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The Lantas View Diner is located at the top of a hill in Voxthain that claims to have the best view of Lantas on clear nights. Their claim is proven correct every time Lantas comes into view, looking so large and breathtakingly close that one could reach out and touch its icy surface. The diner is popular with the wealthier class in Voxthain.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


"A table for two please," Sapphira said in her soothing quiet voice as she addressed the waiter at the front. She had made a reservation with the diner so she could meet her father again. And dining was always a nice way to do it.

"Name?" asked the young gentlemen, probably her age, that flipped through the reservation book for the night.
"It should be under Daenerys," she said.
"Oh Miss Sapphira! Apologies I didn't recognize you," said the waiter after realizing her last name. He'd probably combined that with her age and realized she was one of the seven selected councillors of Voxthain.
"Please don't apologize, I'm quite alright with not being recognized everywhere I go," she replied.

Just then behind her, she heard the door open and shut, the hinges creaking slightly. Turning her head and flicking her hair over her shoulder, she looked to see who it was.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


The door hinges creaked as he opened and let the door shut behind him. This place wasn't as terrible as he'd expected. Definitely not to fancy, but also not run-down. He wouldn't mind run-down, but his daughter definitely would. She preferred to live in decent conditions. Of course, he didn't. The caves don't allow for that.

He walked forward, approaching his daughter who spoke to a waiter. Her face with lit with a smile making him glow, it was rare to see her but it was amazing to every time.

"How is my baby doing?" Micheal asked Sapphira as he reached her. Giving the waiter a nod, his attention was fully on his daughter.

She was glowing. That didn't surprise him. The way she carried herself right now was with pride. She was comfortable and at home here. This was here home. Here in a place where she could speak to the citizens of Voxthain. He'd heard all about that at their last dinner. All of the troubles of being surrounded by nobles and people who knew exactly what they were doing. She'll find her footing, she always does. But until then, I'll support her every way I can.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


She reached her arms up and around her father. She smile present on her face. She missed him.

The relief washed over her as they embraced. The warmth of her father rushed over her. The smell of soap washed over her along with the faint scent of coal. Like always, he'd done his best to clean up and shower for her.

Sapphira stepped back as the hug ended and she smiled. "She's doing quite nicely," she replied. She left plenty of details out. There was too much public in the waiting area for her to tell him nay details quite yet. Soon... Once we're seated we can talk.

"When will our table be ready?" she asked the waiter, turning her attention back to him.
"It's already ready, if you'd like to follow me," thanking him, Sapphira moved to follow the waiter noticing her father behind her, following her protectively, just like he'd always done.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Walking behind his daughter, he felt the eyes, the glances, the whispers. It was never easy to come to Voxthain. He was always an outcast. Labelled as an Asterathian Miner. Something these people saw as lowly. Sapphira never showed any sign of caring, in fact she had kept insisting on him coming, perhaps to "show him off" with pride.

"Here you are, table for two," said the waiter as he stopped in a quiet corner of the restaurant. He watched Sapphira slip into her seat, the one that could see the whole restaurant. He took the other, one that allowed him to look out the windows.
"Thank you," he head his daughter bid to the waiter. Then the young gentlemen was gone. Leaving them to their own devises. 

"In that case, how have you really been?" Micheal asked, not wasting time on the simple conversation. His voice was low, and a bit gruff. He rarely spoke quietly, the mines were always loud, and impossible to hear yourself in. So utilizing the silence he rarely used slightly strained his voice. Anything for my baby girl.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


The silence of the question shocked her. But of course her father was all business, he didn't like to waste their precious time. And her father always had the same opinions.

"Life is so hard," she said, sighing quietly looking down at her hands. They rested on the table, fidgeting. "Every time I meet the councillors I feel out of place. They know what they're doing, they have a rhythm, and I don't fit it. They always judge things from how it will benefit the city, not the people. I want to represent the people and I can't." There was a pause, she looked at her father and he just looked back at her, listening, waiting for her to give him more. "And the people, I never get to see them anymore. Ever since I was elected, I can't live like I used too. I can't do everything I used to love. There is always some governmental business I must attend. And then there's the gossip, every time I help someone a new rumor spreads with the upperclassmen. The lower class loves me, and I love them. But I don't fit in with the richer ones, the nobles..." she trailed off. She was ranting, going out on a tangent, doing something she often didn't do. She had always guarded her heart, that was from everyone but her father at least. "The nobles are scary. They run this place. They have the money, they fame, and it's in their blood. They know what they're doing. They have so much power. They could have me killed if they didn't like me I bet. They have the connections. And I don't. I'm just a low class girl who learned magic and got voted in by popular vote of the people she was adored by because of the assistance she gave them."

Sapphira sighed. It felt good to let it out. To acknowledge it instead of hiding it in her heart. To tell someone about how she felt. The weight of her problems felt lifted a bit, like talking about them was helping her. She savored the feeling, knowing she'd miss it when it was gone.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


He listened, taking it in. She was struggling, trying to learn to swim in these new waters. It hurt him, not being able to help her. He wanted to, he truly did, but how could he? He just couldn't.

"They definitely can be scary, but look at the bright side Sapphira," he paused, loving the sound of her majestic name on his tongue, Ruby had chosen well, "The people chose you, they chose you darling. They will support you if anything happens."

He stopped, letting the words sink in. Letting her soak them in. The silence between them grew until it was broken by a cleared throat.

"Drinks?" asked a young girl, no older then 15.
"Water," Sapphira said.
"Water as well," Micheal added.
"They'll be right out," the waiter said.

"Anything else new? Have you made some friends? Or made a new memory? Or perhaps met someone special?" he asked, he hated seeing Sapphira troubled like this, but the relief it gave her overpowered his dislike. But now that it was over, he could move on, find something that would be happier for them to discuss and catch up on.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


"No no and no." It was sad. So sad. She had made no work towards making new friends in her new position. She hadn't had time to do any memorable volunteer work. And she obviously didn't have a boyfriend or anything like that. Usually she'd get flustered and annoyed at her father for the last one, but she didn't have the energy for it.

"Two waters," said the waiter returning. Two glasses of water were placed onto the table, one before her the other before her father. 
"Thank you," she said in union with her father.
"Would you like to order or do you need more time?" the waiter asked.
"Time please," Sapphira said alone this time.
"I'll be back later then." With that the waiter was gone.

Looking down at the menu in front of her she asked, "What would you like to eat?"

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Watching his daughter handle the waiter with kindness reminded him of the childhood he'd missed. Ruby had done an incredible job of raising this angel of a daughter for him. God he loved both of them.

"No idea," he said.

For the first time, he looked down at the table instead of at Sapphira and turned his attention to the menu. He'd looked at this menu hundreds of times, but nothing ever was anything he like. All too fancy. Too fancy for him, the Asterathian miner.

Flipping through he passed the appetizers and salads before settling on the better options. Things with meat. What looks good? A sandwich? No, I tried that last time and it wasn't good. A pizza? That's just a flattened sandwich pretty sure. A burrito?

"What's a burrito?" he asked his daughter confused. Living in the mines meant he didn't eat like most, just off what would help him survive. And what was this new discovery of a burrito? The words on the page described it as flavorful, which he didn't care about. But it also said it had meat, cheese, lettuce, and other things which would be fulfilling and healthy for his body.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


"What's a burrito?"

Sapphira couldn't hold back and burst out laughing. Giggling like a little girl at her father's question. Of course she didn't expect him to know but she found it really funny. What a question that was!

Once she had controlled herself, she smiled at her father who was smiling back her, "A burrito is a tortilla, a type of flat and thin bread, with everything you see inside. Meats, vegetables, sauces. Really anything."

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Seeing Sapphira laugh felt amazing. The way she'd lit up, and the lightness of a real smile on her lips. All of it warmed his heart. This was truly what he missed when he was in the mines.

"How much bread?" he asked, curious. It was a stupid question, but he had to make sure not to put on too much fat. It was hard to burn it the older he got and he didn't want to put on too much.

"Not a lot, just enough to wrap around the things inside it."

"Alright, I'll have a Lantas Burrito then," he said making his decision without overthinking it. What about you?" he asked. It was a bad question, Sapphira always got the same thing. A Diner Salad. She had taken after him, looking at her weight while also looking for delicious food.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


"My usual Diner Salad," she said. Her father probably predicted that, she always got a diner salad. It was delicious and didn't put on too much weight.

"With that sorted, how have you been in the mines?" she asked. Curiosity filling ehr. There usually wasn't anything big happening in the mines. But she always had to ask, after all he'd already listened to her rant about her own life.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


"My life?" he asked, then shook his head as he adjusted so he could lean back instead of forwards and relax a bit more. "Gosh, it's boring."

Knowing she'd want more he thought, "We cleaned up the collapse we had in tunnel twelve finally," he started. "It was a mess. Thankfully nobody was dead and the only person in tunnel twelve was one of the magical miners who could summon food and water to survive. He's alive but we sent him to the city to heal." There was a pause and he scanned his brain for more details before he gave up and moved on. "There's some new jewel deposits in the tunnels. Some rubies, not a lot of diamonds, some emeralds. But mostly coal."

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


"Oh that's terrible!" she said, hearing when someone got hurt or trapped was always tragic. "It's amazing they had their magic. I would hate to hear of another death," she added, her formal face slipping on. She mentally slapped it out of her. "Thanks for saving them," she said even though she had no clue who the guy was.

"Anything you can give to mom?" she asked curious. Her mother loved rubies, especially when they were gifts from her father. And the lovely pieces she made with them as gifts were even more beautiful.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


"Drop the act. You don't need to be fake around me," he said. He understood that she couldn't control it being habit, after all her entire life had turned to be fake reactions and conversations quite quickly very recently. Even so, it still bothered him when she showed such little true emotion. Maybe it was that way to him because he could read her.

The love of his life was his incredible wife Ruby. A strong woman with a fierce love for him and his daughter. A strong one who dealt with the pain of not seeing him often so that they could support each other. The woman was his world, someone he though of constantly. She was his one weakness, minus his daughter. The woman was someone he could never loose.

"I'm sneaking a few gems here and there but I haven't gotten anything worthy enough for her yet," he said, knowing what his daughter was gonna say.
"She doesn't care if she's 'worthy', she cares because you mined and gave them to her."
"I know but I'm not going to give her pearl sized gems. She's worthy of so much better and I'm going to give that to her," he said, lightness and adoration in his voice. He closed his eyes, envisioning the woman he adored so much.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


She watched his eyes close. She could only imagine what he was thinking about, daydreaming of. Probably her mother, after all they were talking about her.

"She may, but she will love and cherish any gemstone you give her. No matter how small or big," she said. She leaned forward engaged in the conversation, comforting her father, even though he wan't looking at her.

Both of her parents were a bit overly romantic. Perhaps because they rarely saw each other, they rarely saw their other half. It was sad to think about to Sapphira, both of the people she loved rarely got to see the other person. But that was their choice, not hers. And they could choose to undo that and change that at any time. Especially since she was a councillor now, she was making more money, and she could use that to support her parents in retirement. And I can use that to help improve the lives of the citizens.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Sapphira was right, so right. Ruby loved anything he gave her. And she always turned it into some of the most beautiful jewelry he'd every scene. Each new one more perfect then the last.

"Are you ready to order now?" asked a voice, distracting him from his thoughts. The two had talked about ordering already so he cleared his throat and ordered first.
"May I please have..." his eyes searched the menu for a second until he spotted it, "the Lantas Burrito?" His growing age was starting to catch up to him. Making him forget certain little details. It would be fine though. After all, everyone forgot something every once in a while. And he hadn't tried to commit his order to memory.
"Yes sir," the waiter said before turning to his daughter, "And for you?"

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Watching her father being forgetful was hard. His growing age was a challenge. Even more of a reason she would need to support him in retirement soon. But she didn't have time to think about that exactly now, mostly because she had to order.

"I'll take the Dinner Salad please," she said, as she pushed her closed menu towards the waiter who took hers and then her fathers.
"Alright, I'll bring those out when they're ready." With that the waiter was gone.

Taking a sip of her water, she returned to her thoughts. He's getting older. More forgetful. He'll start to loose muscle eventually. Becoming weaker and more fragile like everyone's parents. I don't want that to happen yet. I want him to be healthy and happy. I wish I had more time with him. Even if I can't change that when I grew up I could change it now if he left the mines. He'll never do that thought, he loves his work there so much. Too much. I'd never make him leave. That would be cruel.

She sighed and shook her head. Why was she arguing with herself about this. It was useless. She wouldn't be able to make anything different anyways. The decision to retire was entirely her fathers and she was not the cruel daughter who would force him to leave his dream and home for her own sake.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


There was a pause. A long pause. One for thinking and thoughts. One that would let them run wild. Was that good or bad? Probably bad. This long of a pause from Sapphira usually meant she was arguing with herself. I must give her her privacy though. After all she rarely likes she share her thoughts even if I'm her father.

He heard a sigh. Not being able to handle the silence any longer he asked, "What's wrong, Sapphira?"

Micheal looked at his daughter. Searching her face. Examining her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, for any sign of what she was thinking about. Trying his best to read her. He didn't know what she was thinking, but all he could figure that it was good. And that made him worry, worry so much. So much about what she could be pondering that was haunting her thoughts.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


She looked up and met her fathers eyes. They looked curious. They looked concerned. They looked intrigued. They looked worried. So many emotions filled them as they searched her solemn face.

She gave a shaky sigh and asked, "When do you think you'll retire?" There was a pause, and she worried that would sound bad. So she added her extra thoughts, "I miss you. I miss spending time with you. And mom misses you too. I know you went back to the mines to support mom and she raised me. And now that I'm a councillor of Voxthain I can support both you and mom and be healthy financially. I know you love working in the mines, but every time you leave, I fear it's the last I'll see you since the older you get, the more fragile the body gets, and the more dangerous the mines get."

A single tear rolled down her cheek. The thought of Micheal dying in the mines broke her. It made her so upset. She didn't want that to happen. Her hand wiped the tear away, and she looked back up at her father realizing she looked down during her monologue of an explanation.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


It felt like a bullet to the heart. She wanted him to retire? No, she was just worried for him. Still it was a lot to take in. He'd always forgotten and forced the pain of being missing into the back of his heart, hiding it from view and forgetting it's feeling.

His thoughts were racing, or they were moving like a turtle. It felt like time had frozen. Perhaps his world was falling apart. He barely caught the single tear on her cheek as he broke internally.

Do I want to retire? No. I love my job. I love working. I love the mines. The smell of them, the feeling of a pickaxe in my hand, the sound of miners talking, the sound of pickaxes clinking, the darkness of the mines, the warmth of the firey torches. All of it he loved. The mines were his home, the only one he'd really truly known and loved. Sapphira wanted him to retire though. She wanted him to return home and live out the rest of his life under her support and care...

He'd missed her childhood. He'd never been there to raise her. He hadn't heard her first words, watched her first steps, seen her start school. He hadn't been there to raise her. He hadn't realized how much pain that had caused her. Even though these meals were for them to catch up, they were the only interactions they that. They were the only things that she had to connect with him after he'd missed her childhood. After he'd basically abandoned her to avoid the duties of parenthood, even if it meant he'd supported the family.

Knowing that she wanted to support him in retirement. Give him a life outside the mines where he and Ruby could live happily and comfortably. She wanted to use her success to give him a happy life till the end, even after he'd missed so much of hers. She wanted to give him what he'd failed to give her. A life in comfort.

The thought of her being worried for his safety was terrible. He knew that even though he hadn't been there she was worried and concerned for him. She cared enough for and about him to notice that he was getting older and eventually his strength and health would deteriorate making the work in the mines more exhausting then it was. And it was already getting tiring, the constant strength and energy it required was something he didn't have as much of anymore. The years were catching up to him, he wasn't like a teenager anymore.

The long silence was probably killing his daughter. He knew it would be killing him if it was him waiting for a response after saying something like that. "It's okay that your concerned about me. And even though it may feel selfish of you to want that, it's reasonable. After all I missed your entire childhood because I wanted to support you and Ruby, and now that you can support me you want to have whatever time is left with me." There was a pause, He took a deep breath, "I'll think about retirement. Working in the mines is getting more exhausting, I'm not a teenager anymore. So I will have to be done eventually, but for now I'm still going to work. Probably for a year at most thought.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


The silence was long. Minutes long. Minutes of worrying. It was killing her. So painful. What was he thinking about? She had no clue. He was probably processing it.

The silence was broken. Her head shot up to watch him as he spoke. She watched his emotions, they looked sad and painful. And that lined up with exactly what he said. Acknowledging exactly everything she'd been thinking. He'd been processing her pain and his.

"Are you saying that because you think it's what I want to here? Or are you saying it because it's what you want to say?" she asked him her voice quiet and shaking.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Sapphira was always a genuine girl. A person who cared about everyone. Sadly with that, he'd noticed that she often questioned heart-felt meaningful words. Just like she was doing now.

"I said that because I wanted too, and because I mean it," he said.

Being a miner, he didn't have the time or energy to be fake with those he worked with. They allow just focused the energy they had on the gems and barked straight truth at each other. No matter not mean the truth was. And now outside the mines, he continued that habit. After all, it had become part of him: always being truthful and honest.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


She was paranoid, worried. Too worried. Too paranoid. She had nothing to worry about. Micheal, her dad, was a genuine dude. Always spoke truth and his feelings. He never lied or beat around the bush. She didn't know what made him so truthful, so opposed to lies perhaps, but it was a characteristic and quality she loved about him. Something that made her love the unique man who had supported her throughout childhood, even if he hadn't been there physically.

"Okay, thank you," she said, looking down. A silence fell over the table which was broken by the sound of two plates being set onto the table. She saw he salad, easily recognizable, being placed in front of her.

"Diner Salad for you Miss Daenerys," the waiter said after the plate was in front of her. Sapphira looked up at the waiter as they pushed Micheal's burrito in front of him, "And a Lantas Burrito for you sir." After stepping back the waiter asked, "Can I get you any refills or new drinks?"

"What we have is fine, thank you," Sapphira said to the waiter, the first words she'd said in the whole interaction. Her father remained silent, letting her handle the situation. Just like they're normal routine.

"Alrighty then. Enjoy your meals!" the waiter exclaimed, a bit too much cheer in their voice before walking, or skipping, away.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


The burrito in front of him smelled... interesting... to say he least. It wasn't what he was used to, though fancy spices and flavor rich food was not his normal. Cave life allowed for much less then that, just enough to get by.

Hesitantly, he reached for the burrito and took it in his rough hands. He didn't like how it felt either. It was warm and he could feel the heat coming from inside the wrap. Very interesting...

He took his first bite. It was a medium sized bite. Not too big or desperate for food but not too small or unhungry. As he chewed, he tilted his head, analyzing the flavors of the burrito. The thin wrap melted in his mouth as the stronger juicy meat took over with assistance from some warm cheese and lettuce and corn. All unique flavors but they seemed to work together greatly.

After swallowing he felt Sapphira's gaze on him. Knowing her next question, he thought. Do I like it? It has a lot of flavor and juice. Maybe a bit too much for me. The wrap on the out side does taste good, it's not too think and it doesn't overpower or make the meal too unhealthy.

The silence was broken, "Not terrible. You were right to say that the breading wrap isn't too thick, it's just right. There are however too many flavors inside the wrap. I feel like they're fighting each other instead of working together." He'd been the one to speak first, not having to wait for the question from Sapphira like he had in the past.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Sapphira gazed at her father. It was the first time she'd examined what he'd been wearing as she'd waited for his reply. He was wearing a brown button down shirt that was tucked into something, probably a pair of jeans knowing her father. There were no fresh stains on anything, but his hair was greasy and the right shoulder of his shirt had a slightly faded coal stain.

Just as she was about to ask she heard him speak. "Not terrible. You were right to say that the breading wrap isn't too thick, it's just right. There are however too many flavors inside the wrap. I feel like they're fighting each other instead of working together.""

He didn't hate it, which was good. But he didn't love it. Meaning they'd have to try again to find her fathers perfect meal here next time. "Would you get it again or no?" she asked as she picked up her fork and took a bite of her salad.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


"Would you get it again or no?"

Micheal hesitated. Would he? Did he enjoy it that much. The truth was no. Anything in these restaurants that he tried was always to fancy and flavorful. Just like this. The amount of different flavors that he tasted in his mouth and on his tongue was inhumane to him. He wasn't used to it.

"Honestly no," he said. He knew it would disappoint Sapphira but it wasn't worth lying to her. He would rather say the truth then lie. Lying was just not what life and family was about. He didn't want to ruin any relationships with a simple lie.

"Maybe next time," he suggested, hoping it would cheer her up. Sure he'd said it at least 10 times, but at least they kept trying. That's what mattered right?

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Hearing her father didn't like his meal, yet again, was a bit of a bullet to the chest. She'd been holding out hope that today was the day. Just like she had done two weeks ago, and four weeks ago, and six weeks ago, and eight, and ten, and until forever.

"Maybe," she said, trying to hide the sadness in her voice. Meeting her father was supposed to be a happy moment, not something she was disappointed about.

Sapphira knew that her father was a miner. A man of the caves. Someone that lived off the simplest of foods just to survive. He didn't spoil himself with fancy restaurants and flavorful food. It wasn't his style. Meanwhile, Sapphira did. She flourished in the fancy world she lived in and she loved all of the flavors. It was sad she couldn't share that with her father. That she couldn't spoil him in any way that he could enjoy.

Sapphira's salad in front of her felt like a pity salad. A pity party for a girl who was disappointed in her life and everything around her. A pity party for her sad, upsetting, annoying life that never went the way she planned. Of course, she can't control every aspect of her life, but she could try to control what would make her happy. She could try to make it so that her life was how she wished, how she envisioned it.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


The wave of disappointment washed over him. It was radiating off Sapphira. His poor baby girl. She was sad, disappointed. She always held out hope that he would find something he enjoyed. Yet it never happened. Perhaps a tiny lie next time we come wouldn't hurt... That way I don't have to see her so upset. It ruins the mood.

Seeing his daughter sad hurt. He wanted her to be happy. He did everything in his power, sacrificed so much of his time with her to try and make her happy. And her mom. But Sapphira comes second. She and Ruby will always be at the top of my priorities.

Micheal watched Sapphira push her salad around her plate. Sad, disappointed. He rarely had his heart broken, but watching her sadness was definitely fracturing his heart. He didn't stare for long though, as he turned his attention back to something else. Back to himself. There was a burrito with two bites out of it in front of him, and he wasn't going to let any food go to waste, whether he liked the meal or not. That was a rule he'd grown up with and lived with, after all food in the caves was scarce.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Sapphira felt the gaze of her father, the pondering gaze, then it was gone. She looked up, wondering what he had been thinking about. She watched him quietly as he took another bite of his burrito, of the burrito he said he didn't like and wouldn't order again. He didn't have to eat it, but he was.

Unconsciously, Sapphira lifted her fork and took another bite of her salad. Watching her father eat encouraged her to eat. At least he wasn't disgusted by it, after all that would be worse then just disliking it for having too many flavors.

Shoot, I fell into a depression again. I need to control my thoughts, and not be so sad. Remember, the world isn't always about me, it's not always revolving around me. There is always someone more important and someone with a harder life then mine. That could be my father's, my waiter's, or perhaps some stranger I haven't met. I just need to remember it's not always going to be me, me, me.

Sapphira had a bad habit of having small depression spikes. Ones that made her life hell. It had first started when she graduated and was lost in life. When she had no clue what to do with her future and her life. When she had no idea how she was going to continue down her path when she didn't even know herself. Sure, she had been strong and helpful, but back then she didn't know anything else about herself. That combined with her mind revolving around her entirely had been a bad combination. It had taken some work to change, but it had paid off and she had become happier again. Although, life couldn't always be sunshine and rainbows for her even now. She still occasionally got way too sad over trivial things, things that never mattered in the long run and always made her feel way too self-centered.

She continued to eat her salad as she watched her father eat his burrito. The table was silent, the sounds in the air was the quiet jazz on the radio in the background and the chatter of other paying guests.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Time passed, the hands on the fancy golden clock on the wall moved. They been here at the restaurant for about an hour. That was just enough time for a fancy lunch. That was more then enough time for Micheal to eat his lunch and start becoming restless for sitting so long. In the mines the lunch routine was eat and go. No conversations, no fancy food, no waiters, no tables, no waiting. Just eat and go back to work.

The burrito was gone, all that remained on the shiny china plates was the few droppings of meat, corn, and a piece of lettuce. The burrito had been a decent meal, it left him not hungry, which was nice for a change, but it was way too flavorful. Just like he'd told Sapphira. He was used to bland food that usually was summoned by magic, or if they got lucky, it was fresh from Asterath. Although fresh food always went within a day since all of the miners would fight for a bite of something fresh.

Sapphira's plate was mostly empty too. She'd eaten most of her salad, and left what she didn't want. Typical Sapphira, not eating too much and stopping when she was full. She had incredible self-control that he didn't have. The only reasons he was fact was: one, because there wasn't enough food in the caves; and two, because he burned all of the calories when mining.

"Are we ready to get the check?" a voice asked from out of the blue, making him jump. Their waiter stood there awaiting a response.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


"Are we ready to get the check?"

"Yes, please," she said. Sapphira pulled out her card and set it and the edge of the table, keeping a close eye on it as she turned her attention back to her father.

"I'm gonna miss you so much," she told him, a weak smile forming on her face. The goodbyes were always the worst part of their lunches. She was never ready for the goodbye. It was always the saddest memory, and she always had to worry about the caves collapsing and her never getting to see him again.

Look on the bright side, Sapphira. On the bright side, her father had admitted that he would consider retirement. He was beginning to get too old for the mines, and now that Sapphira was successful, she would be able to support him in his retirement. She would be able to help him reunite with her mother and help them live out their last years happily together, with her.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


The waiter returned with a check and handed it to Sapphira. Micheal watched as the two exchanged a few small words and then Sapphira signed the check. Then the waiter said, "Have a nice day," and he was gone.

Sapphira stood and Micheal followed suit, following her out to the front of the diner. It was time for goodbyes. They were the worst part of seeing her, but at least he'd see her in two weeks. Same place, same time. Just as their tradition had always been, since who knows when. Micheal couldn't remember when the first time Sapphira had treated him to a lunch was.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Sapphira threw her arms around her dad. "I'm gonna miss you," she said to him, while she hugged him tight. It felt amazing getting to hug him for one last time before he was gone again.

"I'll miss you too, sweetheart," Micheal said to her. She felt him hug her tightly for a second then left go. She pulled away.

"Same place, same time, two weeks?" she asked looking at him. She knew he'd say yes, but she had to ask anyways. Just to double check. They had never missed a lunch, well, perhaps they had. When there were issues with the caves, or when she had way too much happening in her life.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


"Same place, same time, two weeks?"

The hope in Sapphira's eyes melted his heart, healing whatever fractures had formed earlier. His daughter was such an angel. So sweet. The way the hope reflected in her eyes was something someone would be blessed with when she found her forever. Or he would be blessed with it until he died if she didn't find love. That was entirely up to her though.

"Of course," Micheal said smiling at her. She smiled back at him, her happiness radiating off her. "Remember that you're strong, and that you will find your place. The other councillors may not know it yet, but you are a brilliant person, Sapphira," he said, encouraging her.

It was her dream to be welcomed and recognized as a councillor amongst her fellow councillors. He knew that even if they didn't know, that Sapphira would find her place. She always did. And even though she didn't see it, he did. And as her father, he would always encourage her and be proud of her. No matter if he was always in her life or if he was rarely in her life.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Hearing those words from her father touched her heart. They held so much meaning. Nobody would ever expect a few small phrases to mean so much, but those ones did for her. Those words from her father meant the world to her. He believed in her, so she would believe in herself.

"I love you dad," she said, reaching and and hugging him one last time. This hug wasn't like the last, this was a goodbye hug. A tight hug that would squeeze a child to death. Of course, she wasn't trying to kill her father, or hurt him in any way, just give him one last tight hug that always signified how much she didn't want to say goodbye to him.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Micheal Jasper Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Miner ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


The tight hug shocked his for a second then he returned it. Not too tight though. He didn't want to hurt Sapphira. She was a strong girl but always fragile in his eyes, no matter how strong she was. "Good bye," he whispered as they hugged.

Stepping back after Sapphira was done, he smiled down at her. "I love you, Sapphira," he said quietly. Even though he could talk like this forever, telling her he loved her and how amazing she was, he knew he couldn't. They'd been blocking the entrance of the diner enough, and he had to return to the caves by nightfall.

"I'll see you in two weeks," he told her before adding, "Remember your strength." Then, against his will, he turned and walked out of Lantad View diner leaving Sapphira behind him and taking the memories with him.

 ⋆⁺₊⋆ Sapphira Kiah Daenerys ⋆⁺₊⋆ Voxthain Councillor ⋆⁺₊⋆

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The City of Voxthain * Lantas View Diner ⋆⁺₊⋆ Evening


Watching her dad leave on his own, she knew it was her turn next. She took a deep breath and looked at the floor. Remember your strength. Those words were a reminder she'd be using for the next two weeks. She had strength, and she was strong.

Looking back up, Sapphira walked out the open front glass door of the diner, ready to face the world.

Mod

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝑨𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑯𝒂𝒚𝒅𝒆𝒏

morning after a second body was found, two days after michael's death

August stared down at the pad of paper sitting on the silken white tablecloth, his fingers drumming the top of it. "So?" He forced himself to ask, his voice quiet in the near-empty diner. Outside the window, Lux's sun was just rising sending brilliant reds, golds, and oranges across the sky in a breathtaking array of colors. They caught on the rest of the buildings below, setting them aflame, and August wondered, once again, how anyone could ever prefer Asterath to the natural beauty Voxthain had to offer every day.

Then again. August also knew it wasn't just about the natural beauty, and really, Voxthain had as a whole been a pain in his butt, but Asterath--

"Hayden."

He jumped, turning his dark eyes back to the diner's top chef. She eyed him with a small expression of exasperation.

"S-sorry," August stammered, and adjusted himself in his seat, cheeks flushing. Social interaction had never been his top skill, even as he was actively working on being better about it, and better to people. And truly, he had been working with his woman for a few years now, so he shouldn't be totally embarrassed. She knew how sometimes his mind wondered, and the sunrise had always been gorgeous. Still, though, it wasn't the only thing on his mind, and he was...distracted, to say the least. "Um."

"It's good," she said once he had focused again, tapping a pen against the recipe August had created last night when he couldn't sleep. "Rather, it sounds good, but you know my drill. I'll take it to my other chefs, and if we all like it--when you make it for us--we can start serving it."

"I know." August twisted his fingers through his hair, loose from a ponytail right now, and tugged once. Around them, as a ray of brilliant gold split through the windows from the sun, a few early-morning diners seemed to flinch away from it. He had been working with the chef of Lantas View Diner since he had been about fourteen, creating recipes for foods that he loved and sharing them with her. The diner, with its eloquent food and dishes to fit every pallet, was one of August's own escapes from the reality he sometimes had a hard time processing. A few of the dishes served here were his recipes, his creations, but he wasn't always open about that, because goodness forbid any other noble find out August was supplying recipes to a diner and he'd be more of a laughingstock among them than he already was.

But that was another reason he did it early in the morning--it was so rare for nobles to get out of their cushy beds this early. "That's fine, I appreciate it." He gave the woman a genuine smile, the one that had his dark brown eyes sparkling, a crinkle in the corners, the one that n ever failed to make a lot of girls his age swoon. Too bad he had no interest in them.

"You know we'll probably take it," she added, softening a little.

"Thank you. So." He leaned back in his seat and scanned the restaurant. "How's business, though?"

The chef blinked once, but her face fell and she sighed. "Slower ever since the murder."

August exhaled once, shakily, and rubbed a hand down the side of his face. Another reason he had not been sleeping well lately, especially last night. Two murders close together: one in an alleyway, last night, and one the evening prior, on the very path leading to his diner. It did not sit well with anyone, and even August had felt a chill this morning as he walked up the path, the sky still dark. He had cast an illusion across himself to muffle his presence, just in case whoever it was happened to be lurking.

But even then, the calm he usually felt was being eaten alive ever since Callie had gone to Asterath last night and stopped replying to anyone. Mama had sent August a panicked message yesterday asking if he had heard from her, and the answer was no. He had tossed and turned all night, expecting her to come home late, but she hadn't, and was still not back this morning with no message as to why, or where she may be. August knew his sister could defend herself, could fend for herself, more than almost anyone else he knew, but this was...wrong.

Something was wrong, and he was certain it was not just his anxiety saying such.

"Yeah, I-I'm sorry," he mumbled. "We're working on that."

"I know. I just wish these murders had never started to happen."

"That makes all of us." He stared down the pad of paper, where in his small, delicate handwriting, he had written out a new type of savory soup for the diner, including some spices of cinnamon and nutmeg that blended well with steamed pumpkins for a delightful burst of fall flavors. Maybe it was a strange combination for a stew, but August had come up with it when he'd been unable to sleep at night, and he thought the flavors would work well.

Honestly, his first foray into this had been an accident. August had wanted to get away from the tense atmosphere at home when he had been only about eleven or twelve, so he'd gone down to the kitchens and asked the cook if he could help with dinner. She had been shocked, but he had quietly begun experimenting with new ingredients, and they'd worked. She had introduced the small, shy child to the chef here at the diner, and the woman had taken a liking to August and his meal creations.

Mama and Callie knew about it, but he couldn't let anyone else. "Anyway, um, just--I'll be back tonight to see how it tastes? Unless--can I actually help make it? Now?" He needed something to do with his hands, something to take his mind off the murders and the gut feeling his sister was really not okay. August felt as if he was buzzing, needing to actively try and calm down. He sent off one last desperate message to Cal before the chef nodded.

"Of course. Come on, we can get you going before the breakfast rush starts." She stood up, pushing back from the table, and August mirrored her, collecting his paper in his arms, reaching for the pen last. He looked once more out at the sunrise, the ball of gold now more firmly in the sky, and glanced at the people in the diner. So far, so good, nobody else here who had a penchant for noble gossip, and most people were busy drinking coffee and reading those infernal papers, anyway.

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The day was off to a splendid start. Well, actually, it had started yesterday. Although, really, couldn’t he trace it back further? Probably all the way back to his birth, really. His life was off to a horrid start. Because supposedly it was just starting, what with his being eighteen and graduating, and all of that. Oh, and getting married. Yay. That was obviously something you did right at the start of your life. Well, he was the Delacroix heir - no, head of house, he still wasn’t used to that - and in this case “start of your life” meant “start of your adult life”, so that actually was what one did. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it though. Just smile through it. Lala was very insistent on the whole smiling thing. He’d like to see her smile through her own marriage ceremony to someone she really didn’t want to marry.

At any rate, things had seemed a lot less bearable lately. He still bore it, of course, he always did, but sometimes he felt like he was nearing his breaking point. First , earlier this year, Father had died, leaving him Head of House. His emotions on Father’s death were… complicated. He had loved him, truly he had, but… well. And now Mother was trying to arrange his marriage. Or rather, she was arranging his marriage. Nothing was official yet, but she and Lord Seavey had been talking. Lovely. That of course wasn’t even to mention the shadowfog and murder situations. Which… one of those murders had taken place on this very path just two days ago, and Draven must be out of his mind to be here now. He would really like not to be tortured to death.

Maybe death itself wouldn’t be so awful though.

He shook his head, like that would displace the thought. What it did, however, was make his headache even worse, which, frankly, he hadn’t thought was possible, as it was already the worst headache he had had in his entire life. He had heard people use the expression a splitting headache plenty of times, but this was on another level. This literally felt like his head was splitting open.

Judging by the empty potion bottles he had found on his bathroom floor this morning, he had taken more than usual last night, which no doubt led to the crash being even worse. And on top of that, he was running low, and stocking back up was going to be a problem. It meant going to Asterath, and he really didn’t want to go there. But he supposed he would have to. The first time he had run out, he had considered just not going at first. And then withdrawal had hit. He hadn’t really realized he had a problem until then. Anyway, he had dropped the idea of quitting.

A part of him knew that he should. That this was unhealthy, and he really shouldn’t keep doing it. But, well, with his life being… his life…

He paused outside the diner, unsure what he was doing here. He didn’t leave the house this early, as a general rule. The sun was still rising, and honestly, it was beautiful, but he couldn’t really appreciate that at the moment. But fresh air and exercise were supposed to help. And nutrition. He never really felt hungry anymore, but he supposed he should probably eat. Besides, if he was going to get out of bed, which only seemed logical considering he couldn't sleep, he needed a break from the estate. He needed a break from Mother.

So, here he was. He glanced down, and straightened his jacket. He was dressed in all black - black slacks, black dress shoes, black button-down, black double-breasted jacket with silver buttons, which he was wearing open. He had all his rings on too. He supposed putting them on had become a habit. But he didn’t have a mirror, and he was worried there were probably circles under his eyes, and was his hair actually alright, and what was he thinking, going in front of people when he felt this awful?

There shouldn’t be too many people here this early, and likely not any nobles, but still. It wasn’t like he had no chance of being recognized.

He no doubt had a rather large chance of being recognized.

Well, he was already here. He drew a deep breath and stepped inside. He managed to keep his throbbing head up as he strode across the room and - “”Merde,” he swore just under his breath. Hopefully not loud enough to draw the man’s attention. Because someone was sitting at his table. In fact was that… August Hayden? Oh, this was just spectacular.

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Good. All was as it should be, no nosy reporters who worked for the Seaveys and always searched for gossip to relay back to them, no nobles of...rapport...lurking in the shadows or getting an early start on doing who-knows-what. Probably plotting ways to make their families more powerful, as if they didn't hoard enough already. Letting out a small breath, August started to follow the chef to the kitchen when the door to the diner opened again, the cool morning air drifting in from outside, a small breeze blowing pleasantly through the space and lifting the ends of August's hair a bit.

On instinct, he glanced towards the newcomer, who was staring right at him with a decidedly unpleasant look on his face, and his stomach lurched as the room, the small movements of customers sipping coffees or turning the pages of the paper, all froze. August's dark eyes widened, and the pen almost slipped from between his fingers as a jolt of cold fear swept through him. In his shock, he couldn't make out what Draven Delacroix of all people had just said, but given the way he was staring at him--and how ghastly he looked, with circles under his eyes and some unhealthy pallor to his skin--he was not happy.

Shit. Shit shit shit-- Draven Delacroix of all people? Why? August had, for one thing, gone so many years here now without running across any one of those pampered, cruel nobles who held the city in the palms of their manipulative hands. Today of all days, he really couldn't handle whatever malicious things the man would say, not when he was already so hyped on anxiety and exhaustion that would eventually catch up to him. Not when his sleep was already plagued with the fear of the murders, and last night, with a house that was all-too quiet. Honestly, the footsteps walking down the hall past his room at ungodly hours of the night had become a comfort. When Callie didn't come home late--or at all--August worried.

Fine. Not at all. He did not want Draven Delacroix here at all. Maybe he wasn't as bad as a Seavey, or that witch Alianna Calico, but the entirely ironic situation that had just unfurled before August almost made him want to laugh in disbelief, while his muscles tenses between his desire to flee, and the person he had been trying so hard to become in the past six years. Draven was a year behind him at Cogsworks, they were close in age, but could not be more different in the way they grew up--that August knew of, anyway.

Draven was literally the head of his house now, born to it with nobility running through his blood like magic. August was decidedly not, and everyone knew it. He had been mocked and taunted endlessly at Cogsworks and noble galas, and just seeing Draven now had his mouth dry. Growing up, though, August let it happen--let the rumors spread and the taunts land because in his head, he had deserved it. They were right, August was contaminating high society. He had brought his mother shame. But he had been trying so hard to break out of that classist view the past six years, to believe he had a right to be in this city and at that school as much as someone like Draven did, even if it took him longer to believe that than it had ever taken his sister, even if it was still a constant battle in his mind and heart.

He had once had no confidence in himself, would have scampered and maybe even deferentially nodded his head if he saw Draven somewhere like this in public, in a random encounter. But no. Not now. I have value, I deserve to be here.

August straightened, easing out a breath, and he stooped once to grab a dark purple bag he had left slumped against the table legs. Be the bigger person. Not that Draven exactly deserved him to be so polite, but he did not want to give the Delacroixs another reason to hate his family. That said, he had no intention of being overly deferential, either.

That, and really, Draven did not look good. Maybe it was just that August hated seeing people in states of pain of discomfort, he didn't know. In another life, he could have been a medic, but seeing that much blood often had his stomach turning, and he had chosen a different path.

So, August walked up to Draven and smiled once, politely, quietly, and held his hand out for a handshake, a sign of two equals meeting one another in public. He did not bow, did not nod to show any sort of deference. "Lord Delacroix, good morning."

He knew he certainly did not look like Draven's equal, what with his faded jeans and thick flannel of dark blue, black, and green-, while everything about Draven, except the awful unhealthy look about him--screamed "I'm wealthy, look at me", from those rings to his sleek outfit. Rather, it screamed, "I'm wealthy and I'm going to a funeral", but August withheld any comment on that. His sister favored darker colors, too, but at least she usually had a splash of evergreen thrown in to match her eyes. Draven's attire for some reason had August struggling not to smirk.

He maybe would have, had he not been a tad worried about how awful the other man looked. Which I should not be worried about anyway, he thought, shaking his head once. No matter, right?

"Surprised to see you here, but I mean." August shrugged and adjusted his hold on his pad of paper, recipes in it close to his heart. He nodded at the windows. "Striking view, breathtaking, really. Um. Did you want some water? You don't look too good." Brow furrowing, August waited for Draven to reply.

Maybe offering to service the Delacroix heir was a bad move--the press would eat it up, saying one of the Hayden strays had finally learned his proper place in society--but he had also reached out for a handshake, and August just...liked helping people. It was in his nature. That, and he desperately felt the need to make up for all the times his classism got the better of him. Then again, that more applied to citizens, not nobles, so maybe this was just his kinder nature and his attempts to remain civil.

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Really, just when he thought the morning couldn’t get any worse. It can always get worse. But really, was it too much to ask for one thing to go right? Now, on top of everything, he was going to have to sit at another table. And a part of him knew that shouldn’t be a big deal, maybe a little disappointing, but nothing major. But this was where he sat, and having to choose somewhere else spiked his anxiety. Which was ridiculous. Before he could bring himself to move, August looked up at him, eyes widening. Oh, yes, just let it keep getting worse. Why not, it’s not like there’s any point in his having a single second of peace. He should have just walked to another table before the other man looked at him, because Dieu, he did not want to have to interact with anyone right now. Or ever.

August was a year older than him, a year ahead in Cogworks. And, like his sister, a commoner adopted by Lady Hayden, which was something he had heard Mother give endless rants on. Due to the strained relationship between their houses, Draven hadn’t interacted with August as much as with other nobles his age, but he had always seemed rather shy and quiet. When people taunted him for his common blood he had never said a word. At least, he didn’t use to. However, he seemed to have changed which… did not bode well for the current situation. There was a time when Draven would have expected August Hayden to simply nod or even bow before scampering away if they ran into each other like this. And he really wished he would, but he got the feeling he wouldn’t. Maybe Draven should just walk away, not give him a chance. Maybe he would have if he wasn’t feeling so exhausted. Once again, he couldn't quite bring himself to move.

Draven blinked at the offered hand like an idiot before taking it. Lord Delacroix. He still wasn’t used to that being him, and not his father. He wasn’t supposed to be Lord Delacroix yet. But he was, and really, what difference did it really make? He just needed August to leave. Would he leave now? Please, just leave now. “Lord August Hayden.” He was too close. And why was he shaking his head?

Draven glanced out the window. “Yes,” he agreed, because, really, he couldn't deny that it was a striking view. He was more of a sunset person, but that was just because he didn’t like to already be awake at sunrise. Being up before the sun was just wrong, and if he hadn’t been such an idiot, and had waited to take his potions, maybe he would have been asleep now. But as it was, he had woken far too early, and now here he was talking to August Hayden of all people at the Lantas View Diner, when he should be in bed.

He tensed more than ever at that. This was exactly what he had been worried about. Only worse, because it wasn’t just some server who may or may not recognize him, it was August Hayden. He really should have stayed at home. Needing a break was inconsequential compared to this. Water was in fact, a good idea. A really good idea. But… Draven glared at him. “I would like some water, actually.” Because what was the point of turning him down, only to ask for water anyway? Maybe he should have though. He was starting to think his judgement was even worse when he was hungover than when he was high. Because coming here had been downright idiotic. He didn’t reply to his last comment, just allowed his glare to speak for itself. He wasn’t going to take August Hayden’s criticism, or worse, pity.

He wished he could tell which it was. Something about August Hayden seemed so genuine, but, really, it couldn’t be. He no doubt hated Draven. He probably loved seeing him in this condition. Well, Draven would just have to show him he was still completely in control. Head up, he walked to the table August had just vacated, and took a seat.

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August's eyes widened a minuscule fraction when Draven took his offered hand. Well. Had not been expecting that. Quickly, however, he got over his surprise and led the handshake, remembering Mama's lessons on maintaining eye contact and giving a firm but not threatening handshake. Though, August had perfected it years ago at galas, simply because his father would always be glaring at him to show some level of propriety and not make the family look bad. Unlike his sister, August had never quite had an outward problem doing that: he wore what his father demanded without complaining, without fidgeting, even if it meant he had to keep his hair short and wear heavy jackets and polished shoes he didn't like. The freedom he now had was like a breath of fresh air.

Lord August Hayden. Ugh. It even sounded wrong, August could admit, and when he finished shaking Lord Delacroix's hand, he stepped back just a little, clasping his hands before him pleasantly. He had never been that comfortable with his noble title, as if was like a jacket that never quite fit right. Maybe because of his inferiority complex he was still trying to beat over the head, because of the classism he had never thought much about before six years ago, but it just...was not the best. He was more used to it than he used to be, and he adored his mother and family to no end, but maybe a part of him would always be his blood. Not a noble.

August adored the sunrise, and the sunset. But, he was definitely more a morning person, as the militia required some very early days, and August had gotten used to it. Besides, there was something magical to him, almost hopeful, about a new days--the birds just waking up, singing to green the dawn, while the sun sparkled over the city, a fresh start for all. He felt alive then, and even if he had slept well last night, he probably would have been up this earl, albeit taking a walk around the gardens, or sitting on the banks of the lake on his family's estate and watching the sun. Or at his own place, starting a new recipe.

"Mm-hm. The colors are lovely. I love watching the sunrise," he said without thinking, before he wanted to hit himself over the head. Why the hell was he just going off on a ramble about the sunrise to Draven of all horrible people? Draven wasn't even nice, and August was ninety percent sure he hated him. Breathe, he scolded himself. He had to stop, to center himself, because he truly had a right to be here.

Maybe that was another reason he went up to Draven--to knock it over the other man's head that he was allowed to be here, to speak to him as an equal. Because they were, and Cal was always saying no person was above another. August had that written down in a diary somewhere at this point, if only to get her to stop saying it. But he desperately wanted to believe her.

August quirked a brow, the Delacroix patriarch's glare cutting like a knife, and he swallowed hard, licking dry lips. For a second, all August saw were cold hazel eyes, and he shook his head once, reaching back behind him to yank on his ponytail to try and ground himself. He felt like a child, scolded, less than, scorned, and he struggled to take a deliberate, deep breath and not let his shoulders hunch like he always did for about a decade of his life whenever his father or someone like Draven would fix him with a glare. Wow, this man had some attitude problems.

He squeezed a fistful of hair before releasing it, trying to channel what he knew Cal would do, the strands pressing against his hands, a tic he had picked up from Mama. "Well, great. You can go get it, then."

The slightly-sassy remark had slipped between his lips before he could process what he had just said, and as soon as his brain caught up, August's eyes bulged, a flush covering his face before he clapped a hand over his mouth. What the--what did I just say?! The room seemed to freeze, and he tensed, prepping for a long, winded yelling, shaming him to stay in his place, to--to--

Why? Why did he say that? Because you wanted him to know you're not someone to serve him. The realization hit like a flood, and August turned and stared at the ceiling. Intentions had been great, but it had come out way too Cal-induced. He adored his sister, but sometimes, she had very negative impacts on those around her in the attitude department. He made a mental note to annoy her later for this. If. If she was okay.

His anxiety at least was enough to break through his embarrassment and subsequent horror over what he had just said to Draven, and August turned and hurried after the lord, who had gone to sit at the very table he had just been at.

"I—hello again. Uh--Lord Dra--Delacroix! I'm sorry. That was--kind of rude, but the point was, sir--Draven. Draven. I am not getting you water. That is all. I mean, I would have. But you glared at me. And sounded really haughty, so. I am not a bug, just thought I'd remind you of that." Good Luminos, he needed to shut up. Now. August had no idea what had possessed him to chase the man down and apologize, as well as let alone stand up for himself.

He blew out a breath and tapped his pen against his other arm. "Anyway. Enjoy your water, good to see you." And then, because honestly, Lord Delacroix looked so awful... "I truly hope you are doing well." He pressed his lips together and have him a small smile, a tiny nod, and strated to walk off towards the kitchens.

Well and truly, screw this, Draven would see him heading inside. Fine. Let him talk. His family had long been the subject of many rumors, what was one more? August liked cooking, and he wasn't about to give that love up, including sharing it with Voxthain, becase Draven was here. Draven had always mystified August. While the youngest Hayden had always avoided him as much as possible, he couldn't deny he had been curious about him. Something about him seemed almost...hidden, behind some sort of mask. Maybe because Cal did the same thing in a sense, and August thus knew when some people were hiding things, including their true thoughts, beliefs, and personalities. Oh, well. August was not about to start another conversation, not when he really, truly, did not like talking to intimidating people dressed in funeral garb with scary black-ish hair. He was a quiet kid by nature, August was, even six years later and a boost of confidence in himself could not take that out of him.

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August seemed surprised that Draven accepted the handshake. And, honestly, maybe he had the right to be. If Draven had been thinking a bit more clearly, maybe he wouldn’t have, but he was tired - more so than usual, that was - and hungover, and really, just not in the best frame of mind for interacting with people. Not that he ever really enjoyed interacting with people. There were a few people he cared about, fewer still he enjoyed spending time with, and just now, he wasn’t sure he’d want to talk to anyone. Even Isely might drive him crazy right now, so really, what had possessed him to go out in public was beyond him. Of course, he hadn’t expected to have to interact much, considering the ungodly hour.Why did people choose to get up this early? It was miserable.

He had always been more of a night person, preferring to stay up late, and sleep in. Which worked in his favor when it came to balls always being held late. He loved the cooler air, the stars. But over the past few years, he had been getting less and less sleep. It was just so hard to relax. He spent every moment of his life on high alert, it was kind of hard to wind down, rest. What even was rest? And that was where the potions came in. Frankly, they were the only way he got any rest at all, but he always had to pay the price in the morning. So, he had a system. Take them before bed, give himself sufficient time to recover from the comedown in the morning, and pretend he wasn’t falling apart.

But yesterday had been rough. First was the newspaper, front page news about murder was never really welcome, and the fact that the victim had been Sapphira Daenerys’ father… Well, he had bullied her relentlessly in Cogworks. Maybe not as badly as Melody had - she had had a tendency to get physical, which Draven had never exactly approved of per se, but he had never really tried to get her to stop either. So maybe he was sort of complicit in that, and even with that aside, he had certainly been far from kind. It was the sort of thing expected of him, he was a Delacroix, and if Elliot was so unlike everything that their family stood for, he had to be even more so. He had to prove he wasn’t going to go down the same road as his older brother. Bullying commoners had seemed a pretty good way to prove that. And he hadn’t exactly regretted it. But when he saw that Daenerys’ father had been murdered, maybe there was the slightest prick of guilt. And then the Seaveys had given her hell for missing a food drive the day of her father’s death, which was just messed up. If one of his family members had been murdered… well. He supposed there were appearances to keep up, but…

The paper had also had an article about the addition to the museum in honor of Father. Which reminded him that he would have to give a speech when it opened. And of course it would be a long while before then, but obviously, him being, well, him, he had started stressing about it. He loved his Father. He did. But he couldn't bring up a single happy memory. It was all pain, and tears, which led to more pain, because he should never show such weakness. It was blood, and bruises, and going days without his voice. It was Elliot’s screams from across the hall, finding his brother lying at the bottom of the stairs with a broken leg. And even if he did love his Father, the thought of speaking about him sometimes made him want to scream.

And then Mother had told him she had been talking to Lord Seavey, and he had realized that his marriage to Melody was essentially decided.

All in all, it had been a horrible day, and somehow, he had found himself downing potions long before he was supposed to. Which had led to… this.

August was rambling about the sunrise, which made Draven think about how he used to get about pretty things - don’t say pretty, people will think you’re gay - and, honestly, he did not want to think about that. Still, he could… understand. He found himself nodding, which didn’t exactly help with his headache or his nausea. “Yeah, it’s - ” he cut himself off. No, he was not going there. He was not going to discuss sunrises with August Hayden.

Draven blinked, his lips parting. That was not at all the reaction he had expected. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. August seemed just as taken aback, judging by the way he literally covered his mouth. He should say something. He should put him in his place. This wasn’t even about August’s blood, even if he had been born into nobility, Draven, as a head of house, would still be above him. Although, granted he wouldn't usually tell another noble to get him something. But August had been the one to offer. “I can, can I?” he asked, before walking over to the table.

He looked up. Seriously, what was this? He arched an eyebrow. August was rambling again. He seemed unsure how he wanted to address him, which clearly meant he wasn’t sure what he was going for with whatever he was trying to say. Probably didn’t even know what he was trying to say. “I didn’t give you permission to use my first name. Oh, I see. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so haughty if you hadn’t been so insulting.” Really, he told him he didn’t look good, and just… expected him to, what, appreciate his concern? Which was most likely not even real, anyway. Not that he would appreciate it either way. “I am aware that you are not a bug, Lord August, that does not mean you have the right to say anything to anyone. And having that right does not mean you should.”

He rolled his eyes, because clearly, he didn’t really think it had been good to see him. The feeling was mutual. But then: I truly hope you are doing well. Draven’s eyes widened just the slightest bit. What? It wasn’t sincere, of course it wasn’t because who ever really cared whether he was doing well? As long as he was breathing, he was fine, and that was all anyone needed. In the back of his head, he felt that Isely and Alex would both give him hell for thinking that, but… But this wasn’t Isley or Alex, it was August Hayden, and how dare he say that? He planted his hands on the table, pushing himself back to his feet. He stumbled a bit at the sudden movement, but pushed through, and followed August across the room. He strode with purpose, even as he realized he had no idea what he was going to say. But he had to say something, he couldn’t let August say that and then just walk away.

He was right behind him, and he still had no clue what to say, he really wasn’t thinking at all this morning, and he was usually so smart. “Who do you think you are?” he hissed. Which, on second thought, August might misinterpret as a dig against his common blood, but did Draven even care? “I don’t want your concern.” The way he emphasized it should make it clear he was well aware it was false, although whether that was actually a good thing, he didn't really know. Why hadn’t he just stayed home? This whole disaster could have been avoided.

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August just sighed inwardly when Draven stopped speaking mid-sentence. Honestly, he should have expected that. The general aura of disdain sweeping from the prissy little brat did not take an investigator to interpret, and he just nodded once to himself and dug the toe of his shoe into the ground. Of course Draven had stopped himself from giving August a polite and full response. But that was the twisted way Voxthain worked, wasn't it? Anyone less than full noble, born and raised, had to be on their best behavior at all times, whereas full pompous asses like Draven could get away with being as rude as all get-out as they rode on their high horses everywhere they went. Well, sometimes those horses needed to throw them to the dirt so they could see the city as it truly was, and how they may have wealth and power, but they didn't have genuine respect. August knew that kindness brought respect, that love brought respect, and that respect, in turn, could lead to harmony.

Growing up with a father who had never been kind to him, had in fact always been harsh with his words and looks, and treated him like a servant for many summers, and would have been physically abusive had he not had his guardian of a sister, August had, while he lived in fear, also lived in observation. Nobody truly respected his father; his servants had obeyed him because he'd beat them if they didn't, and he learned later even Callie had only let him hurt her because he held both Mama's and August's lives over her head. Nobody respected him because he was cold, cruel, and sadistic. But Mama? Anyone with a heart loved Mama because she was open-minded, inclusive, and treated her staff incredibly well, often asking about their families and their lives. She had respect of the people who mattered--that was, the people.

Draven, though? Draven clearly held no respect for August because he saw him as beneath him, and in turn, well, August, who wanted to respect as many people as he could because it was a principle he believed in, found himself fighting to hold onto that small respect for him. The brooding Delacroix lord, August tried to remind himself, was a child, still in school. And clearly going through it, not that it was an excuse. It was not. But pompous nobles would absolutely go around saying a stubbed toe was an excuse to mistreat someone they disliked.

August kept his lips firmly shut, not responding to that again, frankly not trusting himself to. He eased out a breath and closed his eyes, dropping his head back to the ceiling. Good job, he thought sarcastically. But no. He was not responsible for the butthurt feelings of one Lord Draven Dumb-acroix, as Cal had snidely called that entire family since she was probably eleven. He deserved to stand up for himself, albeit maybe he should not have allowed such a sassy response to slip through. But he had always rambled more with his family. Why the hell he was trying to be pleasant to this man of all people...oh well. Something about Draven...irked him. Had that rare sassy side poking out.

But when he found himself trying to nevertheless hold up some manner of dignity, being the bigger person and apologizing (and why was he doing this, anyway?), Draven's quick, biting response immediately shut him up. Hurt lanced through August's chest, and he took an unprompted, sudden step back, dark eyes going wide as the sharp words and tone from the other noble cut like a flaying whip. Permission? Oh, he needed permission now? This was just like all nobles, wasn't it? People born with a false sense of power in their blood who thus clung to it like a fly on honey, who believed their word was law. Well, there was only one true lawmaker in the Delacroix family, and it sure as hell wasn't Draven. For which August was grateful. Lorelei was a bitch--Callie's words, not his, August hated that term--but Draven was cruel.

He had gone still as the younger lord went off at him, August's hands hugging his precious recipes tight to his chest. The edge of the pad of paper poked uncomfortably at his arm, but he was aware of the way his heartbeat had picked up, hammering anxiously against his ribs as he stood there, spine stiff, and he couldn't--move. Just like Father. He's...just like Father. Condescending, head up his butt, and blaming others for the problems he so clearly has. Blaming others. August steadied himself, taking a deep breath, smoothing the top of the paper finally with one hand, another anxious tic that was nevertheless smaller than his slight weight shift as Draven came to the end of his pompous little rant.

"I was not insulting," he replied stiffly, doing his very best to remain cordial. Which was not usually all that hard for August, as he had never been one to fly off the rails at any insult, anyway, and while gaining confidence included sometimes standing up for himself, he also knew that he could do so as kindly as possible. And yet, what was it about this man that had him wanting to be sassy and rude? It was an urge that was largely unfamiliar to August, and it startled him. "I may have been a tad rude, for which I apologized. It is not my fault if you are too much of a self-righteous prick to realize that." All of this was delivered in, surprisingly, an even tone as he forced himself to lock eyes with this sad, sad man. Fear tumbled through him, cold and sharp, and on the pad of paper, August's hands shook a little, Draven's hard eyes and glare sending shivers down his spine. Momentarily, those eyes shifted into hazel, those lips filled out, the dark hair faded to blond, and August found himself gaping and flinching back from him, staggering as he took a step back.

His heel caught on someone's dropped napkin, and only the jolt of the unevenness under his foot had him blinking and realizing it was not his screaming, horrible father who had never stopped making August feel like he would amount to nothing and had never been worth anything, but Draven Delacroix.

Dark brown eyes scanned the room, and he lunged for another table, grabbing a cold glass of fresh water and downing it in one, long gulp, before setting it down again. "I-I'm so sorry," he apologized to the table's occupants, two elderly women who were now both staring at him, one offended and one confused. "Um. Um." His mid spun, his heart beat double time, and August wanted to crawl under a table and hide. "Ex-excuse me? Sir, if you please?" He flagged down a waiter, hand shaking still. "These two ladies need another glass of water? Thank you."

The man nodded, and turned to do as he asked.

Once that had been settled, August turned back to Draven, the cold water having helped ground him a little. It had been...so long since he had had an episode such as that, but people glaring, standing like Draven had been, saying things like that, raising their voices, had always been a bit of a trigger for August's anxiety. The only reason his sister's rage didn't usually scare him was because she was in a way worse place than him, but also because he knew her heart, her real heart, and she was a better person than anyone tended to see.

"No," he agreed quietly, moreso than before, this time finding himself physically unable to look at the angry man, staring instead at the array of lovely irises and lilacs decorating the table in an intricate glass vase, "it does not. Interesting you lecture me on that when out of the two of us, I'm not the one who's standing in the middle of a public diner having a hissy fit." Once again, his delivery remained quiet, his voice shaking a little. Already, his back tingled, hair on the back of his neck on end--people were staring, thanks to Draven. They didn't need more attention. "Now, excuse me."

But Draven--followed him? Footsteps, heavy and angry, echoed in his ears, and alarm, real alarm, speared him, biting and almost electric, and August whirled around when Draven spoke by the door, bumping his back into the corner. Fear flashed through August's brown eyes when Draven had him essentially cornered, and August gently ducked around him out of the corner before his mind slipped again. Six years was a long time for August to have healed, to worked on himself, and it made a real difference.

But sometimes, trauma still came out to attack when you least expected it, and now was one of those times. It had him heartsick. His bottom lip trembled. "Who do you think you are?"

He knew the answers he would have once given: worthless. Less than you, sir. A stray. Lucky and blessed to be here. A charity case.

But he straightened his spine despite the sinking of his heart into his stomach and the pain that question gave him, one he had been all too familiar with. He could do this. He had value. Besides. It was so clear to him, as he studied Draven, putting pieces together, that this man was so sad, so unhappy in life, that he was pushing people away, he was making others feel bad and small because he felt bad and small. August reached one hand up and tucked a loose strand of thick black hair behind his tear, tapping his foot on the ground, a sign of the tumultuous anxiety buzzing inside him. "I'm a better man than you," he replied quietly, simply. "I don't make others feel like garbage just because inside, I'm a really sad person. I pity you. And I think it ticks you off that I'm offering sympathy at all. I also am here realizing once again that you, someone born into power and wealth, is a lot less happy than I am with my common blood. Telling, isn't it?"

Because it was true. August's childhood had not been happy. Not with a screaming father who had horrifically abused his eldest child to the point of an unspeakable act six years ago. Not when August was always a target at Cogsworks and galas for being one of Lady Hayden's strays, made fun of and mocked endlessly. Not when he had been bullied at school. But now, six years after his father's arrest and subsequent...accidental death...he was happier. August was freer, he was learning to heal, to be himself and love himself, and he was closer to a sister he had always loved, and he admired and respected her so much for the ways she had kept him safe when they were kids. He would die for Mama, Callie, Ivorri, and Aunt-Mom Selene. They were his people, and they made him happy.

Power didn't equate to a happy home, and August knew that better than most.

"Excuse me, Lord Delacroix," he finished quietly but firmly. "I must go."

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There had been times when Draven had wondered if he even knew who he was. He had worked so hard to be what his parents had wanted that he sometimes felt like he had lost himself along the way. But this was better. He was who he needed to be to survive. He was who he needed to be to make Mother… well, would she ever be truly proud? Now was not the time to be wondering that. But, anyway, he had locked himself away, and had done everything his parents wanted, shaped himself to be their perfect heir. Never quite perfect enough, it seemed, but he was doing his best. But something about August Hayden reminded him of that little boy he had been for all of - how long exactly? Not long. Not long at all. Elliot had refused to change himself for them, even if it sometimes seemed like they weren’t asking all that much of him. So, Draven had had to be the one to get it right. There was no other spare after him, no room for failure. And so, change he had. Be less shy, less quiet - in certain situations, of course, they loved silence at home, for the most part. Don’t do that, don’t say that. Boys don’t talk like that, Delacroixs don’t act like that. He had done it all, everything they asked. Everything they wanted, he tried to be.

He remembered when Elliot had suggested they run away together, he had wondered who he would be if he did, and wasn’t just the better son. If he would turn out to be like their parents after all. He mostly tried not to think about all of this, but somehow… Not that he thought he would have been exactly like August, of course. But there were things that just… The way a part of Draven had wanted to ramble about the sunset to him. And somehow, the way he hugged those papers to his chest… It reminded Draven of him with his first poems, and Luminos help him, he could not - And the way he went still was far too -

And the things he was saying made him want to scream. He clenched the edge of the table. “Not insulting?” he asked evenly. “ Really? And what would you call it if I told you you looked unwell? You wouldn’t find that insulting?” Honestly, how was he supposed to take that? What did August want? “Really? And what exactly was it that you admit was a bit rude? Because you didn’t seem to be including that. And please, if anyone here is self-righteous, it’s you.” He had never claimed to be anything he wasn’t. He wasn’t saying that he was good or right, or anything. He had simply said that August had been insulting, which he had, regardless of whether he could see it. Either he was just lying for all he was worth, or he actually was genuine, which - seemed unlikely.

He needed an escape. He needed to get out of here. He could slap himself for thinking coming here was a good idea. Well, he was certainly never going to do this again.

August stepped backward, and nearly tripped. Somewhere in Draven, something suggested trying to help, but that would be ridiculous. He watched the scene at the other table play out, not sure what exactly was happening here. August seemed nervous, maybe he should just leave. But then August turned back to him. Here we go again. Still, that whole… thing, was making Draven question his assumptions. Maybe August really was genuine. Honestly, with how much he had changed, Draven had been a bit curious about him for a while. And he hadn’t exactly ever seen him as conniving or even rude. Apparently, rude was a real possibility for him, however.

This time, he noticed, August wasn’t looking at him. Before, he had held his eyes, but now he seemed fixated on the flower arrangement. He didn’t really know what to say to that. People were watching, and this was definitely going to spread. He didn’t really have to worry about the paper, but word of mouth could no doubt cause serious damage. Whatever, so he would be seen as what, cruel? Wasn’t he already?

Once at the other end of the diner, Draven nearly had August cornered before he ducked around him. Draven flinched away, before pulling himself together, and following him again.

“I never claimed to be a good man,” he said quietly, not sure why the hell that was what he was going with. Oh, he had thought what he had said earlier made him want to scream? He hadn’t realized what was coming. This was unbelievable. He was just so pissed, he wanted to break something. Pressure built in the air. Draven recognized the feeling of his magic getting out of control. If he didn't reign it in, he might cause a hurricane or something. It had been a long time since that had happened. Since he had felt emotions this strong. Mostly, he tried not to feel them at all. He was losing it, clearly, and needed to get a grip. “I told you, I don’t want your pity." The pressure exploded into a gust of wind so strong it blew out a window. He flinched as the sound of shattering glass rang in his ears. He drew in a deep breath, and slowly let it out, trying to calm himself. “I haven’t said anything about your blood, you’re the one bringing it up. So shut up, and stop acting like some white knight. Life isn’t a fairytale, it doesn’t work that way. I’m not your villain, nor your damsel in distress, so why don’t you just come down off your high - oh, forgive me, humble - horse, and find someone else to defeat, someone else to rescue, someone else to redeem, whatever the hell it is you’re trying to do. Because none of that is going to work with me.”

He wasn’t sure where that had come from, it was like he had no filter. What was wrong with him? Maybe it was that there was a tiny part of him that wanted to be rescued. Whatever that meant. It was ridiculous, really. It was just…

“Oh, don’t bother, I’m leaving.” He was feeling rather light-headed, and was no doubt in desperate need of water, but he didn’t care, he had to get out of here. He turned on his heel. “Good morning, Lord August.”

(view spoiler)[idek what just happened... (hide spoiler)]

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He would have understood, really, if Draven had told him. His own father had never let August grow his hair out, refused to let him paint his nails, had been furious when he had found him with Ivorii's nail polish one afternoon. Honestly, August had been ninety percent sure he had almost struck him for it, and he didn't understand why he hadn't until later. But he had never touched it again, had kept his hair short, had dressed differently because he had been so afraid of being himself around the man. Because he had once been convinced he did not deserve to, that he was lucky he had been adopted and thus had to conform or else he'd be thrown out. That threat was one his father had adored to sneer at both siblings, endlessly. And both had believed it.

But, now, August was used to some nobles not even looking in his direction. Of course Draven refused to hold normal conversation with him, because as much as the other man could agree August was no bug, that is exactly what most of Voxthain's nobility saw him as. It hadn't helped that August had leaned into that most of his life, only recently trying to un-bug himself and show presence and confidence,

August was quiet for a second, and then shrugged one shoulder, followed by a gentle incline of his head. "Maybe I would, but I also wouldn't if that person was saying I looked--" He paused, his own words resonating inside him, and he visibly cringed, shaking his head. Okay, yeah, that was--rude. And even now, he didn't quite know if he had meant well saying that to Draven. August had been trying to show his concern for him, but it had also been a very unnecessary comment to someone he did not know well, especially because part of his intentions had maybe been trying to make conversation and treat Draven almost like a random friend he knew, which was not the case at all. Truthfully, he had never even liked this man, so his intentions could have been partially colored by that as well. Six years was a long time to work on yourself and your opinions of others, but August was only human. Some opinions died hard. Or not at all, as evidenced by the rest of this interaction proving why, exactly, he had not liked Draven.

"Okay. It does sound rude. I'm sorry," he replied evenly. "It would be insulting, and you know what I said was a bit rude." I am not repeating it to you. It was one thing to apologize, especially when August realized he had kind-of-sort-of made a mistake, but he wasn't about to give Draven's already-inflated ego another reason to puff itself up. He knew what August meant, and that was that. This man walked around and spoke like Voxthain was his, and honestly, it would have been amusing had the family not been related to someone as nasty as the Calicos and in possible cahoots with the manipulative Seaveys. But--self-righteous?

Now, August couldn't help it, and a small chuckle of disbelief bubbled from his throat. Oh, even if he was absolutely in shock and hurt the more and more this went on, that was rich. He tapped his fingers on his leg, for an utter loss of what so say, before shaking his head. But people said things like that, tossing someone else's words back at them, when they got angry and defense, or knew the truth about themselves and tried to ignore it, push it off on someone else. Petty. Childish, really, so August barely took offense to that comment. Anyone with eyes knew who was truly self-righteous, and it had never been a Hayden. "Self-righteous" fell within three families mainly, and Draven's was one of them. So, August clasped his hands behind his back and smiled kindly at Draven. "Sure, whatever you say," he finally replied, passively and smiling, both because he was here to be polite, and because he was having that horrible urge to tick this man off a little. Why the hell Draven was making him into some sort of sassy imp he didn't quite know. It was concerning, and he half hated himself for it.

He couldn't help it, that inability to look at Draven for that second before he had walked off. His voice had been shaking, and he had been mildly triggered. It was not exactly an easy feat for August, but men yelling, glaring, and acting as if August was truly a burden to be squashed was one of the things that did it for him. It was different in the militia, because nobody was yelling at him directly about his life, or his personality, and shaming him for being who he was, and in his everyday life, his mother would never, and his sister, while she yelled, it was never at him. So it was so unusual now that he had been startled, panicking, when Draven did it.

When he finally got gotten away from the corner, his heart thudding too loudly in his ears and his flight-or-fight response had calmed down a little when he had Draven in front of him and an open room at his back, August tried to focus on Draven's words. But the man kept going, and August's eyes widened as panic lanced through him. The lord was losing it, and fast. Maybe some people would not be able to tell when someone was furious, or their anger was mounting, but August had, unfortunately, had experience with a lot of people who carried rage and anger around like a knife. His father had weaponized it, and he had been frightening, and his sister, his dear sister, had more reason to be angry, but it because of her August knew just when she was losing her cool. Now, he could sense the same in Draven. "Okay, just--" He started, trying to do anything he could to calm him down, but before he could finish, the loud shattering of glass interrupted him, a cold breeze blowing through the diner as people let out startled screams, some of the glass bursting into plates of fluffy pancakes or glasses of range juice and coffee. For his part, August jumped, visibly flinching back from the sound and from Draven, gaping, the sound ricocheting in his ears as his heart drummed against his ribcage.

Father had smashed glasses a few times, stalking around his office in a state of self-righteous rage. This was akin to that, and for a second, August couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe, the world cold and white around him as his mind roared and muscles went tight. His fingers twitched at his side, and August barely thought as he pulled up an illusion in his mind of a calm sunrise with birds greeting the morning, a spring morning with a gentle breeze, and when he could finally breathe, his heartbeat slowing down, August dropped the illusion, but his chest still heaved, and a small bead of sweat danced at his forehead.

He licked dry lips, hurt spiraling at the rest of this poor, sad man's words. A sneer crossed August's face as the anger he rarely let show, and rarely felt, to be honest, hardened into a sharpened knife within his heart. Who the hell Draven thought he was to tell August to shut up was beyond him. The one on a real high horse was Draven, and August was sure they both knew it. Defensiveness, a sign of anger and unease, and pain. Something is wrong in Draven's life, he tried to reason to himself. It didn't give him an excuse, any excuse, for treating August like this, but at least it helped him understand why he may be spewing things off the way he was.

"I can see that," he finally answered, fighting to maintain an air of politeness, or civility. August rarely lost his own composure, as much as nobles had always hurt him, said things that had his heart chipping away, insult by insult, rumor by rumor. "And no, you didn't claim to be. But I'm answering your question." Okay, so some smart-aleck response slipped out anyway. Go figure, because August couldn't keep to contain that part of him around Draven. "Do not tell me to shut up," he stated quietly but firmly, drawing himself up to all almost six feet of height, spine straightening and chin lifting. The old August would have immediately done as demanded, bowed, and left, apologizing. But not this one, and he knew Draven was in the wrong here. Maybe August had not been perfect, but he had not started screaming at someone because he felt ill. "You talk about rude and insulting, but you can't take one breath without laying it on thick to someone else. Of course I brought up my blood, because it's what makes your ilk hate me so much. And I know life is not a fairytale." Pain glistened in the depths of August's eyes as his heart sunk. "Of course I know that." But he couldn't give details. Not about his father. That had been a closely-guarded secret to protect his sister. But... "I grew up in a world of classism. Where I have been the target of many cruel words and cruel jokes and mean actions. I know quite well life is no fairy tale. I won't ask for forgiveness for trying to finally see my worth and help other people when they need someone. Even if that piece-of-work who needs help right now is you. I don't care if you don't want my pity. You have it anyway."

August just shrugged. Good. Let him leave. While he had been trying, maybe, to antagonize him, he had also been trying to be his equal, something Draven had so clearly rejected it had August both hurt and rarely a little frustrated and borderline angry. That, and genuinely reach out, because August saw a pain to Draven that he for some reason wanted to try and ease, even if he also wanted to barb at him and knock him over the head with the reality that Draven Delacroix was not Voxthain's savior. He was not the best thing in the world, and he was not someone who everyone should bow to, as much as he seemed to think he outranked everyone.

But, he saw a pain to Draven, yes. And August knew, something that calmed him down, the truth: August was a better man than him. And that had to be enough for today. And, the lord he had triggered August enough today, so let him leave. Good riddance.

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Draven didn’t know if he could stand to keep looking at August Hayden, with his rambling, and his refusal to keep taking criticism the way he used to. With his love of sunrises, and his nervousness, and his relationship with his sister. Which, alright, that last one hadn’t come up in the conversation at all, but Draven had been extremely jealous of it for a while. Again, he hadn’t interacted with the Haydens as much as other nobles, but there had definitely been interaction. And sure, August had mostly seemed to avoid him, and Draven had never been the type to seek anyone out, but, well, he had still been able to watch not only him change, but the Hayden siblings' relationship as well. He had seen it seem to deteriorate, and then, somehow, grow stronger again. And if there was one thing he envied most it was that. Because nothing he had ever done to try to fix his own relationship with his older sibling had been enough.

August seemed to be serving as a reminder of everything he had lost, and today of all days he could not handle it. His grip on the edge of the table tightened, his knuckles going white. The addition of his pity, or mockery, or whatever it was, hadn’t helped. It - oh Dieu, it hurt. He didn’t let himself hurt, but he couldn’t seem to shut down just now. His emotions were just… there. So, he latched onto the anger, hoping to at least push the hurt away.

What was it about August that just felt so ridiculously genuine? Draven wasn’t used to genuine people. As far as he was concerned, everyone was a threat until proven otherwise. Although, not being a threat could be a threat unto itself, just in a different way. People didn’t just show actual concern, certainly not if they barely knew you, and no doubt had every right to hate you. Because August did have that right, and Draven knew it.

He arched a brow as August cut himself off. Was he actually cringing? That… Well, he hadn’t exactly expected him to admit it. He let go of the table, and began nervously playing with his rings. Twisting them around his fingers, pulling them on and off. It was a habit he wasn’t even sure how he had formed. He just found himself doing it a lot, when his hands were idle. He didn’t know how to respond. He hadn’t expected an apology, and oddly, he wasn't sure whether he should be pleased about receiving one or not. The thought that August could possibly actually be concerned about him was unsettling, honestly. First of all, he really should hate him. For another thing… Well, concern about him as a person, was not something he knew how to deal with. It wasn’t something he wanted to deal with. He was fine. Maybe he could hardly sleep, and maybe he was crashing after taking far too many potions yesterday, and maybe his life was miserable, but he. Was. Fine. No one was allowed to be concerned about him, least of all August Hayden. But it wasn’t real, of course it wasn’t.


August chuckled, and Draven glared, not liking being laughed at. He had to hold onto his dignity, after all. He looked down at his hands, once again mindlessly playing with his rings. Upon hearing August’s response, he glanced up at August through the curls that had fallen into his face. He was smiling. Of course he was, the infuriating bastard. August was always so sweet and smiling, and it just about drove Draven insane. So why the corner of his mouth quirked up the slightest bit was beyond him. He was not smiling.

Draven flinched at the sound of the shattering window. He knew it had been his own doing, but loud noises like that were triggering. He blinked, and shook his head, which sent another wave of nausea over him. He just… really wanted to lie down. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. It was at times like this that he really missed his brother. Of course, Eliot would no doubt be upset with him for how he was treating August.

Draven rolled his eyes. He had to admit, he never would have expected such a smartass response from August Hayden of all people. He tried not to feel intimidated by the fact that August was taller and bigger than him, and could probably win a physical fight.

Of course, what experience did he have with physical pain other than standing there and taking it, anyway?

But this wasn’t going to get physical.

Oh, yes, his blood. Draven laughed. The thing about that… Well, Draven had been raised his entire life being told that commoners were less than. That being nobility made you superior, and being a Delacroix - well, their motto wasn’t semper supra for no reason. Had he always believed all of it? Well... yes and no. At first he had. At first even Elliot had, as far as he could tell. As Draven had gotten older, his beliefs hadn’t exactly changed. He didn’t interact much with commoners to tell the truth, he wasn’t supposed to. Except for the bullying, of course. And yet… and yet, he had begun to wonder. There had been the rare commoner who… made him question what he had been taught. But questioning his parents led to pain, so he never voiced these thoughts, tried to push them away. Still, a part of him knew that really, commoners weren’t worth any less than nobility. But they were below them, in a sense, that was the way Voxthian society worked. And he didn't really want that to change. Because he was selfish. Because that was all he had. Because being a noble, being a Delacroix, that defined him. His entire life was about being the perfect heir for his parents. If his parents were fine with just adopting a new one, if they didn’t believe that would soil the family, would they? Would Mother, if she didn’t see commoners and bloodlines the way she did, look at him and decide he wasn’t good enough? Pass him over for someone else?

His parents had never loved him. He had realized that a while ago. Even now, Mother’s pride came and went like the wind. He was never quite enough for them, but he was their son. Their heir. His blood defined him. That was the truth of the situation. His blood was all he had, so people like August and his sister, who didn’t have that, and yet were still given noble titles, still allowed to inherit - that challenged everything about his very existence.

“But do you? Do you really know that? Fairytales aren’t all happiness. You’re still being some sort of white knight. Rising above it, trying to be - “His eyes widened. “I’m happy for you, Lord August, really.” Was he? He didn’t even know. “But I don’t need your pity.” He was being so stubborn about this, and the worst part was Draven was really starting to believe it. That he really did pity him. “What did I say about you playing knight?” Being seen as a villain would be preferable to being seen as a victim. But the thing with Lord August was he would pity either. There was no way to win in this situation. “I don’t know why you even decided to talk to me in the first place,” he began quietly, “but I am telling you now, you can’t fix me, alright? You can’t save me. And I refuse to be someone’s charity case.” His cheeks warmed.

Draven was essentially at the door, he was leaving, but he knew he really should not try to walk back home without at least drinking some water first. He knew that. He suddenly felt so exhausted he wasn’t sure if he would make it. But he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t. And he couldn’t ask for water either. If only he were alone, he could just collapse right now. He really shouldn't risk walking back when he felt like this, especially with the murders that had been taking place. What if he ended up the next victim? He trembled, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. He should just walk out the door. He should just do it. He would be fine. He would be fine. But what if..? He straightened up. He could not show weakness. He pushed threw the doors, and outside. But there was no way he was making it back home just now. There was just no way. He froze, not sure what to do. He couldn’t go back in. If he went back in, that would be far too pathetic. He couldn’t be pathetic. When people saw you as weak, they took advantage of you, and he had been taken advantage of enough.

But he couldn’t face the walk yet, so he turned and headed around to the side of the building, hoping August wasn’t watching through the window. If he saw… well, Draven didn’t know. He just knew he didn’t want him to.

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August's eyes darted to the closest movement--Draven's hands, the way he slipped rings off and on his fingers. A movement familiar to August, both because he knew nervous tics, and because both he and his sister sometimes wore rings. Never as many as this, for August, though--he didn't like having constricting clothes on, including an absurd amount of shiny things on his fingers. He preferred one, maybe two, one for each hand, but no more than three or four, and that was only some days, when he felt like dressing up a little more. As a whole, August's clothing choices tended to be a lot more casual, nothing too bright or too dark, and he tended towards some necklaces or bracelets if he wanted jewelry, with often painted nails of various colors, whatever swayed his fancy that week. He reeled his thoughts back to Draven now, and knew well he was somehow making the lord uneasy or uncomfortable, but beyond Draven having a bad morning and the classism August believed he held close, couldn't fathom why. It also just felt as if Draven had it out for him, and August had been searching his mind for anything he ever may have done to upset him before today, and nothing came up. August had rarely defended himself to Draven at school. Maybe once or twice, but it wasn't like he had punched him or something. That was Cal's domain, not his. Ah, well. Nobles just hated based on blood, appearance, any number of things. It wasn't like he cared. Right?

August's spine tingled at the glare Draven shot his way again, but it seemed to have a little less gusto and hate than the previous one, so he tried to hold himself steady at that, but one of his fingers began to edge along the side of his pad of paper, up and down, until he tapped it on the corner of the pad a little harder than he would have liked, just to keep his mind from spiraling again. He had come into the diner to have a relaxing time, but now, he was here facing off with Draven Delacroix of all impossible people, and he had not intended on having a triggering moment--or, what, three?--in one ten-minute conversation. Wonderful. But what he saw next had him freezing, floored, and August's mind went blank. Why the hell did it go blank?! But after he had chuckled--was he losing his mind, or did Draven just borderline smile? August's lips parted, his eyes widening. No. No, he should not say something about it, surely Draven wouldn't like it, but he so badly wanted to--no. August firmly shut his mouth, but Draven almost-smiling, what in all Lux did that mean? That he was truly pretending to hate August? That he was amused by him? Maybe it wasn't even a smile. Okay, that. That had to be it, and August tried to calm himself down, unsure why the hell he was so worked up over it anyway. But even that small twitch of Draven's lips had almost transformed his face and good grief why was he dwelling on this?!

August was, indeed, using that height. Ordinarily, he never would have done such a thing. He was the epitome of a gentle giant, and he didn't like being someone intimidating--rather, he liked being someone strong and solid who could help others if they needed it. But Draven made him feel small inside, and he was rude, condescending, and August was not going to let him get away with it anymore, so he straightened fully. And it was true he also did have combat training. While August was a war caster, focusing on his magic and how that worked more than firearms or hand-to-hand combat, he had been taught it and he knew it. He was not a beast, he was not his sister, but he was still skilled enough.

When Draven laughed, August flinched again. it seemed cold and hard, and this was getting harder and harder not to say something truly mean. But he hated it. he hated the way people like Draven so absolutely no issue with throwing down others because they believed they were so much more important than them, stepping on the citizens or those who "infected noble society" like him and Callie, and it just had him sick with an unnatural hatred, and a deep well of sadness, too. Voxthain never seemed to understand humanity was humanity, and that the nobles, really, were the worst of it all. How Draven, Alianna, all their disgusting ilk, felt happy bullying and abusing others would never be something August could understand. He was honestly still appalled with the way he used to believe they were right, too, and everything he did was to make up for that, and the way it hurt Cal.

Draven's laugh made him want to cry, really. But he didn't. Wouldn't. Refused to.

August blinked once, taken aback. Draven was happy for him? What was this, the first kind and genuine thing the Delacroix patriarch had ever said to him? And in the middle of being. sad, defensive piece of work, too. Wow. But how much August believed it was up for debate. Draven was not a happy person, and he hated people like August, just as the rest of his family did. He shook that off, focusing instead on the first part. That deep well of sadness swept into his soul, and his throat closed as he fought for words. "I do know that, and you have no right to make assumptions of that sort," he replied quietly, tugging anxiously now on the sleeve of his flannel before tracing a line down the back of the pad of paper. "Did it ever occur to you that I want to be better and help people because maybe I didn't have very many people helping me?" He asked, as steady as he could. "That maybe rising above all the verbal abuse and the bullying and rumors people like you have doled out to me since the time I was six years old has been an uphill battle for the past six years? Including the fact my own father was a piece of conniving shit? Of course you didn't, because you have power and wealth that was given to you on a silver plate. I know something's wrong with your family, and for that, I am deeply sorry. But you will never know what its like to try and deal with a society that hates you and that will attack you because you have never belonged there in the first place. And do not talk to me about charity cases," he added, more firmly. "That is not what I'm doing. I am more the charity case to my mother than you would ever be to anyone, so kindly, drop it. I don't know why I talked to you either. Maybe because I wanted you to wake up for once in your life and realize people like me are people. And maybe because I was trying to be nice. But I won't make that mistake again."

August stared after Draven, a sense of exhaustion crashing over him when the man rounded the side of the building. Exhaling, August ran a hand down his ponytail and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make sense of what in all of Lux had just happened.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He turned ti finally lose it all in the kitchen, crafting his stew, when a message came into focus, magically dancing before his eyes. August's body froze, his blood going cold. "August, home. My home. Now. I need you to stay there, your sister is missing and Selene and I are going to find her. Do not breathe a word of this to anyone, especially the damn Seaveys."

No. No, no, no--he had been right, something had been very wrong. Fear had his hands shaking as he began to pace, exchanging quick messages with Mama, who all but forbid him from searching for her. But what, he was expected to just go home and casually wait for news that his sister may very well be dead?

But August also knew why Mama was doing this. He knew of her guilt, the way she had that darkness inside her nobody seemed to see. She was the best person August knew, but she was also holding so much grief and guilt it seemed to buckle her sometimes. She didn't want to lose August too, in case she lost Cal, and she already felt bad enough for what had happened the first decade she had had her kids. She did not want to be responsible for August maybe getting hurt, and truly, August had barely been to Asterath--it was dark there, brutal, and he avoided it. He would probably cause more harm than good. So, fine, to Mama's estate he'd go, and he would try and do anything he could to help from there. To stay sane.

And pray Caledonia was okay, alive, and would come home.

He turned and fled, sending an apologetic message to the chef before bursting out the door of the diner, Draven now shoved to the back of his mind as his anxiety propelled him down the path, the early morning sun shining at his back.