A Day Given to the Seven Hells

[Kendrick Deveroix]

The anniversary of Fallas death.

I was in a foul mood.

The day had passed me in a blur; I was fairly sure the sun had come out and shone rather brightly, but I was too busy shoving my nose in those damned ledgers to forget to really notice. Truthfully, I didn't care. The sun could sink in the Straights for all it really mattered to me. I shoved myself harder into my work, refusing at first to eat, then inevitably taking in the staling bread and cold soup that had been left for me by one of the servents. I had a faint recollection of her stepping in quietly, then rushing back out again.

By the time evening had rolled around I was half drunk and making more mistakes in the book than anything else. Slamming it shut, I shoved my chair back and made my way out, my boots thudding in the oddly quiet house; it seemed my foul mood had made everyone scarce. Taking only my cloak, I saddled my horse up myself and made my way to the nearest tavern I could find. After throwing my reins and whatever coin my fingers had found first to the stable boy, I thudded my way inside, not bothering to look around at first more than just to find an empty table. The last thing I needed was some fool thinking I wanted company.

I barked an order for whiskey before looking around, and when I did... Gods, the pain. We'd planned on going to Alba one day, just her and I. I'd been there before, training in the sword and culture, learning and expanding, while she stayed at home in her families estate. The way her face had lit up when I'd finally come home would always be etched into my mind... She was so beautiful, so gorgeous. Sometimes, at night, I could almost feel her soft skin beneath my clumsy fingertips, hear her laughter whisper in my ears. My heart clenched, and to keep myself the mortification of breaking down and sobbing on the tabletop, I took the bottle from the server before he could set it down, drinking it straight. The burn of the liquor didn't help my mind, but it helped my body focus on something else.

Anything helped today. I probably should have never come, but I wasn't about to leave now. Scowling fiercely, I hunched over the bottle and tapped it on the table, trying to keep my mind from pouring over her.

I would never be the same.

[Prince Christien de la Courcel]

It wasn't often that I managed to slip out, but I'd been determined and, as Shadow often said, there was no use stopping me once my mind was truly set to something. I wanted my solitude, and I couldn't get it at the Palace; work waited in my office, and my room hadn't quite had the same feeling since I'd had Ishtar sleep beside me there, then wake with her nightmares. It was haunted with a sort of vague unhappiness.

Still, I refused to brood. I'd changed into the nondescript clothing Coretta and I were accustomed to keeping around for our little jaunts away from propriety, and I knew my features were still relatively little known outside court, since there'd been no real debut as yet. All the better, and easier, for me to have some drinks in peace.

The tavern was moderate as far as I was concerned, and I went in quietly enough, ordering a mug of ale to ward off any further forward motion into musing. The room was loud, and somewhat noisy, but I was almost amused by it, though my features were carefully schooled to nonchalance. After all, I didn't want to get caught- but still, the bustle and instinctive familiarity of things was something worth noting.

[Kendrick Deveroix]

As soon as one drink was swallowed another was taken down, and before I knew it I'd had four down my system and the world was beginning to creep into my hearing again. Fallas face hung before me, frozen in laughter that would never again sound, and I growled as I looked away from where she was, tore myself from her beauty. My gaze scoured the crowd, moving from unfamiliar face to unfamiliar face. Some caught sight of me looking and hurridly glanced away again, others merely stared back, placid, not challenging. One had just come in; his cloak was still on, his face still fresh, not having that inevitable staleness that comes with long hours of breathing smoke and liquor fumes. What a pretty face. He could have been Fallas cousin for all I knew. The thought made me scowl again; I came to forget, and now even a strangers face made me think of her.

Would it never end? Would I spend my life chasing a ghost? Sleeping with women, bedding and wooing, then leaving them naked and staring? Gods damn me to hell if so. I wanted to breathe again, smell the sweet fresh air instead of the remembered scent of her favorite perfume, remembering how she would dab it below her jaw with the lightest of touches, remembering the way the late sun glinted off of her hair.

Damn it and damn me.

[Prince Christien de la Courcel]

I was making my way to a seat when I caught the distinctive sense that someone was looking at me and turned slightly to see who it was; a man at the bar, pouring drinks down his throat and scowling, likely because someone wasn't whimpering or whining for mercy yet. Well, I wasn't about to let myself be cowed either. I met his gaze and took a drink, then rolled my eyes at the irony and made my way to an empty table close enough to the bar that attaining further libation wouldn't be a problem.

The ale was good enough, not that I had much experience in such things, and I simply let my eyes wander over whatever caught my attention. It wasn't as though I could get into any real trouble.

[Kendrick Deveroix]

I blinked.

Did he just roll his eyes at me? For what? I didn't glare at him, not any more than I did the others. Some pompous little chit, come into the tavern to drink and play at haughtiness. "Well, I'll be," I said dryly, my glass halfway raised to my lips. "It seems as though they serve drinks to neigh children these days."

Child, no, but I wouldn't stand someone giving me a look like that on a day like this. To the hells with him.

[Prince Christien de la Courcel]

At the man's statement my eyes narrowed; I was in quite a mood, I knew, and willing to get into a heated discussion at the very least. So what that the man was older than me? I had my own advantages. "Yes, it must distress you so to know they don't only serve washed-out old men like yourself," I replied dryly, then took another sip of my ale.

[Kendrick Deveroix]

"Washed out?" I asked, taking another drink. I abandoned the glass, focusing instead on the bottle, though the damn thing was harder to drink out of than the glass was. I hit my front tooth with it, then snarled at myself for misjudging the distance. I focused my gaze on the young man at the bar again, feeling my anger beginning to rise higher. "I'm only old to someone as young as you, boy. Don't you have a nanny that's worrying about you in a nursery somewhere?"

[Prince Christien de la Courcel]

This man's movements showed a good deal of intoxication, and in a way I envied him; at least he was getting a chance to forget the things that had driven him to drink. "Not so much," I replied nonchalantly. "Don't you have an old woman somewhere waiting to chastise you for being out so late?"

[Kendrick Deveroix]

That BASTARD.

I was on my feet in a flash, storming down the distance between us before the bottle of whiskey even hit the floor. "Apologize!" I snarled at him, my fists balling up and the muscles of my arm coiling, ready to strike. "Apologize, you misbegotten son of a bitch, or I'll make sure you look through your arse from here til the end of your miserable days!"

Spittle neigh flew from my mouth as he wavered a second infront of me, but I kept my stalk true, knowing he was that way. Whether it was the whiskey or my rage that made him move, I didn't know, but I did know the chit was going to pay for his words one way or another.

[Prince Christien de la Courcel]

For a moment his movement startled me, but my features remained smooth as I looked up at him, my own ire rising as droplets fell on my hair and face. Gods, but this was completely disgusting.

"It seems like I've hit a nerve, I'm sorry," I replied, eyes flashing as I showed no remorse, remembering my scant few lessons in fighting and instinctively rising and finding the balls of my feet. "It's not a good idea to take offense so easily."

[Kendrick Deveroix]

I saw glistening beads land on his face and mentally something checked, causing my form to straighten a little more, my eyes to lose a touch of their intensity. I was drunk. I knew I was drunk, but I knew I was overreacting, even just a little.

His apology made the curl of my fingers loosen a little, and it was only then that I realized that my fingers had begun to ache in their clench. I was near ready to respond with a grunt when he spoke again, bringing my eyes to meet his, and in them I saw nothing reflected in his words. He wasn't sorry; whats more, he pushed me on by telling me what was a good idea and what wasn't. I scowled.

"It's not a good idea to bring so little muscle and so big a mouth into a tavern either," I shot back at him, my advance stopped a few feet from him. I crossed my arms over my chest in a fashion that left me able to get my right hand out quick enough to parry a punch, giving him as dirty a look as I'd ever felt. Must have learned it from Julie.

[Prince Christien de la Courcel]

"Perhaps not," I agreed with a sneer. "But who ever said I was smart anyway?"

Once again I was being underestimated, considered weak, and that caused my temper to flame; I hated when it seemed that my title was the only defense I had against the world because otherwise I couldn't take care for myself. "Sometimes people with lots of muscle have big mouths too, and just as little brains behind them."

[Kendrick Deveroix]

"I'd rather have the muscle," I bit back at him. Look at him, all raised up on his toes like a pansy pretending to be a man. Must have watched his daddy practice his sword, hoping all the while that he would be allowed to touch the hilt of it. I sneered, raised my fist, and chucked it towards his head with all the accuracy my drunk mind could gather.

***************************

The hell?

My body ached with countless bruises when someone had shown up and snatched the younger mans arms, bodily dragging him away from me. I shouted an obscenity at the newcomer to lay his hands off and let the chit take it like a man, no matter if he were giving as much as he was recieving, when I heard two key words: Prince Christien.

I gaped. My right hand hurt like the seven hells, pain radiating from my pinky as much as it was radiating across my nose. Prince Christien? That little.. he was the dauphin? Gods, I was going to be in trouble in the morning.

I bent slightly to cup my nose; it was bleeding from the last punch that had connected with me. I heard it snap as soon as his fist landed, and even in my detached state I had to grudgingly admit that he had more strength in him than I'd originally given credit to.

[Prince Christien de la Courcel]

Damn it to hells! My ever-present guardian Cassiline had found me and was wrenching me from the tavern even as I shouted at him to lay off and let me finish beating the man's face into a bloody pulp. The sound of my name caused the eye that wasn't swelled shut to clear in time to see the aggressor's face change. Fantastic. I was never going to live this down.

Gasping for breath I finally relaxed enough to let my guard drag me out even as he railed against me for my stupidity and recklessness, not that I really cared. My ribs ached, and one eye was swelling shut at a rapid rate. Besides, talking hurt with my split lip. Really, I was a little surprised I wasn't getting boxed in the ears like a stupid child.

Well, this would make the fete interesting on the morrow. Hopefully I wouldn't get too badly chastised, or shamed for being 'saved'. The sight of the other man's eye swelling shut would be a comforting thought as I fell asleep, to fight off the usual glimpses of Ishtar that haunted me at night. Hopefully exhaustion would do the rest.

[Kendrick Deveroix]

Gradually I became aware of the barkeep shouting at me, waving his hand at me and snapping a towel in my direction. I looked around at everyone else as I held my nose, the blood stemmed, but coming out enough still that it was leaking between my fingers and slowly making its way down my wrist.

Silence met me. Everyone was staring at me, quiet and agape as I went back to my table, took my hat and stumbled out the door again. Screw them. I wasn't going to pay for the damn whiskey. See how much he snapped his towel at me now, the rat. Bugger him.

Gods my nose hurt, and my hand. Pain radiated throughout my entire torso, intensifying as I mounted my horse and moved in the direction that I remembered home being in. The stable boy had handed me the reins with his mouth hanging open in surprise, and I was only too glad to get away from all those damn faces.

I didn't even want to think about who it was that I'd clocked. Not right now. In the morning, maybe. My head hurt, my hand hurt, and I was beginning to get hungry. I wondered idly as I headed off if my cook had any of those lemon tarts made up; I always did love them. They'd fill the void in my belly quite nicely.