Tivan kicked a pair of boots out of his way across his quarters, fuming.
Who does she think she is? he raged. She is my slave, she cannot talk to me like that!
He picked up a useless, damaged bauble he had kept after his collection's destruction and hurled it across the room where it hit the wall and finally shattered completely. Breaking something felt oddly cathartic; he grabbed another piece of junk and threw it against the wall, where it burst and joined the other one. He tossed another, and another, and another, finally running out of ammunition and collapsing on the bed with a dry sob.
No tears? he thought ruefully. He could not recall the last time he had cried over anything – not even when his collection was taken out and he had lost the orb to Gamora and her companions. He tried in vain to remember but realized it must have been decades, if not centuries. The feeling was shameful and he hated himself for it. Tivan did not understand why his slave made him both elated and infuriated. I hurt her, he suddenly realized. I didn't mean to, but I did.
She deserved it for talking back to you, his mind countered.
She had only been showing concern.
Your health is not part of her job; she was out of line.
I should be grateful she cares.
No one should ever have to be grateful for a slave.
But I am.
Your softness makes you weak.
I was weak when I let my anger get the better of me.
He groaned in frustration and pressed his fingers to his suddenly throbbing temples. He reached into his vest for the cherry leaf cigarettes he normally kept there, patting his body quickly when he couldn't find them. Suddenly panicking, he began hurriedly turning out his pockets, tossing the items on his tables, and rapidly rifling through his dresser drawers. Coming up empty, he hissed in anger and stormed out of his room, walking purposefully back to where he had last seen Hanni, in the kitchen. When he entered, she did not notice him at first; she had cleaned the mess and was now weeping silently in the corner, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. He felt vulgar for a moment, ashamed and yet irritated, but approached her nonetheless, stopping about 5 feet before he reached her. He pressed his lips together as she took a shuddering gasp and turned in his direction in terror, hastily wiping her eyes on her arms, keeping her gaze cast down.
"Yes, master?"
He felt a little conflicted asking something of her, but decided that she was his slave after all and what he said was not a request, but an order. All the same, his stomach clenched as he spoke.
"Clean my quarters," he commanded. "When you are done, fetch my smoking leaves from the shop two stalls down from the right of my building. Tell them they are for me, and you will not be charged."
"Yes, master," she said, still not looking at him as she fled from his presence.
In her absence, he grabbed a bottle of dark red wine and poured a glass, then another, and another, and before long he had finished the bottle and his headache was getting worse with every passing second. He began a second bottle already, slumping forward in his chair, placing his chin on one arm and dipping his finger into the wine, running it along the rim of the glass, producing a high-pitched musical whine. By the time Hanni had cleaned his quarters, bought his cherry leaves and returned, he was light-headed and in unbearable pain. She looked at him in sheer alarm and noted the empty wine bottle and the half-empty one beside it. He looked up at her, dark circles settling under his eyes as he muttered something incoherent.
"Master?" she asked meekly, holding her already bruising arm and gazing at him with apprehension.
He laid his head to the side and closed his eyes. Hanni waited a moment before clearing the mess, biting her lip and giving her master a quick glance as she slipped a finger inside one of the bottles, then brought it to her mouth to taste it, closing her eyes and savoring the flavor. Tivan watched her in a daze, not sure what to make of it, but he suddenly coughed and she turned in fright, nearly dropping the bottle. He tried to stand up, but began weaving, clutching the counter as hard as he could to keep from falling. Hanni rushed to his side despite the fact that he had hurt her earlier, wrapping an arm about his waist and encouraging him to lean on her as she assisted him to his room. He chuckled as they reached the bed and she let him down gently, taking off his well-polished boots and covering him with a soft blanket. She turned him on his side, scared that he would become sick during the night and asphyxiate were he on his back. She attempted to leave but he grabbed her wrist firmly and muttered something again. She leaned down to hear him better and she could smell the comforting cherry scent on his breath as he whispered in her ear.
"Don't leave me," he whimpered, the smile fading from his face. "Stay."
"Okay," she said, standing by the side of the bed until he yanked her down to lay next to him, throwing the other half of the blanket over her form.
"My head," he grumbled.
Hanni took that as an order and ran her fingers through his tall white hair as she had the last time he had drunk too much. He moaned and, to her surprise, his eyes were glistening and wet.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "Sorry..."
"It's ok," she whispered, hesitating briefly before leaning forward and kissing his forehead gently.
When she pulled back, he had already fallen asleep, his hand still wrapped around her arm where he had grabbed her earlier. Throwing caution to the wind, she laid her head on the pillow and fell asleep to the rhythm of his breathing.