Young Writers Society

"I could," he agreed. "But then I might be lying. I'm not a liar unless I'm at work." Gaius was always at work. "You never said no to a blanket, by the way." He'd known the walking stick was pushing it; too much could be done with that. Right now, though, all he was looking for was a bit of comfort. There were rats in this place.

Gaius hated rats.

"Men like you are always at work," he stated. There was no malice in his tone, or even true hostility; it was spoken nonchalantly, as though he was saying the sky were blue or the dirt was brown. "Doesn't matter if it's behind a desk or not."

He glanced back down the hall, weighing the options. Playing into the lord's favor wasn't the worst idea, but getting too involved with a snake was dangerous, and he wasn't sure what Sashka would think of it if she found out. He could also talk to her and point out that a dead Gaius was worth nothing to them at all, thereby managing to keep in both their good graces. Perhaps that was the route to take.

"I'll see about it."

"You're too kind." Gaius let go of the bars and eased himself back to his corner, breathing on his half-frozen fingers. "Send my regards to Sashka, would you?" He would kill her himself when he was free and able. This entire ordeal was an offense to his pride. The stinking chamber pot, the half-rotted meals, the sub-zero accommodations...It was an affront to his very being, and not just because he was some stuck-up noble. This would have been too much even for the lowest peasant. It was unnatural for any living being to be kept like this.

Regrettably, Gaius was beginning to sympathize with the prisoners in his own cells below Serpent Keep.

"I'm sure that they'll be reciprocated," he said, though the dryness of his words implicated that it wasn't meant kindly. He meant it with as much a double-meaning as Gaius did; 'regards' from him were a threat. Cain understood that.

With that, he turned away, footsteps disappearing down the corridor. Up the winding staircase. The cold, clinging to his skin, mind working through the possibilities. The words. Running the scenario in his head over and over again. Gaius wanted something, obviously. Something more than a blanket. An advantage, an eye into Sashka's goings-on, a tool. He'd been a tool for men before, some greater than the Serpent Lord, others lesser. He didn't intend on doing it again.

But if Gaius did get the upper hand on Sashka, he wasn't stupid enough not to realize the advantage of having himself at least somewhat in his favor.

He returned to the chambers where he'd left her, raising his hand to knock on the door softly yet clearly, then settled his weight back to wait for a response.

"Enter," Sashka said, setting down the finished carving and sitting up straighter. She pushed her curls out of her eyes, trying to look as imposing as she wanted to feel. Cornyx made her a tad uneasy; he was almost a serpent himself. If she hadn't known better, she'd say he was some lost bastard of the old serpent. She would have told Ash it was so, tried to worry him into giving her what she wanted, but it was well known the man had been damn near celibate since the death of his wife.

The door clicked underneath his fingers and he stepped inside, the warmth of the room contrasting starkly with the dungeons below. He almost preferred the ice, strangely enough, but he didn't speak of it any more than he spoke of his past or his origins or his own motivations aside from his debt and the relationship of mutual benefit that he had with Sashka.

"I'm afraid I'm not as imposing as would've been optimal, ma'm," he informed her softly, glancing towards the fire. "But he was fed without incident nonetheless."

(I'm gonna call it a night. See you in the morning/afternoon depending on your time zone!)

"Glad to hear it." She crossed one leg over the other. "How'd he look? Close to breaking, I hope?" Probably not. Those Ashes looked flimsy, but they were tougher than steel and as stubborn as the men of the Far North. Gaius was no exception. He was probably storing the food in a hollow leg and living off his own blood. There were certainly enough stories of the serpents to make such things seem plausible and to have given her nightmares as a child, and now there was one half-starved and likely close to feral chained up in her father's old dungeon. If her siblings could see her now....

((Goodnight!! I'm in Pacific Standard, so probably morning!))

"If only. He was quite vocal, however," he replied, coming to take his place a few feet away from her, hands clasped behind his back. "Though, Miss Sashka...may I have permission to speak freely?" he queried, head still half-bowed. It didn't do much given his height but his submission was evident in spite of the size difference. He'd no desire to step on toes, much less hers, and Gaius or favor with him weren't worth damage to what he'd already built up with Sashka. Morals weren't a strong player in his motives; who knew who was in the right in a situation like this? It was all politics. That was all it ever was.

"Shoot." Sashka picked up another hunk of wood and started carving. It was kind of funny how shy he was--she had dealt with plenty of subordinates before, but none so doglike as Cornyx. He always seemed eager to put himself down for her when she asked so little. All she wanted was some respect and relative obedience, but he went above and beyond.

Even so, there was something off about him that set the hairs on the back of her neck prickling.

"L-Lord Ash is no use to us if he is dead," he said, grimacing at the involuntary stutter but not deigning to grace it with too much attention. "He is an impressive survivor, but I fear with the temperatures as they are that we may come down one evening to find a body instead of a man."

His obeisance was, perhaps, an overcompensation for the things that he knew to be wrong. The way his social interactions were almost stilted, his eye contact artificial; the instinct he knew his presence so often set up in mankind and in beasts alike; the level of disconnection and even fear he had with them. Fear of what he could do to them as much as what they could do to him. There was a reason they called him 'monster.'

"You think the cloak was too much?" She gestured at the remnants of the garment in the fireplace. It had been a fine piece of cloth, expertly embroidered and decorated with a heavy silver brooch in the shape of a coiling serpent. Perhaps she would send the brooch to his son and see what sort of reaction it would get.

"Send down a few thin blankets, I suppose," she sighed finally. "I'd rather have a frost bitten Ash than a dead one."

"Yes, ma'm," he agreed. "I'll see to it."

His eyes flickered to the fabric in the hearth. A pretty thing, once, now singed almost beyond recognition. Green and silver, the serpentine brooch now ashen, and he eyed it for a moment before dipping his head to her and departing to fulfill his duties.

The blankets were threadbare, but better than nothing. He grabbed three of them, then descended into the dungeons once more. Took the key from the guard, breath forming condensed clouds in the air. It was nearly a half an hour after their initial meeting when the young man appeared in front of the Lord Ash once more, the blankets in hand.

"You were lucky," he informed him. "She was feeling generous."

Ash tilted his head up. He'd pushed the empty tray back toward the bars. "How kind of her." He got to his feet, suppressing a grunt of pain as he put weight on his bad leg, and shuffled over to the bars, sticking his thin arms through the bars. He'd lost weight since his imprisonment--not an easy feat, considering he was already mostly a skeleton to begin with. Now, he was sure, he was something out of a nightmare with his wild white hair and wide eyes staring out from the deep pits of his sockets. Not a pleasant sight by any stretch.

He passed them over, deigning not to answer. He passed over the blankets, then opened the door to get the tray, still watching Gaius but not expecting any real resistance from the man. He was known for his persistence and guile, not his acute capability in a fight, and now he was thin enough that his ribs were probably visible beneath his shirt. He wasn't afraid of any physical threat.

He took the tray, then stepped back, closing the cell door once more and letting it echo in the silence.

Gaius took the blankets, wrapping one around himself quickly and letting his legs collapse under him with a grateful sigh. "Better," he allowed. "That was quick. Does she like you that much?" She must, if she was giving comfort to him through this boy. Sashka hated Gaius even more than her father had.

For good reason, in hindsight, but he hadn't considered it personal until she came after him all these years later. He had been younger--much younger when her father Fell. Tomhas hadn't yet offended him, and Michael had died less than a decade before. He was a new Lord back then, not completely aware of the consequences the act of destroying an entire family would have.