Exhausted she stumbled into the house yet again. For almost forty hours she had been awake, and in that time she had likely saved the city. So little food had passed by her beak, much water and some alcohol that a surprisingly (for once) non-bitchy Mer had forced into her hand. Wine, spare dried meat, and bread had been her sustenance through the days and night and now all was quiet. The suppliers had all gone, the food and drink shared out amongst the estates and establishments to the extent that she determined according to their needs. Arguments had eschewed of course, but these she had sorted out with a few minutes of careful diplomacy.
“I should run for office on the council,” she muttered to herself as she shut the door to the dark, dark sky behind. Night again, and this one she was determined to sleep through.
Stifling a yawn Stare started towards the stairs, her eyes very briefly glancing to an old clock on the shelf under the portrait of Vitruvion as a soldier with Blaud the owl. It was just past midnight which meant most of the house would be in bed. Maybe just Rafael up, or Mrs Deerling preparing food for tomorrow.
Her claws clicked lightly on the wood as she made her way over to the stairs, body weary and in desperate need of sleep. Rubbing at her eyes she found herself uneasy and feeling the lines of stress. It was at that point she noticed one of the dining room doors was slightly ajar, with light coming from the gap.
Then a voice.
“Stare? If that's you, can you come in here please.”
His voice. Her weary mind cried out for mercy, with a desperate plea to sleep. “Pity!” it yelled, “Pity!”
Sighing long and low she turned, blinking hard to try to find some new source of energy. After all she had been readying herself for sleep, finally. And thus she had been slowly coming to a sense of rest. Now though, now she needed to wake up.
It occurred to her then that he could see into her mind and so there was no point in putting on a pretence of alertness. So he would see she was exhausted - so what? He was … him. She tried to pull herself together and straighten, making some form of effort to look presentable.
She pushed open the door and was very happy to see it was just Vitruvion. He was leaning back in a seat, booted feet on the table and gazing at the portraits of himself. Stare saw a lack of enthusiasm in his own eyes, a weariness that contradicted how he had been acting this past week.
“My lord?” she murmured politely, not daring to risk the use of any other tone or words.
There she remained at the edge of the room.He did not look at her, but rather remained where he was, looking up with near sadness of his past lives.
“From now on you are not to mention the name of Hugin ever again,” he said quietly. “I would have you relate this to the others of the household who know who he is. He owns a few shops.”
Stare nodded a little, her brow creasing, confused but not having the will to start a conversation that could go on.
“I should say 'owned,’” he muttered, grabbing a goblet from the table and gripping it with cold malice. “I've kicked him out the Hollow and the city. He had the obstinate selfishness to keep all of his food and supply to himself, his whole six months of provisions when others were starving,” he spat, disgusted. “That and I have had enough of his nonsense. He managed to kill Reign.”
