Matheson Twins

[Sebastian]

Stillness of the night was slowly being washed away by the rising tides of the slow burning sun, where its reds, yellows, and oranges crept along the surface of the world. Soon, crickets stopped the melodic strumming of strings and tucked away their violins; only to be replaced by the soft flaps of feathered wings and random chirps of a few morning birds. All eager to get their worm. Some flocking to the outer pools for a bath while some went elsewhere, be it the lush green grass still moist with dew or the limb of a tree, for those not-so-morning birds. Again, a new day, probably filled with the same bullshit as yesterday. As it always was.

Stock animals began to slowly rustle themselves awake, thanks to that slow rising sun. Each animal inhaling the mornings crisp air. Though, in this particular area, where the soldiers slept in wooden shacks that kept five to a building, chickens were the dominant source of interference. Not only were there more than just two or three running about ruffling their feathers, the pitter-patter of talons marking along the cobblestone, or incessant flaps to move no farther than they could have ran, but the fact that they clucked. God damn, did they ever. However, these shacks were worn and aged with time, leaving cracks in the roof or holes in the walls; and it just so happened that through one of the holes strutted a rooster. The cocky bastard must have thought it’d be funny to waltz on in and masquerade around, the shack making all sorts of noises before finding the highest point (a horizontal support beam for the roofing) and rattle them ‘ol vocal chords like a baby’s rattle.

A long drawn out sigh pressed through partially gritted teeth as an index finger of either hand tapped against the straw overlapping the soldiers’ cot. Eyes had yet to open and a mind was trying to grasp hold of a dream that was wrongfully taken from him, trying to go back to sleep, despite the ruckus that bitch was making. Slowly the visions of a tanned body, naked and bare, coated only with a silken towel along the waist; perspiration beading all over the males body while auburn strands laid flat, pressed against the face. Even through the hair, Sebastian knew the look, one so insatiable that the deed would be ever-lasting and their bare body would no longer be bare or coated with silk, but rather, dirty and outlined in Sebastian’s form. But, that image had faded and the animal still coo’d for some attention.

Removing the covers over sight, green eyes blinked thrice while a head lazily craned left, then right. To the left laid Father, Savannah, and some other soldier Sebastian hadn’t taken the time to get acquainted with. However, to the right laid a resting male whose eyes conveyed more emotion than most touches to Sebastian’s body ever had, but that was probably the only thing great about the guy. At first, forearms were used to lift Sebastian’s upper frame; those green eyes peering up and over to the left a bit, the thief to his dream. Optics rolled and a left cheek rested on a shoulder for a few seconds before pushing off the forearms to actually sitting up.

Tanned and naked for the most part, save for the wool cover over Sebastian’s lower section and what else laid over them. Fingertips came and scratched at the chest while those green eyes shifted over to the male beside him. No, not Father. Sick bastards. Sad to know that the only way to see true peace and tranquility is on a sleeping face. Sebastian threw feet over the cots straw edge and removed that itchy cover so that he might stand and stretch the joints. Perhaps “for the most part” was an exaggeration… since he was full nude. Legs flexed and extended to tip-toe while arms were overhead, bent at the elbow while both palms ruffled already messy hair from the nights sleep.

That bitch was still clucking about something or another and it had gotten to the point where Sebastian could stand it no longer, so without as much of a second thought he spoke with annoyance, that thanks to sleepiness, also dulled the volume.

“Savannah.. Don’t you think you need to shut the hell up already? I mean, seriously, is that all you women do is bitch about this or that until someone finally responds to you?”

Bare ass facing the other three members of the shack while the fourth got something a lot more. A lot more. And, at this particular time, Sebastian didn’t care. Not that on any other day, time, or mood that he would. If one can’t share their body with the world, then who!?

[Lord Saladin]

The pallets, wooden, with only a few blankets atop them for padding, were most certainly uncomfortable; but when you have slept on them since infancy, one does not notice such things - a bed, with its soft mattress and down pillows would be a foreign concept, the pallet was what people slept on. It was a simple fact. The life of a simple serf.

Except, in this dilapidated, damp, cold wooden shack, resided three serfs who were far from simple, far from your normal serfdom. The three were Arthur, Sebastian and Savannah - the three greatest fighters and soldiers within the army of the Lord. Arthur was their leader, somewhat of a legend, and had ensured his two children were educated as well as trained with the blade.


As Savannah slept, she was oblivious to the shenanigans of the rooster that had invaded their rather humble little shack that was shared with two other serfs. Both male. This irked Savannah, of course. It wasn't the unleashing of the rooster's call that woke her, but that wretched, sickening voice that pierced her ears with a mocking and distaste that turned the gut.

And so it was, as it was each morning, the little worm woke first, probably to deal with his newest 'victim' - the boy was as promiscuous as damned cat on heat, nay, cats were too noble a creature. Dogs. Yeah, a dog suited the mongrel well.

Eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the pale light of an early dawn that still carried the bitter freshness of winter. In truth, the thin, rough cotton blanket that covered her body was entirely insufficient. As she shivered slightly, the clothes about her boby irritated the flesh, likely leaving a rash; but when the night was so cold, one had no choice but to leave on the shift that could only be washed once a week. Oh, she hated this existence, it was beneath such a woman - intelligent, with mastery of the blade, beautiful - and one day, she knew she'd rise above this dismal excuse for a life.

Dismal excuses? Interesting, that, as she turned her head to the direction of that fool's voice, she was met with the side of his bare backside. The boy had no shame, no decorum, and knowing what he partner was, no taste either! To compare the two siblings, it was near paradoxical, Savannah with her superiority, and then Sebastian with his dismal excuse for manhood.

Beside the brunette beauty, just past the head of the pallet she had slept on every night since she was three, was the broadsword she was so skilled with. Oh, it was so tempting, to shove the end of the blade in an orifice of that moron, such as would leave him, preferably, dead. But, no such luck for the woman, for Arthur laid between the siblings, sound asleep, snoring lightly. As much as Savannah hated her brother, to splatter her father with her so-called brother's blood was not something she was willing to do. So, she formulated another plan.

She hadn't particularly moved as of yet, apart from a turning of the head, and Sebastian looked as though he was occupied. The target was nicely open, clear in view and the yelp that would result most definitely would be at such a level of satisfaction that would not meet killing the little worm, but would bring a satisfied smirk on her face. Near silently, she reached for the sword belt that she wore for most of the day, near enough every day, and dragged it across the floor; having grabbed the leather belt by the rusting iron buckle, so it didn't scrape across the floor.

And now, her genius came into play. A flick of the wrist, well aimed, precise, vicious in its intent. The belt flew through the air, or rather the end of it did, across Arthur, and towards the backside of the worm, hopefully the belt would strike the flesh of the uncouth little imbecile, causing bleeding.

"Infidel, cover yourself up. No one wants to see your sickening backside, it looks like a woman's. You're meant to be a man, you moronic piece of scum."

With that, Savannah, severely irked by her brother, angered by his existence, sickened by his life, stood up, taking her sword as she wandered outside, not bothering to play with hair that was cut short, to only a couple of inches, looking for the well for a wash.

She stalked through the little encampment of similar wooden buildings, her face like thunder, showing obvious displeasure. A few of the other serfs were awake now, and they avoided her at all costs, even taking longer routes to their destination... None dared to face the wrath of an annoyed Savannah Matheson.

Except, of course, her twin. He was an idiot.