Marcus’s body was, in fact, racked in pain, but he was careful not to let it show on his face. “No. And I wouldn’t be on the floor. I’m not a weakling.” Normally, he would have tormented her, raised a teasing eyebrow, smirk suggestively. But he was too tired. He just sat there, feeling her warm hands in his chest, wishing she would pull away and leave him alone.
"Well that's a lie…" she muttered. "You're muscles are tensed, of course your in some sort of pain." She prodded his shoulder, kneaded the muscles. "How long have you felt like this?" She moved towards his elbows, testing the joints and feeling about his forearm. "And I have no doubt that you aren't a weakling. Nevertheless, neither am I…."
Marcus snatched her wrists away from him arm, holding them a safe distance away from his body. “Stop.” He was not going to have his babysitter massaging his chest. His shoulders were drawn up tight, and he was all alarmed to find that osrt of him didn’t want her to.
Winnie had trail his forearm, gasping as he pulled her wrists away. She raised her eyes to his, narrowed and fiery. "Very well." she yanked her wrists from his grasp, "I have seen as I need to anyway." Turning her back on him, she fixed her sleeves and packed her things. She'd catalog the scars she had spied on the inside of his arms, but later.
Marcus immediately pulled his shirt back on, knowing she had seen his scars and the gouges in his arm but not particularly caring. Let her try to squeeze the truth out of him. Let her fail. He turned away, crossing his arms and glowering at the ground.
Winnie put her stuff back silently. She wasn't sure what to say, how to say it.
He harmed himself. She knew that much
As she shut her chest, she thought of anyway to make this easy. There wasn't want. So as she returned to the room, Marcus turning away glowering like a child, she found it hard to smile. "Your arm…" she started but her voice faded. She never understood how people could do such a thing. Others had harmed her in her past, repeatedly, taking pleasure in her pain, but she'd never seen the sense in harming herself even more. But she knew that others took solace in the pain they inflicted on themselves, she had heard of others cutting themselves just for the sickly tantalizing taste of blood.
Twisted minds in a playground of sorrow…
Hopscotch and tag with friends of shadow..
Taking turns with daggers, cutting to marrow…
Never expecting to see tomorrow…
Bleeding nice and slow…
"A Picnic for Me by Lauren Dean…" Winnie muttered. "A female author and inmate of the Winterbridge Assylum… Have you read her books?" she asked him, taking a step closer.
Marcus stood up and took a step back from her. “Leave me alone.”, he snarled, but there was an undetectable note of fear beneath his voice. He took another step away from her, heart pounding. A terrifying idea occurred to him. What if she told his uncle? Not that the son of a bitch would actually care, but he would have a piece of very private information. “And don’t you dare tell my uncle.” Marcus was all too conscious of the gouges in his arm, fresh from last night, lying hidden between only a thin layer of fabric.
(Oh my god that poem tho)
(it's egdy, and I had one of my more angsty writing friends proof read it before I posted it. XD)
Winnie frowned. "I have no intentions of telling on you. That would make me seems like as much of a child as you." She snapped back. And she instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry, that was - it was uncalled for…" She sighed. "I know that you have a lot going on in your mind. Even if I don't know specifically what… But I have been taught that my patient's trust is most important. Any revelations that occur among us, stay among unless toxic."
(lol)
(it's reaaaally good omg)
Rage burned in his eyes for three solid seconds. But instead of taking it out on her, he just turned away. "If the Lady does not mind, I would like to get dressed into proper clothes.", he nearly spat. His words were sharp, dangerous, meant to cause a slight flinch. Not sparing her another look, Marcus strode towards his wardrobe, giving her a cue to leave. She didn't understand, would never understand.
She gave a frustrated sigh and left, slamming the door behind her. She went into her room and sat at her vanity. "It's alright… It's alright…" she told herself. He was completely, utter, excruciatingly, infuriated. She grumbled to herself as she put her hair into a bun. Once she was finished, her eyes were narrowed and hard. Her lips were in a thin line, and there, she looked exactly like her mother. Beautiful and dangerous all at the same time. Enticing and hypnotizing, ready to steal everything you have.
(urg notebook just deleted my long reply now I have to do I agaiiiin)
((Oof, if your on computer, you can go back a page and get it back maybe…))
Marcus heaved a huge sigh of relief when she left, wincing after he realized that she could most likely hear him. Forget her, she doesn't matter. Move on. Kill Luc. That's what's important right now, not her.
He didn't take long to decide on his outfit, he had his (impressively abundant) wardrobe selection memorized by now and knew exactly what impression he wanted to give off that day; smooth, unperturbed, sleek, and superior. A handsome doublet with a black vest fastened by a series of silver clasps running down the front and white sleeves cuffed at the wrist, coupled black trousers. The doublet had faint elaborate swirls of black embroidery decorating the black vest, giving off an expensive, well-combed air. To top it off, he snipped a bloodred rose from a floral arrangement and tucked into his breast pocket.
Marcus double-checked his appearance in the mirror, testing out several determined and unbothered expressions, trying to achieve a haughty air that would mask his earlier shakiness. Performance was important, he was not going to play the broken, weak boy to his babysitter, not now, not ever. Setting his jaw, he turned on his heel and left the room.
Winifred turned from her mirror. She would not remain their any longer. If his highness was still priming, she'd just taking a stroll, clear her mind… and try to mold her face into something a little less predator like. Yet as she stepped out of her room and locked the door, turning slowly, she took in the sight of Lord Marcus in all his obnoxious glory. She could barely hold in her infuriated growl/scream.
Oh heavenly father, why are you against me? She cried in her mind.
Taking a deep breath, she looked up, that darkness still evident in her eyes, gave him a stiff nod, and walked by. Her heels echoed through the empty hallways.
Marcus let her go, snuffing out the tiny prick of guilt and silencing the quiet voice in the back of his head telling him to run after her and apologize. What is wrong with you?, he yelled at himself. She is not important. Focus on Luc. Shaking his head, he walked in the opposite direction down the hallway and into one of the mansion's many salons. He could not afford to make his plans here, his uncle could stumble upon him, but that was not the reason that he was here for.
The room was pleasantly lit, decked out in peach-coloured low slung couches and hazelwood tables, portraits and windows lining the walls, which were plastered in cream and beige wallpaper. A servant was wiping down the mantel of the fireplace, and his face lit up into a rare smile when he caught sight of her golden locks. "Angeline."
The servant turned upon hearing her name, but the submissive demeanour feel right off her face when she saw it was him. "Lord Marcus." Her hazel eyes sparkled. Marcus shook his head with a short laugh. "I've already told you not to call me that." He approached her, and she straightened up. "I haven't gotten any information on your uncle yet.", Angeline whispered as soon as he was close enough. His forehead creased in a slight frown. "Angeline…. I need it soon. You're the only servant with access to his bedchambers that I can trust." She knew he was being harsh, but was used to his ways by now. He was a harsh man. She nodded. "I'm trying." He nodded back, trying to reign in his disappointment.
(He doesn't love her, he's actually very slightly using her, but she loves him)
((Oh dangs))
Winnie continued on her way, her rage so fervent that she wasn't even paying attention to where she was going. Yet, once it faded, she was completely lost. Looking about, she circled to try to gauge where she was. "Lady Winifred…" a voice purred from behind her.
Winnie turned to see Lord Crenshaw. She smiled. "Good morning!" she replied, taking a step towards him. He could guide her to the garden. "I'm afraid I drifted a little far from my mental map. I was looking for the garden." She gave a shrug with an 'Oh my, silly me…' shrug of her shoulder. Lord Chrenshaw gave a soft chuckle. "It's alright my dear… You aren't too far off." He came close and took her arm with one hand, the other resting on her hip. "This way…" he smiled and walked. Winnie followed.
After moments of silence, he cleared his throat. "How… how is he?" He asked. Winnie gave a shake of her head, confirming what he already knew, yet saying nothing he anything he didn't. "Oh.." he scoffed. "This is all my fault…"
Winnie looked up at him, "Not it is not. What he goes through is mental warfare due to tragedy. This has nothing to do with you. In fact, you've done the best you can." she placed a hand on his bicep. Giving him a sympathetic pat, she smiled. "You've done well for your nephew.."
His eyes brightened as he looked at her, yet it was different. The look that he gave her was one of fire. One of desire.
One of hunger.
And surely enough, the hand on her waist slipped a little lower and tightly, but just for a moment. Opening her mouth to express his incredulous behavior, he looked away, those hot brown eyes flickering elsewhere. "The garden, Lady Winifred…" he gestured to the glass double door in front of them that lead out into a forest of flowers and vines and trees. Then he left, turning away, and fading down a darkened hallway.
Winifred stood there, dumbfoundness and utter repulsive fighting within her.
((Sorry that took just about forever… and i gtg now, i'll reply to whatever in the morning))
(night, and that was a spectacular segment wow)
Angeline could see the disappointment plain on his face, and she felt her own disappointment in the pit of her stomach. He was using her, even if he didn't realize it. He is not a good man., she reminded herself, but half of her mind disagreed. But I've seen him vulnerable. Once, that's all he allowed, but I've seen him… broken. He needs my help.
Marcus gave her a smile, but there was a slight coldness behind it. Immediately, guilt surged up within him, but he drowned it out. Stop. No. She is not important. Killing Luc is important. Half of his mind disagreed completely, but he ignored that part. "I should go.", he said suddenly. "Plan. Plot and such." Angeline's face fell, but she quickly drew it back up. "Yes, my Lord." She used the title regardless of what he'd said earlier. "And–" she caught herself, drawing back.
"And?" Marcus raised an eyebrow in askance. "Your uncle… he is–" Angeline swallowed. "He seeks to make me his– his bedservant. I do not know why he has not followed through on his threat yet, but….." Fear had built up in her butterscotch eyes. "If you were to make me your bedservant first… then he would not– he would not touch me. We wouldn't actually— do anything– just for…. protection?"
Marcus froze up. What? Angeline sensed his bafflement and lowered her head. "Forget I mentioned anything, my Lord. It was a silly request, do not bother yourself with it any longer." She turned to leave, but Marcus stopped her on impulse, regretting his actions instantly. "Angeline….. I'll consider it." The nights were… his own. The only time he could cut without suspicion, the only time the hallucinations came. If she were to know…. he would be in the asylum before he knew it. Quickly, he turned away from her. "I have matters to attend to."
She let him go.
Winnie forced herself to move, shaking her head as she went. "It's alright… everyone is allowed at least one slip-up… " She opened the door and stepped down the steps, heading to the forest down a cobblestone path. The scent of lilacs and peonies, roses and daffodils filled the warm air. It instantly calmed her wildly beating heart, reigning in her scrambling mind. It was beautiful…
She walked among the flower banks and into the trees, relishing the shade they offered. She looked up to the green canopies and smile. Instantly, the world outside cleared her mind. She relaxed.
Finding a nice tree to sit against, she flared her dress and sat. In her mind's eyes, she read. She read over Lord Marcus's catalog. What she had felt, what she had seen.
Well, he's hurting… I know that much. He is not taking care of himself, either. That needs to change
She bite her lip. Getting that boy to eat would be like trying a horse to swim. Trying to take care of him would be like fighting through flames with a blindfold. She would try harder nonetheless.
Resolve settled in her as she stood and went back towards the manor. She would come back, she promised herself. But there were things she needed to get done. She wandered about until she happened upon voices. Lord Marcus and a girl…? Winnie had to admit, she was shocked. Peeking about the corner, Marcus was leaving a girl with golden locks. She watched him leave with narrowed eyes.
Looks like I just found myself a knowledge bank
Each step he took as he strode down the hallway seemed heavy and weighed down. He made sure to keep his shoulders back, his posture confident, but inside his resolve was crumbling apart. Angeline. A bedslave. To my uncle. Marcus shuddered inwardly, horrifying images creeping into his head. Outwardly, he straightened the cuffs of his shirtsleeves, his face a mask of relaxed assurance.
What am I going to do?? He wanted to bang his head against the wall. He could t leave her to the mercy of his cold, ruthless uncle, but….. Goddammit. His uncle would probably slap him for swearing out loud, so he tried to only do it in his head. Where’s Winnifred?, he found himself wondering, then mentally slapped himself. Forget her.
Happy Halloween if you celebrate!
((Aw, thanks, same to you))
Winnie pocketed the knowledge she had just obtained and turned. Maybe she could intercept Lord Marcus on his way to… where ever he was going, she hoped. Her steps could be heard as she walked double time towards the other end of the salon. She was amazed at how large this place was. As she rounded a corner and spotted Lord Marcus. "Eh-hem…" she cleared her throat as she stopped a little ways behind the man. Time to try and teach the horse how to swim
Marcus whirled around, dark eyes narrowing as they fell on Winnifred, standing there in all her glory as if his thoughts had summoned her. “I thought you weren’t talking to me.”, he deadpanned flatly, turning to leave again. He could see the look in her eyes, she was about to try something, and he didn’t like it. Did she see me with Angeline?
She smirked. He was rather roguish when he acted as if he had not a care in the world. "Your assumption was correct in a way, your childlike attitude this morning in fact left me quite furiously speechless. Alas, the speechlessness has abated. I still have responsibilities to uphold." she clasped her hands behind her back.
"We need to talk about your physical state…" she stated bluntly, she wasn't going to dance around it anymore. This or anything else for that matter. Not with him, since it was ineffective.
“No.”, he said simply, just as blunt, and began to walk away. “You’re my babysitter, not my therapist, he called over his shoulder, not turning enough to properly look at her. Goddammit. I am going to kill Luc. His fault. Everything is his fault. He is going to die and he last thing he will see will be my face.
"I am neither. I am your doctor." she retorted as she approached him. "I don't care what you want, you pitiful brat." She the gasped and smiled. "Yes… that's exactly what you are. And that's how i'll address you from now on." She nodded with approval. Alright, thin ice… she warned herself as she level a gaze at him.
Marcus’s insides burned with hot fury and hate, but he kept his gaze level and cool, his posture poised but relaxed. Instead of clenching his fists, he simply shrugged elegantly and turned away, walking in the opposite direction. She would pay later. Starting a fight now would serve no good, he would not achieve a worthwhile outcome. Pitiful brat. He would’ve snarled, but had to grapple with his instincts and keep a peaceful, uncaring expression hanging off his features. He was glad she could not see his face.