[ By the time Lantaa returns to the manor, the hour has grown late; not so late that all in Ishgard have retired for the evening, but Aymeric retreated to his room after exchanging a few words with the steward. None were needed, exactly, but he knew he needed to give the other man the consideration of telling him of his plans, such as they were. An evening with nothing but a rat for company is hardly a desirable thing to imagine, but the steward has been with him for too long for such a thing to trouble him. Privately, Aymeric is grateful for his continued presence, as he would be at a loss without the stability and quiet support that the steward provides.
Regardless, he retreats to his room, ensures that all the curtains are drawn and closed, and then he sets about what is surely a distasteful affair to anyone who is not a voidsent.
He has already pierced the unfortunate creature that is to be his dinner, and has begun feeding while, unbeknownst to him, Alkaid and the steward are exchanging words. There never was a reason to lock the door, or otherwise bar it from opening, and he truly has nothing to hide, but this is something no one should have to see. Still, at the moment, his thoughts are on his grisly business, not on the goings-on outside of the room he now shares with Alkaid.
In a way, the business of feeding gives him time to think and sort out his thoughts, and he has quite a few of those to sort through now: namely the protection and care of Alkaid, who is just as much an outsider as he is, at least by his reckoning. There is much that the two of them will have to adjust to, but he is at least confident that they will adapt and adjust quickly enough.
As he continues to feed, his thoughts fade into the background, and all he is aware of is the blood slipping down his throat as he slides into a sort of daze. But then he hears the sound of the door handle turning and hears more than sees the door begin to open. No, not now... She must not see...
He freezes in place, rat still in hand, while his eyes travel down to his fingers that are bloodstained, knowing that blood also must be on his face and mouth as well. But it is too late to hide what remains of the rat or himself, as the door has opened fully and she has stepped inside.
Perhaps if he does not look at her, she will not see what a distasteful creature he is. She moves over to the bathroom, and for a moment, he lets out a quiet exhale of breath. Perhaps she needed to use it, and once she has finished, she will leave the darkened room to the other warmer, friendlier parts of the house. At least then he might have the opportunity to clean himself up and then offer his apologies for what she saw.
But he freezes yet again once he realizes she has returned and is now standing in front of him, a wastebin in her hand. She means for him to place the rat inside it, but as soon as that realization sinks in, he finds himself shaking his head. He means to bring the rat outside and dispose of it properly, thus sparing her or anyone else inside the house from having to deal with it.
On occasion, he leaves the remains for the old household cat to find, but more often than not, he makes use of the spot he has designated for burying the remnants. In a strange way, at least the act of burying them makes him feel more like a person and less of a monster.
The rat still remains in his hand, as he still feels frozen in place. She may have allowed her gaze to drop, but he feels as though he has just been exposed as the ugly creature he feels he is, and there is nowhere he can go to hide. In a moment or two, he finds his voice, and although it shakes when he speaks, he says: ]
I am sorry. I did not wish for you to see. I- I meant to finish my business here and then be there to welcome you when you returned.
[ But it seems as though all he has managed to do is make a mess of things instead. He certainly would not fault her if she asked to resume sleeping in his parents' room, after seeing the state of this one and what he has done inside it. ]
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Regardless, he retreats to his room, ensures that all the curtains are drawn and closed, and then he sets about what is surely a distasteful affair to anyone who is not a voidsent.
He has already pierced the unfortunate creature that is to be his dinner, and has begun feeding while, unbeknownst to him, Alkaid and the steward are exchanging words. There never was a reason to lock the door, or otherwise bar it from opening, and he truly has nothing to hide, but this is something no one should have to see. Still, at the moment, his thoughts are on his grisly business, not on the goings-on outside of the room he now shares with Alkaid.
In a way, the business of feeding gives him time to think and sort out his thoughts, and he has quite a few of those to sort through now: namely the protection and care of Alkaid, who is just as much an outsider as he is, at least by his reckoning. There is much that the two of them will have to adjust to, but he is at least confident that they will adapt and adjust quickly enough.
As he continues to feed, his thoughts fade into the background, and all he is aware of is the blood slipping down his throat as he slides into a sort of daze. But then he hears the sound of the door handle turning and hears more than sees the door begin to open. No, not now... She must not see...
He freezes in place, rat still in hand, while his eyes travel down to his fingers that are bloodstained, knowing that blood also must be on his face and mouth as well. But it is too late to hide what remains of the rat or himself, as the door has opened fully and she has stepped inside.
Perhaps if he does not look at her, she will not see what a distasteful creature he is. She moves over to the bathroom, and for a moment, he lets out a quiet exhale of breath. Perhaps she needed to use it, and once she has finished, she will leave the darkened room to the other warmer, friendlier parts of the house. At least then he might have the opportunity to clean himself up and then offer his apologies for what she saw.
But he freezes yet again once he realizes she has returned and is now standing in front of him, a wastebin in her hand. She means for him to place the rat inside it, but as soon as that realization sinks in, he finds himself shaking his head. He means to bring the rat outside and dispose of it properly, thus sparing her or anyone else inside the house from having to deal with it.
On occasion, he leaves the remains for the old household cat to find, but more often than not, he makes use of the spot he has designated for burying the remnants. In a strange way, at least the act of burying them makes him feel more like a person and less of a monster.
The rat still remains in his hand, as he still feels frozen in place. She may have allowed her gaze to drop, but he feels as though he has just been exposed as the ugly creature he feels he is, and there is nowhere he can go to hide. In a moment or two, he finds his voice, and although it shakes when he speaks, he says: ]
I am sorry. I did not wish for you to see. I- I meant to finish my business here and then be there to welcome you when you returned.
[ But it seems as though all he has managed to do is make a mess of things instead. He certainly would not fault her if she asked to resume sleeping in his parents' room, after seeing the state of this one and what he has done inside it. ]