AND I KNOW THAT ROME WASN'T BURNT IN A DAY
BUT IT COULDN'T HAVE BEEN MORE THAN A WEEK
BUT IT COULDN'T HAVE BEEN MORE THAN A WEEK
A
ndras does not often tell the truth, or at least all of it. He is blunt, yes, and mean, certainly, but he is more prone to lie by omission than most people he's met. The fact that, now, he cannot, is distressing in several titanic ways.Adonai addresses Andras by his name, not 'Warden,' like his people (or Pilate) would, and he is catapulted headfirst out of his stupor and into the hall full of well-dressed debutantes and desert princes with gauzy robes and thick, heavy jewelry that swings in time with the music, and their bodies, moving in turn. Andras, himself, is chewing the inside of his cheek until he feels it as a dull sting through the haze of his intoxication, still wishing he were anywhere else-- which is easier, now that he is not trying to think it while staring at a prince with thin, sloping shoulders and a cloak so soft it makes his teeth ache to think of it.
He is watching the people, trying to see them as an Ieshan might see them, or at least a particular Ieshan: the overly zealous desire to both stand out and fit in, the loud voices and louder laughter, the girl that looks his way, sees the sharp angle of his brow bent low over his eyes, then turns away...
Until, of course, he isn't. It is not long enough to find any real answers, except for the obvious: he does not want to be here.
I am so pleased to see you, Adonai finishes. Andras turns to look at him, a full-bodied angling as he gives the man a tight-lipped, closed-eyed smile. "Adonai! I'm glad you are." The eyes open, a muddled, drunk gray against the black rock of his face. 'I would not have come if you had not invited me,' Andras then says, which comes out of his mouth as: "I was going to make an appearance, anyway, but I'm so happy you thought of me."
Andras goes cold, shockingly cold, so cold he almost cannot stand it, and turns away.
If he has ever actually hated Pilate, he thinks that it's now, after he's had the drink pushed his way, and downed it, and then been set loose on the estate.
"How are you?" Andras asks, weakly.
ANDRAS, WARDEN OF DELUMINE
