“Alright, you know my phone number and have it with you in case you need to call me or anything…you know where I work amongst…everything like that” March said as he walked around the kitchen, I wrapped my arms around my legs as I pulled my knees up to my chest. His messy black hair was held back in a twisted knot on the back of his head, dressed in a very loose and slightly sheer linen shirt in a deep purple tone edged in gold embroidery, a wide boat neck with a slight notch in the center of the neckline bloused into dark jeans and a pair of low boots, he seems to like wearing very light clothing and fabrics. No tattoos or scars or markings like freckles or anything else were on his skin making him look like he was sculpted from bronze with his skin-tone, the only markings that was on his skin were those khol like markings framing those silvery-gray eyes of his and the beauty mark below the outer corner of his left eye and along the right side of his jaw…I did think I saw something on his back the other day when I caught him in the kitchen only in his underwear and getting coffee.
“Right” I said wrapping my arms around my legs as I nodded softly as he filled a large travel mug of steaming coffee which he put nothing in as he put the lid atop as he grabbed a few things before he walked over, patting my head a few times before I heard him walk out of the flat, the magic flashed and the locks fastened closed.
I sighed softly as I stretched my legs out across the couch, looking at the phone that had arrived with my name on it from my prince, loaded with March’s contact info along with his own along with people that Kal said would be important for me to have just in case along with a preloaded credit card with he said was a few thousand dollars just in case I needed something or March needed something.
The entire flat just…didn’t feel like it should, luckily one of my people’s best features is our adaptability as I said before, me missing two centuries is only akin to a human missing two days, we age at about that speed too, though we’re born as fully grown adults so we don’t age really much across our lives, I’ve probably only aged two-three years across my lifetime. As my magic that isn’t blocked by this damn band around my ankle filled me in on my missing time, I got an understanding at what a place like this should look like and feel like…it wasn’t it. I felt like I was in the middle of a bazaar somewhere: all of the fabrics, artifacts and pieces covering the walls and strewn about the rooms, the constant scent of incense that clung and seeped into all of the fabric and the extreme warmth of the interior that nearly like you were basking in the summer sun, not inside a building. There were ash trays I’ve noticed about the flat too often speckled with ashes, March is quite the smoker from what I’ve both been able to hear, see and smell: all he seems to smoke are a custom made by the pieces of green tinted paper in the ashtray, the scent of rather intense tobacco blended with rich spices like sumac and nigella seeds, spicy clove and out of place mint and bergamot. It’s not a bad scent, but…from what I’ve seen the guy is a heavy, heavy smoker, but his teeth and nails are still pristine though that may be because of the fact he is a demigod, that probably helps keep him from having any side effects cause by nicotine. If March had any kind of pet, it would have been long sense dead from second hand smoke.
I slid off the couch as I just slid my hand along the coffee table, the deep wood softly squeaking as my fingers went across it, I tried to recall anything I could do to help March around the place due to that…guilt of feeling like a burden. The flat while looking like he was squatting in the storage room of a museum…was pristinely clean because of the magic he had on the place, there was not a single speck of dust anywhere, even when I moved a few things on a shelf to touch the back wall of a bookcase, even where was spotlessly clean. How does a hoarder like this keep this clean? Aren’t they supposed to be terrible at cleaning!?
I sighed as I crossed my arms, tapping my hoof on the floor, though the sound was easily and entirely snuffed by the menagerie of rugs and carpets along the floor. All I ever did when I was outside of the prison before Mini or Teran was able to get all of us into those tiny cells was travel about working like servant-like odd jobs to be able to afford the lavish lifestyle I enjoyed having. As I looked around, there was an old school feather duster that floated about the flat as it cleaned and dusted everything, small rags and things would move about as they polished glass or various metals, everything was just this…phantasmagorical mess of clockwork precise magically enchanted cleaning objects keeping the place pristine. I also…am not the best cook, it was never something I ever felt the need to learn how to do nor had the drive to do because of the fact my people only eat out of the pleasure of doing so, we have no need for food because of how our bodies work: we do not need to eat, drink or breathe…anything of that sort is just…not needed for a demon like me. What…do I have to give him that makes me have some kind of value?
I sighed again as I just found a spot of bare wall to thump my forehead against to try to speed up the thinking. I don’t have any kind of education to get a job, plus that would probably be to far out of line with the fact I need to keep myself hidden. March probably would feel uncomfortable with having me be someone like a maid of some kind. I also…have never seen any kind of picture of March and a significant other nor has he mentioned there being any kind of significant other so I don’t even know if my body would be something that I can let him have to reduce this gnawing eating guilt in my stomach.
“What to do…what to do?” I asked myself as I paced around March’s flat before just out of exasperation and a bit of defeat, my legs collapsed under me as I let my head rest against the side of the couch as my legs splayed out to my sides and I bit my fingers into the carpets. He’s been so…kind to me, so warm, so generous and so honest, how could I not want to do something for him, but he has nothing that I can give him or do for him. I doubt he would even want me to work in his shop with him due to the fact he’d probably spend all day worried about me and ensuring I didn’t touch something that would like leave me cursed with three heads or that I could only speak in rhyming couplets or something.
I guess this new life for me is just that of a pampered dog: just…a sink for time, energy and money for March to spoil to no end, I’ll just be waiting here waiting for March to get home every day…forever.
Comments (1)
See all