More soulbond.
Sep. 23rd, 2008 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cygna_himeStill bored at work. Also tired, but can't do much about that just at present.
Zexion resisted the urge to fidget with his cuffs. They were exactly as they should be, crisp and neat, and disarranging them would only damage his careful appearance. He had spent entirely too much time this week standing on a chair to be poked with pins; he was not going to allow all that boredom to go to waste.
Master Ansem noticed the abortive twitches of his fingers and gave him a reassuring smile. Zexion, however, was in no mood to be reassured. He was about to be, was already in a magical sense, tied for life to some spoiled noble’s brat, and neither smiles nor empty words could change that. In all fairness, he had to admit that Master Ansem, for all his power, could not change that either. Some things were beyond even the king.
“The Nocturne family has been noble for some three centuries,” said Master Ansem, as if to continue a conversation already begun. “The current Duke has three sons and two daughters, of whom the eldest son and both daughters are already married. Yours is the youngest son.” Zexion scowled at the possessive pronoun. This individual was nothing of his yet, if he had his choice not ever. “He came of age abroad, so he was never presented to me. I believe he’s musical.”
Zexion glowered more darkly. Only after they were out of the coach and approaching the central doors of the Nocturne residence did he realize that, in his annoyance, he had forgotten nerves entirely.
The Nocturnes’ town residence was not as splendid as the palace, of course, but quite impressive nonetheless. Had he been of a mind to, Zexion would have approved the taste of whoever had chosen the decorations, but he was in no mind to approve of anything and therefore did not. Lady Nocturne descended the stairs gracefully, leading her son by the hand.
Zexion recognized him at once, of course. He could not imagine forgetting that face, once seen. Not that it was a particularly noticeable face: blondish hair, eyes of some light shade, a childishly tilted nose and too wide a smile. But Zexion would not, it seemed, ever be able to forget it. It was part of being bonded.
Zexion resisted the urge to fidget with his cuffs. They were exactly as they should be, crisp and neat, and disarranging them would only damage his careful appearance. He had spent entirely too much time this week standing on a chair to be poked with pins; he was not going to allow all that boredom to go to waste.
Master Ansem noticed the abortive twitches of his fingers and gave him a reassuring smile. Zexion, however, was in no mood to be reassured. He was about to be, was already in a magical sense, tied for life to some spoiled noble’s brat, and neither smiles nor empty words could change that. In all fairness, he had to admit that Master Ansem, for all his power, could not change that either. Some things were beyond even the king.
“The Nocturne family has been noble for some three centuries,” said Master Ansem, as if to continue a conversation already begun. “The current Duke has three sons and two daughters, of whom the eldest son and both daughters are already married. Yours is the youngest son.” Zexion scowled at the possessive pronoun. This individual was nothing of his yet, if he had his choice not ever. “He came of age abroad, so he was never presented to me. I believe he’s musical.”
Zexion glowered more darkly. Only after they were out of the coach and approaching the central doors of the Nocturne residence did he realize that, in his annoyance, he had forgotten nerves entirely.
The Nocturnes’ town residence was not as splendid as the palace, of course, but quite impressive nonetheless. Had he been of a mind to, Zexion would have approved the taste of whoever had chosen the decorations, but he was in no mind to approve of anything and therefore did not. Lady Nocturne descended the stairs gracefully, leading her son by the hand.
Zexion recognized him at once, of course. He could not imagine forgetting that face, once seen. Not that it was a particularly noticeable face: blondish hair, eyes of some light shade, a childishly tilted nose and too wide a smile. But Zexion would not, it seemed, ever be able to forget it. It was part of being bonded.