Family turmoil. How tedious.
And she did have a sibling. A rather uncharming one.
It was ubiquitous and ever-present. Everyone had their own problems, a mother that didn’t love them enough, an absentee father, and abusive uncle, a too-friendly aunt. These were the things that ate up human lives and deprived them of any meaning. Every generation cannibalized the next with their unfulfilled expectations, their vicarious desires, their mental illnesses. And the cycle went on, time and again.
It was meaningless to Sasha. He lived in a world without these weights. Even when Alasdair lived, Sasha had free reign. These brands of partnership don’t last three hundred years without a workable dynamic.
But, in so tangling himself with this one human, Alasdair’s blooded descendant, so too did he begin involving himself in her affairs. Sasha was not without sympathy, but he simply had no human solutions to the problem. Snapping Alistair Senior’s neck would solve all of this straight away, and although Sasha knew Alice would for some reason protest, he couldn’t muster enough mortal parts of himself to care.
Still… for whatever reason, Sasha folded the letter and tucked it into an inner shirt pocket. Somehow he felt this information would be useful in the future. Either for manipulating Alice or… well it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he might want to help somehow. Without killing anyone, even.
“Refreshed?” Sasha shifted his attention to his phone. It had buzzed in his pocket; he’d received a text message. “If you’d cooperated you could have had a hot meal instead of cold leftovers.”
His phone illuminated his features with a soft blue hue. Eᴅᴡᴀʀᴅ Kɪʟʙᴏʀɴ, 38, Sʜᴇғғɪᴇʟᴅ. Cʜᴀʀɢᴇs ᴅʀᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ. Eᴠɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ ɪɴᴀᴅᴍɪssɪʙʟᴇ. Gᴜɪʟᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇɴɪᴀʙʟᴇ.
“Hm.” He clicked his phone off. “We’re to travel by car. The drive will be lengthy but we’ll reach the Channel Tunnel by dawn, and there we can stay until sunset." Sasha glanced casually around the flat, noting the mess candidly. He picked up one of the pins from the arm of the sofa and twirled it in his finger. "As prim as you dress, this is how you live? Have you so little respect for yourself?"
And she did have a sibling. A rather uncharming one.
It was ubiquitous and ever-present. Everyone had their own problems, a mother that didn’t love them enough, an absentee father, and abusive uncle, a too-friendly aunt. These were the things that ate up human lives and deprived them of any meaning. Every generation cannibalized the next with their unfulfilled expectations, their vicarious desires, their mental illnesses. And the cycle went on, time and again.
It was meaningless to Sasha. He lived in a world without these weights. Even when Alasdair lived, Sasha had free reign. These brands of partnership don’t last three hundred years without a workable dynamic.
But, in so tangling himself with this one human, Alasdair’s blooded descendant, so too did he begin involving himself in her affairs. Sasha was not without sympathy, but he simply had no human solutions to the problem. Snapping Alistair Senior’s neck would solve all of this straight away, and although Sasha knew Alice would for some reason protest, he couldn’t muster enough mortal parts of himself to care.
Still… for whatever reason, Sasha folded the letter and tucked it into an inner shirt pocket. Somehow he felt this information would be useful in the future. Either for manipulating Alice or… well it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he might want to help somehow. Without killing anyone, even.
“Refreshed?” Sasha shifted his attention to his phone. It had buzzed in his pocket; he’d received a text message. “If you’d cooperated you could have had a hot meal instead of cold leftovers.”
His phone illuminated his features with a soft blue hue. Eᴅᴡᴀʀᴅ Kɪʟʙᴏʀɴ, 38, Sʜᴇғғɪᴇʟᴅ. Cʜᴀʀɢᴇs ᴅʀᴏᴘᴘᴇᴅ. Eᴠɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ ɪɴᴀᴅᴍɪssɪʙʟᴇ. Gᴜɪʟᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇɴɪᴀʙʟᴇ.
“Hm.” He clicked his phone off. “We’re to travel by car. The drive will be lengthy but we’ll reach the Channel Tunnel by dawn, and there we can stay until sunset." Sasha glanced casually around the flat, noting the mess candidly. He picked up one of the pins from the arm of the sofa and twirled it in his finger. "As prim as you dress, this is how you live? Have you so little respect for yourself?"
