So he had hit the nail right on the head, and it had set off the youth in a tizzy. Strel eyed him impassively, wondering what the nature of their relationship was for him to react that way. He did not defend Sebastian as he figured he would have, rather admitting to the faults laid upon him. He dismissed it all, but there was no affection there for the other man, at least none that the Dauphin could detect. Maybe it was a deeply buried affection, but not a drop was reaching the surface. "Because there seems to be no moral ground he is interested in taking. And why is it my business, you ask?" he hissed out, eyes narrowing slightly. "I worry and I care, so it damn certain is my business." Whatever lingering connection he had to this boy's family kept it his concern.
The redhead scoffed, remembering when he had as much pride as Ahiga did. Perhaps he still did but he knew lately pride was nonexistent for him. He had not cared what he had done nor did he care who saw him in whatever sorry state he happened to find himself in. He had no right to lecture on pride, when he had buried his so far underground it had taken him days to find it again. Sober, his pride was high and very much intact. But the moment a bottle touched his lips, he fell so low it surprised him when he rose again.
But the boy's words set a heavy sadness into his heart, almost making him lay his ears flat and whine. Strel kept it down, but he could feel his guilt and his concern rise. "That is not healthy, Ahiga. That is absolutely wrong. You have to find something to live for. A hobby, friends, familly, anything." He knew that Ahiga had little love left for his family and he seemed to be alone and without friends. What was he doing with himself? What was he living for? Why was he still alive?
Then the Dauphin felt his insides grow cold at his former mate's name. It was an angry bile that seemed to fill his belly, and set his lips together hard. His purple eyes glared daggers at the youth, choosing to bite back his angry retort, and demand that the name not be said before him again. "What does my relation to you have anything to do with if I care about you or not?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. It was so different from his familiar easy, light tones. The youth's sudden rant, full of emotion suddenly silenced the man and his face shifted to something of surprise. There was no more anger in his eyes but concern. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" he asked, voice quiet. Then he reach out to touch the boy's shoulder, squeezing it gently and ignoring the jibe against him. "Please, let me help you." Strel didn't know how he could help him, but he knew that he'd sure as hell try to.
Photo taken by Fergal of Claddagh. Table style inspired by Kitty.
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