Authors Notes: Hello! Good to be writing again. This is my favorite chapter for this story so far. I hope you like it too. The title? Aside the obvious (what you'll read and discover as obvious) I have always thought of Oils and Acrylics as opposites. In this case, for this story chapter, it makes sense. Opposites. Love or Blood, living and dead, etcetera. XD I've spent way too much time around the youngest generation of my family...I feel like I have to explain EVERYTHING. XD
Love or Blood
Chapter eight: Oils and Acrylics
"Aww, whaz a matter?" the Breton slurred, the strong smell of spiced Rum heavy on his breath. "Wont even gimme a smile, pretty lady?" He chuckled, laying himself firmly against me and crushing me into the pavement. My body gave an involuntary jolt as he pressed his lips to my collar bone. I was repulsed and scarred, but I had to wait, I couldn't act yet.
"Your gonna behave, and I'll make ya smile." He drawled, leaning in closer. I bit into my bottom lip.
Soon I could flee; get away from this man and out of this situation, but first I had to be patient. I had to breath. "Will you be good?" The man asked while hesitantly taking a hand away from one of my pinned wrists. Gulping, I gave a feeble nod and watched him slowly give a lopsided smile, flashing slightly crooked teeth at me.
He shifted his weight off of my body, kneeling on the cobblestone to unbuckle his trousers. Just as he did so I took in a deep breath and quickly brought one of my legs up in between his. The dark haired Breton shouted and swore, both hands flying down to take a hold of himself. With all my strength, I pushed his body off of me and jumped to my feet. Adrenaline pumped, I bolted toward the streetlights.
Once I was under the light of an oil lamp and in a patrolling guards sight, I was safe. But the time it takes to run away from an alley with a lurking 'predator' close by, and get to a lamppost is always terrifying.
It feels like it takes an eternity, like the very roads you run on turn to quicksand beneath your feet. You never know if they'll follow you, all you know is to never look back, just straight ahead.
I could barley hear the pattering of my feet as I ran, all I could hear was the blood thudding loudly in my ears and my harsh breaths as I took in the stale night air. "Don't look back he could be following, don't look back you'll get scarred and panic. Breath, breath, breath…"
xxxx
I don't like nightmares, especially when you once lived them and the dream is just a horrifically vivid memory.
I gasped, sitting up straight in bed with my arms out in front of me, groping the air helplessly. My eyes scanned the darkness of the bedroom, still searching for my streetlamp. Desperately, I tried to quiet my breath and thumping heart. I knew I wasn't in danger but I couldn't help but to be afraid with the nightmare still fresh in my mind.
Despite my surroundings and the knowledge that I was safe, I still felt terrified. My hands griped the coarse bed sheets as I closed my eyes. I could still smell the alcohol, feel the mans hands on me, and the cold ground beneath my back. That dream, that nightmare, wasn't an object of imagination, but a situation I had escaped from, one of the many situations I had escaped from.
Pulling the blankets to my chest, I gave a long sigh. "It was only a dream" I reassured again, "it wont…it cant happen again. I'm safe here." Looking down I noticed that I was shaking in my bed. I felt rather silly for doing so. It wasn't like me to get so distressed over a dream.
The night that this situation had occurred I wasn't as upset as I am now. I dealt with it and tried my best to forget it.
With a rigid sigh, I lied back down into my bed and stared up to the stone ceiling. All those years on the streets really do harden you. Back then, I was unfazed by my nightly attackers and never would have begun to shake over a scary dream.
Funny, how I never thought that I was lucky. Every time I was grabbed, pinned, threatened or trapped, I got away, before any harm was done. Of course I had battle scars from my fights, but I still had my dignity and pride. How many other woman who where homeless for five whole years can say that?
And look at me now, in a warm bed, currently silently sobbing over my shameful history and thinking on the horrors of what could have happened.
"I'm just being silly." Hastily I rubbed my surely bloodshot eyes and snuggled further into the mattress, hugging my pillow like a small child would a stuffed animal. "No one can try harm me now."
Regardless of how much I reassured myself, I knew I wouldn't get anymore sleep. On the rare occasions that I do have a night terror, they make me scared to go to bed. I'm always afraid I will dream the same thing or have a worse nightmare. I swallowed hard and pulled the blankets over my head. It was far to early for me to get up, and the bed was warm enough to make me stay.
I have been having such good sleep recently to. Honestly I have not a clue as to what caused my dream. The past few nights its been nothing but strange castles and funny apron wearing lizards. Hardly terrifying.
No longer needing a clock to know the time, as I am fairly good at guessing by now, I would say it's around six in the morning. That gives me fourteen hours to lie in bed and do nothing. Which suits me just fine, I'm not really much of a morning person.
Seeing as I was alone though, Tualga and Rheena's new shifts give me plenty of loner time, I could read.
I groped under my bed and carefully pulled out The Book of Daedra. The book belongs to Shum gro Yarug, the butler. He was nice enough to give me it though after he spotted me rereading it for about the third time. I knew the book word for word by now but still its all I have. Its mildly interesting facts, albeit obvious facts, about the six Daedric prince's.
For no reason in particular, I have always found Daedra interesting. Nocturnal and Sheogorath especially, for rather silly reasons.
I find it highly amusing; the Mad God who is supposed to be mad, and yet dressing as a banker and writes poetry on his, 'golden road' to insanity.
Nocturnal because she seems so mysterious and I secretly yearn to know how the Grey fox took her cowl. Moreover, why she wears a cowl in the first place. Surely you cant be seen in the dark, what is the point in wearing a mask if your already hidden?
XXXX
"It isn't fair." He irritably noted, looking back down at the letter in his hands. Here he was, sitting in this dimly lit room within his lonely old castle while his closest friend was having the time of his undead life. Teaching his newest and most 'outspoken' pupil, the ways of the shadow, all the while laughing at the Counts predicament.
Janus on the other hand, did not find his situation comical. Not in the slightest.
With yet another irritated huff, he crumpled then tossed the parchment, not caring where it landed as long as it was out of sight. And decided that he would not correspondence right away. He was in no mood.
For the past few days the Count had tried his best to get used to his newest maid. But no matter how much effort he put into trying to ignore her presence, he simply could not. And it wasn't necessarily her presence that was bothering him either. No, it was the fact that he never knew where she was until she would just randomly pop into his line of vision. Several times, nearly making him jump.
It was the most irritating and uncomfortable situation one could ever find themselves in, according to him. Janus needed to constantly be on alert and listen for her breathing or the beating of her heart to know whether or not she was nearby. For if he was too engrossed in a book, or his usual daily activities and was not paying attention to his surroundings, he would look up and see her off in the back of the room.
But that wasn't even the worst part though. The worst thing was that whenever he looked in her direction, or made eye contact with her, she would freeze, stop whatever she was doing, wring her hands, bite her lip and bow her head.
"In that very same order." He mused. Having watched her do it several times now, he would mentally check off her actions as if they were on a list whenever he watched her. That, of course, he would do for his own amusement, as it was the only thing that he found in this situation slightly laughable.
The Count would have thought by now that she would have been more…at ease with her situation. Yet she still acted as though he would sever her head himself if she did something wrong. Granted, on occasion, he would like to.
At the moment though, he was considering removing his very own head from his shoulders because the clock read seven thirty. That meant he had only a half an hours worth of peace left before she came. And how he was dreading her attendance.
Had she not been so efficient in her work, he would have dismissed her and continued the old routine; a quick cleaning once a week. But he certainly did not want to go back to that, as he had not been this comfortable in his own home for quite some time.
Comfortable, in the sense that everything was clean, though only when he was alone could enjoy this small comfort.
The Count desperately wanted to do something, to make her quirky…no. She was rather graceful when she didn't know he was watching…fidgeting ways stop. It was tiresome; to see someone so at peace one moment only to watch them inadvertently switch, being almost skittish the next moment, once they realized they were being watched.
A calming spell seemed to be the simplest and best thing to do. The most rational. But he wouldn't even dare to do such a thing. To cast a spell for defense on someone was one thing, but to constantly hit her with secret enchantments seemed rather…cowardly.
He was going to have to face this like a man.
Grimacing, Janus shook his head, trying his best to think of the most appropriate way to come out a winner in this 'battle'. "To think some Counts strike their servants to get them in line. All I usually have to do is smile." The comment was a sarcastic one, meant to make him pity himself, but strangely enough, it gave him an idea. A good one.
"Smile…Be nice. No, be civil."
He wasn't sure if he was capable of being nice, but civil, he knew he could manage. He had learned to be civil to many powerful and influential people whom he despised for over decades now. Surely he could play the part to a scared little girl.
And so for the sake of his very sanity he was going to be the most civil Count on Nirn.
xxxx
"Its already seven thirty?" I asked myself staring up at the small clock in disbelief. The day seemed to go by so quickly. All I did was get dressed and read today, really.
"Hmm?" Rheena looked up from her plate, mouth still full of food. "You say something Lynn?"
I nodded and pointed to the clock. "Time." My answers were still soft and my words rather small, but I did talk now. Though I wish I could say more, even about mundane things. Alas, I still only speak when provoked. As if it must be involuntary.
"Ah." she remarked while reaching for the water pitcher. "Don't feel like working? Believe me I know what you mean. My feet are killing me."
I gave a weak smile and placed my sewing on the table and away from Rheena's mess. I still don't have many clothes. Besides her and Tualga's garments I have nothing. Them both being rather bigger than me, I'm forced to hem whenever I get the chance.
Sewing can be relaxing though so I really don't mind. Still, after several pricked fingers you begin to curse five feet, seven inches, and your fathers Breton blood.
Sighing, I stood. Straightening my skirt, placing several stray hairs behind my ears, and gathered up my things.
"Did…Did Tualga say when she would get back?" I asked from over my shoulder as I put various sewing equipment away. The maids, mainly the older ones, all leave their sewing kits out. We all have use for it occasionally, but I think I'm the only young maid who finds it enjoyable. I cant understand why though. Sometimes its fun to make pretty things.
Though, they have more freedom then I. So, its probably better to by them.
"Nope." She replied, "You know her though. She takes forever when it comes to shopping. Or shall I say gallivanting at bars when she's supposed to be doing the shopping?"
I shrugged, not really seeing a need to reply. Once every few days some of the servants get set off to shop. The castle is always full of people, mainly hired hands, so something is always needed or running out. Tualga is one of those people who goes on the trip to Skingrad shops whenever she can.
Honestly I'm a bit jealous. I haven't been outside in…months now. Then again, I'm safe in here, there is no need to be jealous.
xxxx
Work. I did so quickly. As always, it was uneventful. Really there is not much to be done, a quick 'do over' from the previous night. Still, a four hour shift is a four hour shift, no use to complain. One cannot argue when they lack the voice.
Not that I feel the need to argue. I don't mind wandering the manor, for there is much to look at.
Just today for example, I found that the Count owns a piano. It doesn't look like its been touched in years, but it just goes to show how big his home is. How could I miss a piano? Granted, everything is dark here. I'll probably never get used to this lighting.
"I do miss the sunshine."
I quickly pushed those thoughts out of my mind. To think of the sun in his castle seems taboo to me. Although, he does keep a lot of paintings of the sun, or just bright days in general. Then again not many famous artists in Cyrodiil paint much else.
He seems to favor the works done by Rythe Lythandas. My mother used to too. Back in Anvil, she would save up money to by his paintings. As a healer with a big family it took time for her to raise such money, but it was a hobby for her nonetheless, and she had found pride in it. There was at least one of his paintings in every room.
Like I said, It was a hobby for her, until she stumbled across alcohol.
But I digress. I'm in no mood to dwell on such things anymore. The past is most certainly the past. No one can change it, and honestly I'm not sure I want to.
I may not be 'happy', but I am…content now. Which is the 'happiest' I have been in years.
Content. It reminds me of the painting in front of me actually. There is only one lady in it of course, looking out at the sunset, not smiling or frowning, just looking at the beauty of it all before her. Just like me.
Rythe Lythandas is a very good artist indeed, he captured this moment so well…
"Do you like that?"
I whipped around so quickly that I dropped my bag and nearly fell, staring upward awkwardly, wide eyed at the man who had been behind me. I was not been expecting to be asked such a question, moreover even spoken to. Especially not by the Count, whom never utters a word in my direction.
In the back of my mind I wondered how long he had been standing there. Was I so lost in the painting that I did not hear him call to me?
"Am I in trouble?"
Upon meeting his gaze, I hastily bowed, trying my best to stop my sudden shakes. Then I remembered he had asked me a question. I was baffled though, and could not recall for the life of me what it was he said. Knowing that its rude to not answer the Count of Skingrad's question immediately, I straightened, every intention of asking him politely to repeat himself…
My voice had gone from me once again. Try as I might I couldn't make a sound. It feels as though an invisible hand clamps around your throat. Enabling you to breath, but not to talk. The only sound I could have made was a squeak, which I had no intention of doing so as that would make me look more like a fool.
Instead I nervously balled up my apron and looked up at him in a slightly quizzical sort of way.
He always seemed so composed. The most 'uncivilized' thing I have ever seen him do was sigh. It must be a terrible burden to remain placid all the time. But he didn't seem fazed by it…not that I would have been able to tell if he was or not.
"The painting?" he continued, cocking his head to the side slightly toward the picture. "You have been looking at it for a good ten minutes. I take that as you like it?"
I blinked, slightly mystified. It was such a mundane question, yet it struck me as the strangest thing on Nirn. "Why is he talking to me?"
What little I know and have learned about nobles and servants, is that they do not coexist. Nobles think maids are like the rags that we use. Filthy, easily replaced but mildly useful. They pretend we don't exist and we pretend that part of our job is being invisible.
If the two classes mix, its usually never for the better. If we do someone gets fired, or in this case 'let go'.
Naturally I find it more than strange. The Count has been portrayed to me is as a quiet, cantankerous, demanding, Imperial man. Not the sort to converse with his hired hands. Especially not the one that he practically took in, for no self gain.
But perhaps he simply wants something. Maybe instead of asking straight out for me to do something for him he starts a small conversation. That does seem the most logical thing.
"You do speak Cyrodiilic, correct?"
I blushed. His words were not cruel, but I still could sense a sourness in them. Like what one does when forcing kindness. A bittersweet wordplay that probably works on chatty nobles. Talkative people often overlook sarcasm and hints of cruelty in speech.
Maybe he has momentarily forgotten that he is speaking to someone who never does talk. I listen and absorbed every little bit of language, whether bodily or spoken.
"Or perhaps I had been hallucinating the last time we spoke?" Harder words this time, not enough for me to identify them as rude though. Still they had hints of what I like to call, 'verbal barbs'. That's when someone asks you a question, but the its more of a last chance before they make you answer, question.
I swallowed hard and slumped slightly, head bowing to the floor. "No." I murmured. Inwardly I was again giving myself small praise. I spoke more, but only could when I looked away.
"No? No you do not like the picture, or no, I was not imagining things?"
He was teasing me. He must be. Why else would he ask me: silly, little, incompetent, Abigale Lynn, such a big question, when he knows its hard for me to answer?
Maybe he is just one of those people who likes to feel above than everyone else. He could find enjoyment in demeaning people and making them look foolish. Many do, as it makes them look smart.
"I…" I glanced over my shoulder toward the painting, wringing my hands to the point where I could have set them aflame with friction. "I like it. Sir." The pause after that was brief but in my still very stunned reality it stretched.
"So I've gathered." He answered finally then stepped to me, not directly but to my side. I flinched as he did so, but otherwise remained unfazed. Whether or not he is a vampire, or a Count, he is a man. And I don't like it when men are too near me.
If your within close vicinity, you are more vulnerable.
"But what do you like about it, exactly?" He looked past me to the picture on the wall, the very picture I was becoming to despise. Why more questions? Why more words? Does he not see this cursed apron, has he forgotten proper behavior?
I was now so utterly confused that I abandoned all attempts at keeping up formal poise. I was a bewildered maid, might as well act like one. "Sir?…"
There was a long silent's. The Count didn't look at me or repeat his question, but I could almost sense his expectance. He thought I was going to willingly answer him? Perhaps he does have a sense of humor. Still, I take it as an order. "What do I like the most about this picture?…"
"The sky." I said meekly, once again beginning to fidget. "He…he is very good at, the, landscapes."
The Count then glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "He?"
"Rythe Lythandas, sir." I answered, my eyes flicking at the edges of the painting briefly to look for his initials, something that most artist scribe in their pictures.
"Yes. I am surprised you know of him. Not many…had been thief's, take an interest in art. Not unless there is value to it." I stared at the floor sheepishly. "That was uncalled for…"
"I wonder, do you know of any others?"
I glanced back up at the painting and sighed heavily. Of course I did. There were so many in Anvil. Stopping by to capture the sunset or sunrise on the coast. I had always watched them with envy; it cost money to buy such materials.
"Every one that's ever picked up a brush…" I answered easily and honestly. Too honestly. Half of me couldn't believe that those words came out of my mouth so, smoothly. Not once did I stammer. The other half scolded me for doing so, your not supposed to act familiar to the Count. Invisible maids don't drawl.
A simple 'yes' or 'no' would have sufficed.
On instinct, I quickly brought my hands up to clasp over my mouth. Wondering again, how and why, did I say that?
For a moment all I did was stare up at him bug-eyed with my hands still pressing against my lips. I was afraid to put them back at my sides actually. I didn't want something to slip out again.
I was grateful, for he didn't seem the least bit fazed. Barley casting a curious glance in my direction. Maybe he was used to seeing people act like me. Maybe I'm not as strange as I thought.
"Interesting." he mused, turning back to me. "How do you know of them?"
Biting hard into my lip, I gently placed my hands back to my sides. Feeling silly for overreacting in such a way. Then thinking of the simplest way to answer this unnecessary question. "Anvil. My home, sir. There were many."
"Anvil is your real home then? My sources tell me that you have taken residence in Skingrad for several years. Why the change?"
I swallowed hard. "Sources, sir?" I asked meekly. The question itself was involuntary. It is just a very awkward and uncomfortable thing; to know that someone out there is looking into your history, on that notion you suddenly lose a small bit of reserve.
"Of course. You didn't think I would allow you here without knowing a bit about you?" He smiled, regarding me from slightly narrowed eyes, "That would be rather foolish of me. To let someone who I don't know stay in my home. Prier knowledge is important. You could have been dangerous."
"Dangerous?" I repeated, almost with a breath of laughter. Thinking back to how pathetic I was, sobbing on his floor, begging for his mercy…I was an embarrassment, really. Though could I be blamed? I hold no shame for how I reacted.
"Never judge a book by its cover."
My face crumpled, but only for a moment. Call me silly if you like, but I don't think I ever herd of that saying before. It was most certainly a proverb. I could tell by the way he almost recited it. It took me a second to figure what it meant, but only a second I assure you.
It wasn't that hard to find the logic in it.
"Text is what matters." I mumbled aloud and to myself. Simple yet genius. That saying held so much meaning yet the words itself sound flat when spoken. You must really think about it to find its importance.
"Come again?" he asked, brows slightly quirked with an almost curious smile on his lips.
Quickly I shook my head. I did it again, spoke freely. It must have something to do with being around him and under pressure. People when scarred or nervous tend to babble, maybe I'm one of those people. That's not such a bad thing.
Dare I say its almost…interesting to talk? Interestingly uncomfortable. Not something I could easily get used to.
His brow rose further while he watched me begin to stammer, the word 'nothing' barley audible on my lips.
"Very well then." He said with a nod, "You are dismissed, for the evening." The Count gave me one more calculating glance before turning to leave. I bowed as he turned and left wordlessly, all the while wondering why he let me off early.
Probably sees me as a nuisance. I knew I spoke to much.
XXXX
"Curious little thing." He thought with a smile as he entered his bedchamber. She had made the most comical expressions. He had forgotten how much faces contorted with simplest speech. Although, speech did not seem simple for the maid.
Poor girl was almost a mute. Her voice was small, and she choked on her words with almost every sentence, but he could tell it was all shyness. Not an actual speech impediment.
To the Count, it was amusing. One moment she was quiet, the next she spoke. Almost opportunistic words. She could talk if she wanted to, it was just an unknown action to the girl. Perhaps she was never talked to much as a small child. That would make sense.
Or maybe she never had anyone to talk to or relate to in the past. She did seem rather surprised when they had talked about the painting. Talked, the girl actually partook in the words. Maybe she just didn't share the same interests as others and turned partially mute, only speaking when necessary.
Either way she was fun to watch. He would never openly admit that he somewhat enjoyed watching her struggle for words. It was his own private torment and a small piece of revenge. If she wanted to fidget constantly then he might as well give her reason to.
And what better way to make a shy person squirm then to force them into conversation?
Though, he would much rather have her be a relaxed, calm and quiet maid, but that would take time. Janus would just have to stealthily coax her out of her timid ways, until they were on level, Master and Servant ground. It would take much more than just one random conversation, and this he knew.
But is a small way, he almost looked forward to seeing his quirky, little, maid again. Though the dialog they shared was awkward and forced, it was nice to hold a conversation.
Authors Notes: Aww. See? I did like this chapter. Hassildor is lonely. XD I find it cute...O.o Ehem.