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‘Excuse me for trying to find my brother that I haven’t seen in a week.’ For a split second you cringe, your heart leaking sympathy for the girl. There had been only one time that your brother had gone missing, and you had only found him when the smell of death hung like honey, so thick in the air. It pains you now to think about it, a thin mist of tears clouding your eyes before one look steels you against her, every ounce of sympathy fleeing as something about the impudent little brat rolling her eyes sparking rebellion in your veins. “Ever stop to think that he doesn’t want you to see him? Cause, fuck, I’d be hiding from you too if I could.” You stare squarely at the girl now, wanting to see her squirm; eyes narrowing just the slightest bit before you smirk, knowing full well the daggers you have aimed straight for her heart if she shares even a tenth of the closeness with this brother of hers as you had with yours. Is this how you deal with hurt now? Aim straight for someone else’s throat to make them bleed with you? It is only as the boy speaks up with his name that you realize he is still there, staring at you with a smirk that sets you slightly on edge. Maybe if this … thing wasn’t here, and she hadn’t dragged you out from bed certain that the end of the world was happening you might have appreciated the attention, even reciprocated it, but all he receives is a tempered smile. ‘I’m Zunden.’ But you do not even glance at her as she speaks, where curiosity lingered before nothing but dislike for the girl remains. “It’s nice to meet you Rikyn.” Despite your obvious plan to ignore her she answers your question anyway, and you finally look at her, the look on your face a mask of placidity with contempt bubbling just underneath. ‘Why do you care anyway?’ Was she always so fucking obnoxious? “I don’t.” It’s only half a lie. You do not care what happens to the girl, not personally now that she’s proven herself to be a right brat, but the fact that you have been charged with the care of the herd makes you partially in charge of her well-being. You grit your teeth against the annoyance that swells in you like disease, finally explaining why you had asked in the first place with a huff. “I’m one of the Time Menders; the well-being of those that live here is my responsibility.” And that, unfortunately, means you too. “Do you want me to help you or not?” impatience makes your tone harsher than you had originally intended, but you do not seek forgiveness for it, refusing to bend to the girl’s insolence despite the stupidity of you giving it right back. |
