Everything was relative, but the Protégé had failed his mission. Goods had been damaged, and property had been lost. Feet were worn from days of walking. He hadn’t been comfortable to spend more than a portion of his journey on horseback when they brought living goods along with them. Itachi was new to riding and couldn’t control the horse efficiently. But with two feet on the ground and his mother’s stolen katana in his hands, the history was different. But today, everything lay behind them. Itachi judged it too early to disturb Sirius.
The remaining slaves were secured and dealt with, and all that remained was to deliver the report on the unfortunate incident. The Arbiter’s son had done well when he had ended his first canine’s life, but it shouldn’t have happened at all. It was Itachi’s responsibility, and his alone. The morning had yet to turn into full bloom as the man sat down outside the ruins of the thistle castle; against the east wall where flawed eyes could admire the sunrise.
Slender muzzle leaned down against his chest, partly hiding his face behind the tall neckline of his black coat. Red yes ached slightly with the desire to disengage him from reality, but first things first. The blonde had watched the slave lose tongue and blood for crimes against the family, and he did wonder how the poisonous Revlis man would handle the latest news.
He rose with the sun, having slipped away into sleep a few hours prior. It was not in the King's nature to sleep much longer than those sliding moonlit graces - He was a hunter, and the night was just as comfortable to prowl as the day.
Yellowed teeth glinted in a yawn as the hybrid stretched, his four legs stiff with sleep. Although this feral form was less proffered than that of civility, without appropriate bedding of yet, it was far more comfortable to sleep curled in the bearhide coat when his spine was lucid and canid in structure. One awake, he shifted - Bones and muscles slid into place, into the charming structure of handsome gentry he adored the most.
One of the slaves had delivered a wooden bowl of water to his doorway, and Sirius kneeled, scooping water in cupped palms and guzzling it to ease the dryness in the back of his throat. The man splashed his face and rubbed hands across the back of his neck, sniffing pensively as he gazed out the chamber doorway to the cool glow of the rising sun.
His chamber was cold, and empty. Colder and emptier eyes grazed it as, with the smooth ease of habit, the Thistle King strapped one hunting dagger to his thigh with cured doe tendons. The throne-room no longer smelt of Tlantli - his own dominant scent covered that, easily enough - but his mind had yet to be rid of her so easily. He had succumbed to bodily needs, allowed control to slip from graces in the form of anger and lust. It couldn't be allowed to happen again.
Such reflection put the ruler in a sour, brittle mood. He strode through crumbling stone and skeletal pillar with all the grace of a wildcat, a monarch well aware of his own prowess. Arrogance was a part of the Boss' nature, and it sat handsomely on his dark features. Prowling eastward, it came as a surprise when acidic olive sights landed on the weary form of a man he had not seen for a half-moon, now. The irritability in his form melted away, replaced with energetic eagerness, and a sharpness of concentration and gaze that commanded attentiveness. With spry steps, the Thistle King leaped the nearest crumbling wall, and strode across to the other male. "Itachi." Pupils narrowed in cunning gaze, hungrily reading the weariness in the gold man's features.
Within his ears rose and sank swift rhythm of a winged creature’s song. Ears swivelled and wished to follow as the small bird above rose on soft, feathery wings and darted forth into the blinding light where the golden globe peeked through distant trees. Light steps of a heavy, two-legged beast brought thoughts elsewhere though, and moist air danced down into tentative lungs. Milk painted fingers sought together in his lap, and claws carefully paced against his palms. Golden ears leaned backward; the first sign of his willing, physical submission to the approaching King of Thistles.
The Lykoi’s name was spoken by a voice that soon would twist and lust for bad things to happen. Horizontal lines of dancing reds and purples slowly rose to the Alpha of Salsola, revealing nothing of the disappointing even that had happened on the trek back to well-known lands. The blonde should rise and bow before his master, though it would quickly reveal the weakened state of his injured leg. The man had assumed it was something that could be walked off, but he had been mistaken like some fool. Perhaps a tendon was damaged, but it couldn’t be serious, for through moderate amounts of pain, he had learned that he could still move his foot just as freely as before. But a wound needed time to mend. If he was to stand up on two feet, he would reveal his state and therefore also the loss he was responsible for.
The golden male with the flushed eyes rose with the usual elegance, though his right side was no doubt gathering the majority of his weight. His figure stood tall and still as always, though he could do nothing to disguise the physical evidence of a long journey. Lines had settled under his eyes, a hue or two darker than usual. ”My Master,” he said, allowing his back to sway forward the slightest to echo the appearance of a bow. It was the poisonous Revlis man’s duty to choose the direction of topic. Itachi knew what waited, but as the tall mountain forever chained and immovable, he would endure every season, and every catastrophe.
His voice called attention to ears that had already heard the coming of footfall - Splendid eyes of bleeding royalty lifted to mildly scour the King's approach, but no sense could be gleaned from this. Itachi seemed a master at concealing his thoughts, his emotions - Perhaps it was fool to imagine that the youth had either of these things to display. Sirius was unsure, but his rank demanded aquiescence, and the Protege obliged soon after.
When Itachi rose, it was with the lithe, sinuous grace that always befit him - Grace that, had Sirius dwelled deeply on it, he had seen in another. Blood ran thick in the cursed soil of this land. However, the monarch was a Hunter, and his eyes had spanned hundreds of kills, had searched for thousands of weaknesses in all things. He saw the shift of weight, narrowed pupils seeking the injured joint before lifting again.
So, his second-in-command was injured, and clearly exhausted. The suspicion, quite to bubble in reptilian blood, flared the male's nostrils and gathered thunderclouds to brood over his brow in antiscipation of poor news. "Your report on the trip," His voice was blunt, yet unable to rid itself completely of the oozing silver charm that clung so well to the baritone huskiness. For lack of a better motion, iron-corded arms crossed over chest, bringing the four bear-slayer marks over his heart to life.
The predator would no doubt detect the weakness in the prey. But Itachi was no victim, and the sharp stench of the herbivore as it watched those toxic shaded eyes would never approach. The blonde’s breath was silent and controlled as eyes again rose to the Revlis man’s face. How he wished he had the ability to foresee the hunter’s moves, for once. The inevitable words were released by this smooth, masculine voice, and the bad news would shortly follow.
”We acquired everything you desired and more,” he replied with the voice of autumn; neither warm nor cold. It referred to Pandemic’s triumph—or fall, for all he knew, as he didn’t know what the King has requested of the boy. Either way, Pandemic had been pushed into the dark abyss of a grown man’s duty, and did no longer deserve the title of a mere child. Children did not murder.
”However,”But. And now Sirius would know. That an unfortunate event had occurred. But there was no pleading in sunset eyes. There was no regret or fear within him, for he couldn’t change the flow of time, and what had happened could not be changed in any way.
”Two slaves tried to escape. One is now a cripple, the other is dead.” Pale hand moved behind the dark coat to retrieve the tail of the dead product from his belt, only to let it fall onto the ground between the two canines. It hadn’t been necessary to main the survivor, but for the first time, Itachi’s rage had gotten the best of him, and the sword had bit into the man’s heel and severed the tendon forever after the slave’s surrender.
There was no flaw to the blonde man's features - He was, for lack of better intention, a beautiful thing. A handsome specimen, amendable to even the coldest eye. Sirius appreciated such visual temptation, for although his sexual tastes in gender were arguably toward the female form, it was known that the Thistle King had a weakness for all flavors of beauty. But such was not the reason for his strange affections regarding the Protege; that could only be due to the mannerisms of Itachi himself, not the pale, perfect outer shell that disguised him as a man of mortality.
Power - That was what it was. Power. The ripples of it could be seen in bleeding eyes, so bland and flat to those who did not seek. But Sirius had been seeking power for most of his existence, and he knew the very smell of it, could find it in all resources. Itachi was power, and this made him very valuable, indeed. It was for this reason that the dangerous monarch held him in such esteem.
Words flowed from the youth, smooth and unhesitant, as clear as water and just as platonic. There was no expression, no undue warning of the fouls news to come, but paranoia and a sixth sense for dismay warned the Boss of his oncoming foulness. When the finality of the report came, Sirius was himself prepared, a mask of unbreakable concentration.
Venomous eyes lingered on the tail as it dropped, narrowed pupils seeking each hair, each twist of color, each deadened and useless inch of it. There was a slight twitch to his face, as a lively muscle spasmed in a tick beneath one acidic eye. That was all the warning that was given - In the next moment, the monarch's hand, surprisingly elegant for what could be deemed no less than a Hunter, whipped back in a smooth motion before sweeping forward in an aim to connect with the handsome planes of the other male's face.
"When I give you a task to complete," The voice was a cool hiss, deadly and chilling to those of more mortal blood than these two, "Failure is not a viable result." In a motion of disgust, he spat at the tail on the ground between them.
Lids instinctively shut to ward fragile hues from the blow as his Superior’s hand quickly leaped to connect with his blonde face. The controlled power from the impact pushed the Lykoi’s face away, locks of darker blonde falling veiling his face with shadows. There had been no warning, but the young male showed no visual appearance of surprise at the physical response he had just been given. In fact, he didn’t seem to respond at all. With the slight shift in weight as the Revlis man’s hand had struck, fresh pain had tickled along his injured calf. It gave the Protégé peace of mind to wallow with the pain for a short moment, before eyes belatedly opened to two, narrowed slits of the fresh hues of blood.
Failure is not a viable result. This was true, and Itachi had failed his task. Sirius had dealt out a lash of punishment fitting a subordinate’s failure. There was one flaw in the Boss’ move, however. And it was major and vibrant. Itachi wasn’t anyone’s servant. Free will was what formed every single action in his life, and while Sirius might have thought the Lykoi had gone to Freetown because he had demanded him to, Itachi had gone because he had accepted the task and found it intriguing enough to complete. The invisible handprint on his blonde cheek was pulsing together with a controlled heart, reminding him of this bold, physical hit he had been dealt with every heartbeat.
Poison and danger was always visible in the sickly green of Sirius’ eyes. The two men were not the same, though they could both be fiercely dangerous if they wanted to be. Itachi’s darkness ran deep under skin and flesh, and knew better than to lurk behind the sunset shades in his eyes. The blood of the dragon cursed through his veins, hot like fire, but too well hidden. He said nothing. Eyes did not rise to cling to the earthen colours of Salsola’s proclaimed King. While others could have crawled and begged for forgiveness, Itachi offered numb silence only.
It was just as well that the other man did not simper, nor cringe from his punishment. Sirius held little tolerance for fools, and even less for those who whimpered at such easy pain. Itachi's silence was the best response he could have provided to ease the further fury of his Thistle King.
That was not to say Sirius' anger had been subdued - It raged still, bubbling like acid in the man's fierce olive gaze. Slitted pupils, so narrow that they might have been swallowed entirely by the venomous green, sliced over the man's lowered head and lingered on his cast-away eyes. Palms clenched and unclenched from tight fists, the tick beneath his livid gaze leaping. Black lips writhed a moment more over yellowed daggers, before an exhale of breath sounded as a hiss in the tense air. The monarch allowed a single snarl of disgust to part his maw before he turned on heel and stalked away, leaving the only-slightly-disciplined Protege and the severed tail in the mud behind him.
There was much more to be accomplished, this day - He needed to find the Arbiter, and the Arbiter's simpleton son, to see if they too had failed in the task set to them.
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