The house, it would seem, was quiet. There was no raucous party, nor stream of lovers coming and going, no, Benson and Sari had made sure to keep the place clean, but after a thrown wine bottle followed by a fireball the pair had wrote to Ella, and then Sari had gone next door to Master Malik's home to take care of Annie. Benson stayed in the lower quarters, but had kept an open ear from the Master's study and bathroom where Kaczor had locked herself since Ella's last letter.
Benson knew there were exactly 30 bottles of wine, three crystal decanters of whisky, and a hidden bottle of lyrium laced 90 proof alcohol in a hidden drawer. The shattering bottles had started a few minutes after the letter had been delivered, and Benson tried to remember if he had cleared out the more illicit concoctions that had been the Master's choice in recreational mind alteration in her youth. The Master had been clean and sober for so long that it was difficult to know if the woman had anything in there that would be more dangerous than just the alcohol.
But Benson was fairly certain that once the Master had the time she needed to figure out what was going on that things would be fine once more. The master used to have a thriving social circle, spent time with her parents, and had a social calendar that was oft times triple booked, and once the Master and Lady were on better footing again, then everything would be fine. The Master would sober back up and be back on track, and she'd make friends again, more than she had before she was imprisoned and lost them all.
The older man fretted as he heard another bottle shatter in the upstairs. It had been too quiet for long enough that he thought he might need to go look to see if the woman had passed out finally enough that he could get into the room and tuck her into bed finally. Sighing he sat back down in the butler pantry and went back to polishing silver.
Upstairs, Kaczor was gone, face tear stained, and hair tangled from where she had neglected herself the past two days. Not long enough for her to look like she had coming out of the prison, not long enough to lose sight of who she was, but she was getting close to it, close enough that she never felt the cold tendrils slide along her brain, to offer her succor against the pain that felt so overwhelming that it would swallow her whole and never let her free again. Every time she started to feel the pain creep back in, she drank. And then threw the empty bottle, hollow, empty eyes watching the glass shatter in the fire place.
At some point, she had cut her hand on one of the bottles, trying to toss the shards into the fire place, but she didn't feel it. Didn't feel the steady roll of blood down her arm as she sat in her armchair, glaring at the fire. Didn't feel cold because she had enough alcohol in her system to keep her warm. What she did feel though, was her stomach start to turn, and she remembered how badly Momma had fussed at her, in her prime days, when she had vomited all over her room. So she went to the bathroom, and crawled into the tub.
Easier to clean up, Momma had said that. And Momma would come tell her to stop being dumb over someone who didn't love her, wouldn't she? Would come and tell her to stop crying and to let Momma take care of her. Kaczor couldn't help it, when she started to cry this time, curled into a fetal position in the tub, sobbing. She had nothing now. She had lost.. everything, and now even her wife, and probably her daughter. She had nothing. Nothing. Nothing, she told herself as she looked at the slice in her hand, still not feeling it, so she dug her fingers into the cut, trying to feel a pain that wasn't the pain in her heart. Any pain had to be better than the pain that wracked her chest.
She finally felt a faint sting, but not enough to take away what was eating at her heart.
I could make it go away, so easily.
You've lost it all, all your friends, all your family, your wife. You have nothing, let me out to play and I'll get it all back for you, you know I can.
This is just a courtesy you know, at this point, I can take you any time I want.
@Novella Tilani
Benson knew there were exactly 30 bottles of wine, three crystal decanters of whisky, and a hidden bottle of lyrium laced 90 proof alcohol in a hidden drawer. The shattering bottles had started a few minutes after the letter had been delivered, and Benson tried to remember if he had cleared out the more illicit concoctions that had been the Master's choice in recreational mind alteration in her youth. The Master had been clean and sober for so long that it was difficult to know if the woman had anything in there that would be more dangerous than just the alcohol.
But Benson was fairly certain that once the Master had the time she needed to figure out what was going on that things would be fine once more. The master used to have a thriving social circle, spent time with her parents, and had a social calendar that was oft times triple booked, and once the Master and Lady were on better footing again, then everything would be fine. The Master would sober back up and be back on track, and she'd make friends again, more than she had before she was imprisoned and lost them all.
The older man fretted as he heard another bottle shatter in the upstairs. It had been too quiet for long enough that he thought he might need to go look to see if the woman had passed out finally enough that he could get into the room and tuck her into bed finally. Sighing he sat back down in the butler pantry and went back to polishing silver.
Upstairs, Kaczor was gone, face tear stained, and hair tangled from where she had neglected herself the past two days. Not long enough for her to look like she had coming out of the prison, not long enough to lose sight of who she was, but she was getting close to it, close enough that she never felt the cold tendrils slide along her brain, to offer her succor against the pain that felt so overwhelming that it would swallow her whole and never let her free again. Every time she started to feel the pain creep back in, she drank. And then threw the empty bottle, hollow, empty eyes watching the glass shatter in the fire place.
At some point, she had cut her hand on one of the bottles, trying to toss the shards into the fire place, but she didn't feel it. Didn't feel the steady roll of blood down her arm as she sat in her armchair, glaring at the fire. Didn't feel cold because she had enough alcohol in her system to keep her warm. What she did feel though, was her stomach start to turn, and she remembered how badly Momma had fussed at her, in her prime days, when she had vomited all over her room. So she went to the bathroom, and crawled into the tub.
Easier to clean up, Momma had said that. And Momma would come tell her to stop being dumb over someone who didn't love her, wouldn't she? Would come and tell her to stop crying and to let Momma take care of her. Kaczor couldn't help it, when she started to cry this time, curled into a fetal position in the tub, sobbing. She had nothing now. She had lost.. everything, and now even her wife, and probably her daughter. She had nothing. Nothing. Nothing, she told herself as she looked at the slice in her hand, still not feeling it, so she dug her fingers into the cut, trying to feel a pain that wasn't the pain in her heart. Any pain had to be better than the pain that wracked her chest.
She finally felt a faint sting, but not enough to take away what was eating at her heart.
I could make it go away, so easily.
Shut up.
You've lost it all, all your friends, all your family, your wife. You have nothing, let me out to play and I'll get it all back for you, you know I can.
Shut up.
This is just a courtesy you know, at this point, I can take you any time I want.
@Novella Tilani
10-29-2024, 09:46 PM
