Seymour was finding it a little hard to believe everything that had happened in a short time.
As soon as he'd been able to slip away from the crowd, he'd gone back to the little room provided for him by the arena, where he had since been spending a long time trying to think.
He'd never had much experience with people expecting anything of him, or even noticing him in the first place. When fancy carriages rode through in his village, people wouldn't ever give him a second glance, unless maybe they had an order to bark at him. And now… he wouldn't exactly say that he fit in, but he wasn't being turned away either. If anything, they seemed to view him as a novelty, someone who'd brought along something new and interesting for them to fawn over. This sort of attention was certainly not something he had sat around wishing for in the past. He felt that a life beneath notice suited him much better than one where you had to hold up to everyone's scrutiny. He could gladly do without everyone noticing him.
But Audrey… Audrey was someone who would be very hard to live without. It would be one thing if she'd told him that she no longer wanted to have him around, or even that she'd rather keep to a friendship hidden in the dark of the night. But now he knew that she wished for him to stand by her side, and he also knew that others had a lot of expectations for what sort of person she could choose for that role. So he would have to do whatever he could to be that sort of person.
He sent a quick glance at the plant sitting silently in the corner, and then stared down at the bandages tied around his fingers. He tried not to think about what keeping up this sort of life might entail, or if it would even be manageable. He'd made it this far, and he'd just have to keep going.
When a knock came at the door, he mostly expected that it would be Audrey coming to see him again. But the loud pounding sounded very much unlike her, and he only had to wait a moment before the person outside shoved the door open rather than waiting.
His stomach sank like a stone at the sight of Lord Scrivello. He held a large jug in one hand, and the sloshing noise suggested it was already largely empty. Seymour rose to his feet, and his eyes fell upon the sheath hanging on the side of the other man's belt.
"Can, um… Can I help you?"
Lord Scrivello stepped confidently into the room. He seemed far past the point of being able to think lucidly, and stared hard, as if trying to be certain he recognized the much smaller man. "So, you're the one who bested me today. What was it again… Cecil? No, no… Cedric? Simon?"
"S-Seymour."
It was almost unnerving how he still didn't look angry, and instead seemed to be finding something almost humorous in the situation.
"You should know that you surprised me today." He stated, and then paused to take another swig from his jug. Finding it empty after, he apparently decided there was no longer a use for it, and threw it to the ground to let it shatter.
Seymour winced, and then tugged at his sleeve as he tried to regain his composure. "Yes, um… beginner's luck, I suppose."
Lord Scrivello only laughed in response, his expression still full of a cheerful sense of humor. Seymour was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, the feeling of alarm in the back of his mind was nothing more than him being overly worried. He was certain that this man was capable of being quite dangerous, but perhaps he hadn't come with any nefarious purpose at the moment. But any such hopes were quickly dashed a few seconds later.
"It's not often that I'm beaten, you know." Lord Scrivello finally replied. He reached for his sheath, and pulled out a long and very sharp-looking knife, a gleeful smile spreading across his face. "But I don't much like to come away from these tournaments without some sort of prize. The teeth have always been my favorite. And really, they're much easier once the person they're attached to can no longer move."
"Y-you mean to kill me?"
The wicked glint in the man's eyes confirmed the answer, and the not-at-all hasty pace of his movements suggested that he wouldn't mind if it took them awhile to get to that point. "I think I'm going to really enjoy this."
Seymour felt frozen in place as he frantically tried to think of any means of escape. The most he could manage was to stumble back a few steps and get the bench in the room between him and the man with the knife. The panic clearly written on his face only seemed to add to the nobleman's enjoyment of the situation. Howls of laughter began to fill the room, and Seymour realized that his back was already up against the wall.
But after several agonizing moments, Lord Scrivello's staggering forward was tripped up by a vine that one might swear hadn't been there a moment before. Seymour flinched and shut his eyes, but heard a horrible noise and a pained grunt. He was more than reluctant to look again, but felt that he had to. He tried to force down a deep breath and then opened his eyes, only to see that his adversary had fallen on his own weapon.
"G-get help…" Lord Scrivello looked up at him to plead, and almost seemed as if he'd forgotten everything that had just happened, or at least didn't see any reason why Seymour would be upset about it.
From the looks of things, it was already much too late. The man's face was quickly losing color, and his breath was already starting to come in ragged gasps. But if there was even a chance, he should run and fetch help, shouldn't he? And yet, he found himself rooted to the spot. Looking back, he could never remember if he'd panicked so badly his mind had completely shut down, or if there was some voice in his head reminding him, 'This is the man who hurt Audrey.'
As if wondering the reason why himself, Lord Scrivello continued to stare up at Seymour, his eyes becoming clouded and confused. "What did I ever do to you?"
As terrified as he was of everything that had just occurred, Seymour found that he couldn't see it as a reason to hate the man in front of him. He felt so out of place among this life that it almost seemed as if he deserved someone coming along to take it all away. But even so, there was something much more important that he would never be able to forgive. He looked down at the small square of cloth sitting neatly-folded on the bench, and instinctively leaned down to pick it up.
"Nothing. It's what you did to her."
"Her who?" Lord Scrivello seemed to be struggling to focus, before finally taking note of the square of cloth now clutched tightly in Seymour's white-knuckled grip. "Oh… her."
And with that, the life drained from his face and he slumped limply to the ground.
Seymour stood in shock, not having even the slightest idea what to do or what to think.
At least, not until the plant started to move again. It looked at Seymour, at the man lying in the dirt, and then back to Seymour again. When Seymour still didn't move, its demeanor seemed to say, 'Do I have to tell you how to do everything?'
"Chop him up."
"Still struggling to think, or even to breathe, Seymour stared back blankly. "… what?"
"Feed me!"
At the moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to run away, try to forget any of this happened, cling to the hope that maybe it really hadn't happened and was just a terrible dream. But maybe he did need to try and think logically right now. Slowly, he forced himself to look at Lord Scrivello again. The plant did need to be fed, and he had more than enough…
As much as he hated to even think of it, this would keep the plant alive, and he needed the plant. He'd lose everything without it. He'd lose her.
The plant lifted its pod higher and smirked. It was clear that it knew, at least in this moment, it had Seymour right where it wanted.
"This is how your future starts. You've just got to let it."