99th of Ashan, 717
It had taken a night back in Venora for Andras to revert back to his old habits, embracing them like an old friend, and burying himself in a plethora of drugs and alcohol. Having been seasons sober, they clung to his mind like a desperate lover, ravaging him and leaving him drained and deserted. He had awoken to the sound of small footsteps, groaning and opening his eyes to see the bottom of a mattress.
Someone nearby gasped, leaping backwards and he flinched at the small stream of light that sought him out when a bed skirt was lifted and the shocked face of a maid peered back at him.
“Lor-Baron Venora?” she corrected herself, scooting back as the young man cursed under his breath and squirmed with difficulty out from underneath the bed. His sore limbs made it neigh impossible and he was perplexed as to how and WHY he had been there in the first place.
“What time is it?” he grunted, wincing and smacking his lips together. Oh, Seven. A headache was splitting through his skull and he gripped his head, hating himself. 'Why? Why? Why?' Looking down at himself, he found he was wearing a pair of loose black pants, his shirt missing, and on his arm a nice little crude drawing was sketched upon his forearm.
“Morning, m'lord. Breakfast has just been served in the sun room... Shall I have someone prepare you a plate?” The girl looked horrified at not having been prepared and was already heading towards the door, “We did not know you returned from Andaris. I shall send word to the kitchen's immediately.”
“No, wait-” Andras focused on not falling over, the nausea settling upon him and he swallowed, following after, “Is... Freya still here?”
He had left the ex-prisoner in his home with free reign since they returned to Rynmere. He had wondered if she was adjusting well, or if she wished to go home but had arrived late last night from Krome and everyone had been in their rooms. Andráska wasn't quite sure what Alis planned to do with the Biqaj now, but perhaps she would have some information for him. Maybe after getting intoxicated, he had bumped into her... Unlikely, but... it was worth a shot.
“Oh... um...yes. We have served her...to the best of our abilities. I do believe she's downstairs eating now.”
“Thank you.”
With weak legs, he stumbled sluggishly out the door and down the hallway, nearly tripping on the plush rug that gave a slash of color on the dark wood. The house smelled sweet, like roses, with the smell of cinnamon rolls, coffee and meat rolling up the stairs the closer he got. He wasn't sure if the aroma made him wanted to eat or throw up. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he moved around the manor and finally to the sun room where a feast had been prepared, yet only one person sat at the table.
The natural brightness of the room almost made him whimper and he walked with nearly closed eyes to the nearest chair, yanking it free to sink into it, head immediately dropping to the surface with a thud. More pain shot through his brain and he reached out blindly for the pitcher of juice sitting on the table, lifting his face to spare a glance at his guest.
He grunted, allowing his eyes to adjust, and finally propped himself up with his good arm, “Miss me, Freya Darling?” he greeted somewhat sarcastically, noticing how comfortable the woman now looked. She seemed to be adjusting just fine, and he snorted, completely unaware of the words written in dark ink that spanned the width of his strong shoulders and down the dip of his back: “Make that baker bounce. ;)”
For all intents and purposes, physically he looked better than the last time they had spent significant time together. His bruises had faded, and the cuts on his face were gone. The wrapping that had spanned his chest had been reduced to a small cloth patch over his heart, and most of the bruising was fading to dull purples with hints of green. He still looked tired, but in a different way - his trip to Krome having been somewhat beneficial to his health.
Not even sparing a look, he held the pitcher away from him and slowly began to tip it, as if he were ready to pour it upon the floor but before a drop could fully spill, a servant materialized, glass poised to catch the liquid and even he couldn't stop the smile that split his lips. A plate soon followed and the servant, this time older and male, seemed fully aware of the tricks the young lord had pulled in his youth. For as stuffy as being a noble could be, it did have its perks.
“You're too good to me,” Andras rumbled, reaching for a few pieces of toast after taking a sip of the drink, “That's all.”
The older servant didn't seem annoyed, like one might expect, and smiled knowingly, and began to head for the door, “As you wish, sir. If you need anything.... after you're misadventure.”
Truthfully, the older servant had not only watched over him in his younger years, but had nursed him back to health after a number of misspent nights with various substances. Andras has a much more personal relationship to him, as well as the other servants than many other members of his family. He saw them as people. And in return, they embraced his messy flaws, for it was how they knew him best. Human.
Andraska began pulling away the crust of his toast, squinting at the pain that gripped his body when he moved. He looked up at Freya, “What?”
[/align]Someone nearby gasped, leaping backwards and he flinched at the small stream of light that sought him out when a bed skirt was lifted and the shocked face of a maid peered back at him.
“Lor-Baron Venora?” she corrected herself, scooting back as the young man cursed under his breath and squirmed with difficulty out from underneath the bed. His sore limbs made it neigh impossible and he was perplexed as to how and WHY he had been there in the first place.
“What time is it?” he grunted, wincing and smacking his lips together. Oh, Seven. A headache was splitting through his skull and he gripped his head, hating himself. 'Why? Why? Why?' Looking down at himself, he found he was wearing a pair of loose black pants, his shirt missing, and on his arm a nice little crude drawing was sketched upon his forearm.
“Morning, m'lord. Breakfast has just been served in the sun room... Shall I have someone prepare you a plate?” The girl looked horrified at not having been prepared and was already heading towards the door, “We did not know you returned from Andaris. I shall send word to the kitchen's immediately.”
“No, wait-” Andras focused on not falling over, the nausea settling upon him and he swallowed, following after, “Is... Freya still here?”
He had left the ex-prisoner in his home with free reign since they returned to Rynmere. He had wondered if she was adjusting well, or if she wished to go home but had arrived late last night from Krome and everyone had been in their rooms. Andráska wasn't quite sure what Alis planned to do with the Biqaj now, but perhaps she would have some information for him. Maybe after getting intoxicated, he had bumped into her... Unlikely, but... it was worth a shot.
“Oh... um...yes. We have served her...to the best of our abilities. I do believe she's downstairs eating now.”
“Thank you.”
With weak legs, he stumbled sluggishly out the door and down the hallway, nearly tripping on the plush rug that gave a slash of color on the dark wood. The house smelled sweet, like roses, with the smell of cinnamon rolls, coffee and meat rolling up the stairs the closer he got. He wasn't sure if the aroma made him wanted to eat or throw up. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he moved around the manor and finally to the sun room where a feast had been prepared, yet only one person sat at the table.
The natural brightness of the room almost made him whimper and he walked with nearly closed eyes to the nearest chair, yanking it free to sink into it, head immediately dropping to the surface with a thud. More pain shot through his brain and he reached out blindly for the pitcher of juice sitting on the table, lifting his face to spare a glance at his guest.
He grunted, allowing his eyes to adjust, and finally propped himself up with his good arm, “Miss me, Freya Darling?” he greeted somewhat sarcastically, noticing how comfortable the woman now looked. She seemed to be adjusting just fine, and he snorted, completely unaware of the words written in dark ink that spanned the width of his strong shoulders and down the dip of his back: “Make that baker bounce. ;)”
For all intents and purposes, physically he looked better than the last time they had spent significant time together. His bruises had faded, and the cuts on his face were gone. The wrapping that had spanned his chest had been reduced to a small cloth patch over his heart, and most of the bruising was fading to dull purples with hints of green. He still looked tired, but in a different way - his trip to Krome having been somewhat beneficial to his health.
Not even sparing a look, he held the pitcher away from him and slowly began to tip it, as if he were ready to pour it upon the floor but before a drop could fully spill, a servant materialized, glass poised to catch the liquid and even he couldn't stop the smile that split his lips. A plate soon followed and the servant, this time older and male, seemed fully aware of the tricks the young lord had pulled in his youth. For as stuffy as being a noble could be, it did have its perks.
“You're too good to me,” Andras rumbled, reaching for a few pieces of toast after taking a sip of the drink, “That's all.”
The older servant didn't seem annoyed, like one might expect, and smiled knowingly, and began to head for the door, “As you wish, sir. If you need anything.... after you're misadventure.”
Truthfully, the older servant had not only watched over him in his younger years, but had nursed him back to health after a number of misspent nights with various substances. Andras has a much more personal relationship to him, as well as the other servants than many other members of his family. He saw them as people. And in return, they embraced his messy flaws, for it was how they knew him best. Human.
Andraska began pulling away the crust of his toast, squinting at the pain that gripped his body when he moved. He looked up at Freya, “What?”
