as it was. Plus... it was that time of the year...whenever this week came around, it always seemed harder to think straight.

Thrasymachus shook his head. "In any case, it has been a long night. Let us get some rest, and we shall speak more in the morning." His eyes momentarily shifted from one side of his small room to the other, trying to think of an appropriate place to put her. Obviously, she couldn't stay in his bed. Even if he was possessed to give it up out of 'kindness,' the sentiment would only come out as extremely creepy, undermining his plans. Still, it was to his benefit that she'd be comfortable. Well-rested people have a better temperament ("Obviously why mine is so foul all the time..." he thought) and more energy, making her more useful as a Forsaken. That, and he was still trying to win her over to his side...

He walked over to his bed. He didn't have spare sheets. He used spells to keep his solitary pair clean, thus he had no purpose for anything extra and useless. It wasn't exactly like he had loads of room to be storing bedding....

Thrasymachus gathered up his comforter, sheet, and pillow off the bed. "I shall purchase more bedding tomorrow. For now, you can use this," he said in his usual entirely detached manner that was hardened in its monotone. He handed off the bedding to her. "Make yourself comfortable where ever you see fit, and good night." Without, he turned away again, walking over to his now barren bed.

[Forsaken]

Asila was still looking dazed by the series of unexpected developments that had taken place that night when Thrasymachus handed her the bedding. A kind master? A notable degree of freedom and openness in her speech? Privacy of thought between her and her master? She shook her head. This was just surreal.

But she couldn't keep these blankets. She just didn't need them when she could spend the night clothed in fur. "Master" She'd had to try a few times to get the word past her lips, and her voice was uneven when she finally managed to get her voice to cooperate. She'd never used this word to address anyone other than Somriad before. And he'd had to fight her for that privilege. But that was in another life. This was now.

She walked back toward Thrasymachus. "I'll just spend the night as a cat. I'll be just as comfortable on a chair without blankets as I would be on the floor with them, so you shouldn't have to go without." She held the blankets out to him, eyes respectfully downcast, and waited for him to take them from her. She wasn't at liberty to just push them into his arms and walk away. It was unheard of for a Forsaken to push her master around like that. So while he had been able to just give them to her with the unspoken expectation that she would take them, she had to quietly for him to take them back.

[Seven]

He watched her silently for a moment. He looked contemplative, but inwards, he was chastising himself for not remembering she could do such a thing. He hated feeling like such a novice. Still, when he took the sheets from her, he still kept his air of static refinement. It was good, he quickly convinced himself, that he had made such an offer in any case. Watching her, he could see that she must of been thinking herself. And he had earned some respect where aetheral qualities and fear could not. "I shall purchase bedding tomorrow, then," he said in silent acknowledgment of her words. "Sleep well," he ended in a sort of goodnight. Eyes still cast upon her, the sheets that had been bundled up left his hands as if of their own will, restraightening themselves across Thrasymachus' bed. He would watch her, this time, as she walked away.

((bleh, that sucked...))

[Forsaken]

((That's good. Because then I won't feel good about my sucky post. *grins*

In all seriousness though, we are nearing the end of the night. There isn't much left for our characters to do other than sleep.))

Asila slowly moved away, her movements still unsure. It would take her longer than a few hours to get used to this altered existence. It seemed too much better than the last to be real. She felt as though it would be torn from her at any moment, that her new master would show her now that it was all a lie, and all of the small niceties that had preceded had been orchestrated to set her up so that she fell harder when the rickety platform they had formed collapsed beneath her.

Was that why he was watching her, now? Was he waiting to pull that one feeble stilt out from under her at the critical moment? But what critical moment would he be waiting before? It seemed as though all communication had ended for the night.

"...good night, master." She murmured softly, then turned away. There were no answers. There never were. Tormenting herself in a blind quest for them was a useless thing to do.

As easily as she could breathe, she became the small white cat, her form seeming to shimmer like water for a second before pouring itself into the cat. And with a house cat's easy precision, she leaped over the back of the chair and landed lightly on it's seat, where she curled into a loose ball that faced away from the fire and into the shadows cast by her own form. The pale green eyes closed, but the pointed ears listened carefully for the sound of reality warping back to the version she new so well.

[Seven]

((Ok, since Thrasymachus and I have been coerced into this by you and Aka...))

Asila's ears thus would pick up a faintly rustling from the front of the room where Thrasymachus remained. And if, for whatever reason, she should feel compelled to lean over the armrest and look back to the door, there would be a sight to behold, though not of reality warping.

Once Thrasymachus sees that Asila has changed and is resting on his armchair, the back of it blocking her view of him, he turns away such that his back would be facing her. He stands, facing the door, once again, thinking of other matters. Other matters that therefore mean that he is not thinking of his normal, daily pattern. He is, after all, so used to being alone, that he doesn't consider the fact that he has another in the room, a female at that. He wasn't thinking that the first button of his long, darker than sapphire coat made a distinct click when it was unbuttoned due to it's buckle design. Nor was he thinking too much about how with one fluid motion of his hand tracing down his center, the rest of the buttons popped open silently. Not of the shirt creeping down his back, inch by inch exposing more of the pale skin beneath it, nor how the fabric sounded when it slid off his shoulders and crumpled to the floor behind him.

Actually, his thoughts were far away from the drab little bedroom, lingering wistfully on a higher plane of thoughts; thoughts, though refined, apparently thought little of the fact that the skin of his now bare back glimmered in the fading light. The firelight flickered in patterns across his skin, lighted with the flame's golden hue, only to return to its sincere white once the precarious light flickered elsewhere. Somewhere, unseen to Asila, his eyes too were sparkling in that tell-tale sign that his mind was wrought with questions and thoughts of her own. But she could hear the small release of his breath in a soft exhale, his muscles shifting just slightly as he did so, creating new patterns of shadows across his well muscled features.

He flicked his wrist, and what sounded light a small gust of wind swept up the clothes that had fallen to the floor. A closet across from his bed, before unseen due to its well contrived nature, opened of its own accord as the coat and shirt made their way dutifully in through its doors. At the same time, a pair of black, loose-fitting pants made their way out. Pajama pants. Thrasymachus, apparently, doesn't wear a top to bed. He was coordinating this little exchange of clothes with nothing more than a casual direction of his hand. While it might have seemed a little excessive to be using magic even to hang up clothes in a closet a mere few feet away from him, he had become used to doing this nightly for the utilitarian purpose of always practicing his magic. However, the magic floating about him could be felt, if not seen, and shirtless as he was, it seemed to make him a center of greater radiance. Such an effect might have been common amongst Guardians performing magic, for certain reasons pertaining to their magic, but such a radiance would rarely be appreciated in a fast paced battle beneath a moonless sky. But here, in the small bedroom with no other flourishes to distract from their immaculate master, he certainly did glow, if only metaphorically.

And though he was almost naively unaware of his motions, he might have been taunting some invisible audience, because once that was done and through, he stretched his arms upward moving his head from side to side, the movements of his well defined body graceful in their constant reminder of his masculinity. Of course, he didn't see that, he was merely stretching to release the tension of a long day and one too many battles.

Finally, sitting back down on his bed, he seemed to suddenly remember that Asila was in the same room as him since he abruptly looked back over at the chair with eyes that fought and failed to hide their curiosity and embarrassment. Had he, unthinkingly, given her a free show? It seemed he rather not find out and save his ego that humility, since he quickly looked away, pulling his feet up onto the bed and disappearing behind the canopy and then the indent of the wall. He would have to curse himself to sleep tonight for his unfaltering idiocy.