So, I'm taking a small break from writing We're All Pretenders (I've been writing it all day, pretty much, on and off, obviously), and I wrote this instead. I felt there was plenty of demand for a Maxwell servant P.O.V within the fandom. So here you go. Just to let you know, I am planning on making this guy official. Also, he's referred to as "Shadow", but that's not actually his name; I, however, cannot tell you his actual name, since that would ruin a plot for the big story I am planning with him once WaP is finished and done with (and maybe either after the Robyn and Pumpkin one, or during it).
Anyhow, I hope this is a nice change of pace. Just to let you know, there is no distinct story; each chapter is just like a new and fresh instalment. So, it will never end, really... it could end at 6 chapters... or 600, it's really up to how I feel, and how many ideas I have. However, now, the idea suits me great.
Please review, I'm curious about what you have to say!
~Jess~
X x
You know, there are many things I simply cannot stand: mewling kittens, sour notes, liars, scoundrels, untied laces, sharpeners, milk, the light, all sorts of things. And yet, I am done some justice, as I do not have to deal with these things on a day to day basis. Unfortunately enough for me, I am bound; bound like a dog tied to a fence post. The difference? A dog has a chance of getting free – they're cute and pathetic enough for somebody to eventually look their way and feel pity, eventually releasing them. Me? I'm nothing but a silly shadow; a mark that frightens you. You see me, and you flinch. Why is that? Are people silly? Do they not understand anything beyond what is in front of their noses? Even so, the most curious 'human' (if you could call him that), without a shadow of a doubt, is Maxwell. Remember the things I mentioned earlier, the things I despise? Yeah, I'd take them all in turn for serving this prat.
"Shadow!" he'll call – sleazy bastard has two legs, why doesn't he use them? But I stand up and straighten my bow-tie and walk into the Throne room, tea in hand. Yep, it's "tea time" again. He likes his tea, black and hot, slightest trace of sugar and he'll have your head. He can never have my head though, it's too important to me, and I don't really feel like becoming his most prized monument. Mostly because any monument of his would live in complete shame.
The thing that strikes me odd about this strangely charming fellow, is not his physique, or his motor-mouth, nor his pedantic actions or his incredibly unstable thirst for evil, but the way he stays so calm. He has a new victim, see – lovely lass, she seems. But he gets so defensive whenever I ask even genuine questions. It frustrates me; he never minded before. It seems since this latest victim came into the equation, everything went topsy-turvy and collapsed at his feet.
"Which tea is this?" he asked me with a glint in his eye. I stiffened.
"The same as you had yesterday, sir." I replied, almost robotically. I have no business in showing any kind of emotion to him; he'd only home in on it... and destroy it. He sees it as a curse for me to have an opinion of my own, mostly because I just can't bring myself to condone most of his terrible antics. I know the word he despises the absolute most:
No.
He just doesn't take refusal. It's quite amusing to try though – in the few seconds you have left to live after you've told him so. Funny thing is, he's been promising to kill me for a good four years now, and I'm STILL awaiting my comeuppance; this man knows how to keep a guy waiting, in only the most uncomfortable of positions. I suppose I have to commend him for his undeniable intimidation, but his methods definitely lack creativity and depth. The spiral of depression is simple for his victims: be brought to this hell hole, realise they'll never get out, and then die. However long that takes.
"Well, I don't like it." he said, thrusting the cup back at me, some spilling over the edge and landing on me. It was hot, so very hot... I would have flipped the entire tray at him, but to be honest, I had to be grateful that he could make me feel some human phenomenon – even if the human phenomenon in question was pain, and an urge to slap him silly. But being diligent ol' me, though taxing, is definitely rewarding, as I get to keep my life. I sighed as I backed out of the room and then shoved the tray into a dark oblivion (the lazy method I took when I just couldn't be bothered to put something away), forever to stay there. Frustration does not suit me; my eyes do a funny thing when I'm annoyed, they seem to narrow in vision. Almost like living in a constant tunnel.
The hilarious thing is, he thinks I'm intent on making him more, like a good little servant. I will not. And I will not for one reason:
He loved that tea yesterday. I ain't seeing it as fit to make the guy some more. He wants tea, he can get his own. Then he'll be able to make it "right". I combed a hand through my hair as I wandered through the dark, dismal place. It was then that I realised:
"Yeah right, he can make it "right"... the guy probably can't even hold a teapot..."