Gotta Be Somebody {Darin}

[Brenda]

Zylphia was brimming with nervous energy. The girl had recently discovered something that could only be described as life-shattering. After getting dressed that morning, she had gathered the ends of her dress in her tremulous fingers before hurrying down to the kitchen, the one place that brought her solace when it counted. She knew it was unladylike to shovel food down one's gullet whenever you get a tear in your eye, but she didn't really give a damn. "Just another day in paradise.." She mumbled to herself. The chef knew almost immediately what to do as soon as she entered the receiving warmth of the kitchen.

Just as quickly as she had come in, she had food set in front of her and a well-used handkerchief. Nodding slowly, she murmured a note of gratitude as her dark, curly locks hid her pallid features from view. Of course, to come here, she had to have ditched her brother, the infamous manwhore known as Zebediah. Her entire life was a blatant lie. She looked like royalty, but she felt lower than a bug under one's boot. "There..isn't anything wrong with me, is there?" She queried quietly, curling her trembling fingers within the silken fabric of her dress.

The chef's answer was a quick shake of the head and a pat on the back. Once her brother found out she was gone, he would probably tear up heaven and hell just to find her. Her elbows rested on the counter while her head was cradled in the palm of her hand as her mind began to drift. In the recesses of her mind, she heard a gentle urging to eat before she keeled over. "Mm..I'm fine, really.." She murmured after a moment's hesitation. Idly, she moved her hair behind her ear.

When she was given her privacy, she popped a bit of food into her mouth, her jaw working almost mechanically. She wanted something to happen that was more lucrative than whatever the hell it was that was going on. She couldn't figure it out, and she didn't want to. For her, there was nothing to figure out, nothing to sort through. The cold, hard facts had been laid out so plainly before her in black and white. By right, she was supposed to be a servant, a laborer of no true consequence. Instead, she was considered to be something she wasn't.

Hell, come to think of it, she should have seen the signs sooner. She certainly had the brains to do so. Did anybody outside of her "family" know? If so, they hid it quite well. Using the heel of her palm, she rubbed her eyes and sniffled softly. She felt like after all the years she had put into her life, she didn't get a damned thing in return, unless you counted her being a doormat to society. Whom had she pissed off in a previous life?

Must have been somebody of importance, considering her life had been one speed bump after another. Could she keep holding up? Would it be possible for her tormented soul to fight another day? The odds certainly seemed to be against her. In an attempt to cheer herself up, although in vain, she began to hum quietly to herself. "Hrmm.." She lifted her left hand to tap her fingers against her chin as the craving for tea finally hit her.

[Mimi]

Darin wished Rian would finish his food. He didn't have to return a full plate to the kitchen; it was discourteous, but then again, His Liege never paid much attention to the smaller etiquettes when it didn't suit him. The silver platter glinted white in the mid-morning sunlight, and it was only then that Darin noticed Rian did actually touch his food -- rearranged it in a more artful display (or tried to make it look like he'd eaten when he hadn't). Damn, something must have been wrong; it made Darin both frown and sigh, slightly irritated and hoping this wouldn't become his daily morning routine for the entire seven days stay.

Balancing the tray in one hand, Darin ran the other through his hair. It was turning out to be a fair weather day, barely a cloud in the sky with a warm breeze and nearly the entire castle already up and awake strolling in the gardens that Darin could just make out in the distance. If he wasn't mistaken, it was also Rian's first day with the princess, and when he'd left him, Darin could smell alcohol on his superior's breath. Darin rolled his eyes, what an impression the man would make; hopefully, it wouldn't be one that would lead to another war.

"Excuse me," Darin murmured, skirting around a young girl carrying a large tray of fruits and shaking his head as he cleared away thoughts of war and politics and tried to focus on the task at hand. The radiating warmth of the kitchen reached him before he'd even made it to its threshold as did the smell of fresh-baked bread and the hint of cinnamon. It reminded him of his childhood, strangely enough, when his sister...

Darin refused to think on it further and set the tray down peremptorily with a sharp exhale of exasperation. The cook, however, seemed to take it the wrong way.

"Oh, did the meal not suit the prince? A thousand pardons, I'll fix something else right presently."

"Oh, no, not at all, Sir. 'Tis not your cooking at all, but My Liege hasn't been feeling quite well as of late. Some minor stomach flu. The food is just grand though, just grand."

Darin smiled a bit too brightly for it to be entirely real, but the cook only smiled back and shuffled over to his baking with a satisfied "why, thank you." Releasing the breath he'd been holding, Darin swung over to the counter and sat down heavily. What a start to the week.

It wasn't for another few seconds that Darin really noticed the girl sitting beside him, and he turned to face her, leaning against his propped arm and regarding her with a slight smile. The tune was faintly familiar, and she had a pretty face to boot. It didn't take much, though, to figure something was troubling her. Poor thing -- she seemed genuinely upset. Darin debated whether or not to get involved. On one hand, he despised meddling in the affairs of the rich (especially those of the feminine persuasion), but on the other hand, he was a foreigner. Even if there were to be any trouble, he'd be only staying a week.

"That's a sweet tune from a sweet voice and a pretty face."

Darin offered the girl a genuine smile. "Darin Gaviston, foreigner. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

He gave a slight nod in her direction, forgoing standing up and making a full bow. "Seems like you could use some company, if you don't mind my saying. What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this so early?"

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[Brenda]

When somebody offered to take her plate, she shook her head and murmured that she'd do it herself in due time. For them, it must have been blasphemy. For her, it was simply her being independent. After all..why not embrace the inevitable before it was too late? It wasn't like she had anything to worry about. She just continued to pop food into her mouth, ignoring the incredulous stares that were shot her way. There had been an image that she needed to uphold and that image was now shattered.

Her mind wandered, caught up in the tempting urge to eat her troubles. After all, she just couldn't go around and talk about it for hours on end with random people without consequence. No, that would be begging for her demise. They'd probably get her on impersonating a person of royal standing. Was that even possible? She couldn't think of another explanation. Again, somebody asked if they could take her plate.

Her response was less than friendly, and it sent the poor servant away. Normally, she would have been nicer, but she was too far gone to bother saving the feelings of others. Her feelings hadn't been saved, and she had been crushed. What the hell was stopping her from crushing others, shattering their very hopes and dreams? Yes, the young woman was spiteful, for lack of a better term. Person after person brushed past her with muttered apologies, never even glancing toward her. Of course, she much preferred it that way.

When a masculine voice piped up next to her, she popped a bit of food into her mouth and chewed slowly, swallowing soon after the food had been mashed into something of a softer substance. "Practicing for when I get to answer to rich snobs and bend over backward to kiss their asses."

[/color] She responded quietly, grasping the plate with a steady hold before whisking it away to the sink, setting it gently within the basin. There, she scrubbed the plate until it sparkled. "Orrr...for when I'm locked away like a criminal Take your bloody pick."[/color] She responded bitterly, flinching quite visibly as the cook patted her shoulder. Soon after, the cook piped up with his own version of witty rhetoric.

"M'lady must be quite tired to talk such nonsense."[/color] The cook laughed it off as if it were a jolly joke. "You insensitive.."[/color] She mumbled the rest before returning to the stranger's side. After a moment, she spoke. "Sorry..just stressed..name's Zylphia Archembault..and you are?"[/color] She queried softly, all hint of her former frustrations seemingly forgotten.[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[Mimi]

Darin blinked at the response, a bit of confusion and surprise disrupting the initial smile. What could one say to that? Especially when it was coming from a noblewoman of all people. A wavering half-smile returned as he kept silence, fiddling with his fingers but raising an eyebrow at the pervading bitterness and spite in her comment about being imprisoned. What exactly did she do? Or think she did for that matter. This wouldn't be the first time when a lady dulled by the doldrums of everyday life turned to fantasies. She didn't seem the type though. It'd be a shame, a pretty, little thing like her.

Darin glanced up when she stood, watching curiously as she walked over to the sink and, rather than simply setting the dish down, began washing it. Was this simply Reginien tutelage or the lady's own madness? A Silian noblewoman seen washing the dishes was deemed to be in hysterics and ordered to a full fortnight's bed and rest. It was taboo, and yet here she was, before a stranger no less, going about as if she was his equal. What a strange country this was.

The cook muttered something to which Darin paid little to no attention, having refocused his attention of the slab of stone counter before him and listening to the sloshing of water and squeaks as the plate was rinsed and dried. Something about the girl sparked his interest, and funny enough, he could understand her, just a bit. Catering to rich snobs and bending over backwards to satisfy their whims -- well, wasn't that such a fitting job description for Rian's squire? Darin sighed quietly, a feeling of exhaustion washing over him all of a sudden.

He barely reacted this time when she returned to his side. Archembault did she say? What a queer surname.

He tilted his head to the side, watching her a moment before scoffing and letting an easy smile slide back onto his face. "Gaviston, Darin Gaviston," he repeated. "And you're right, you are stressed to be spouting such nonsense. A girl such as yourself? Locked away? Why, the entire country would be in an uproar. Perhaps showing a foreigner around would help take m'lady's mind off whatever's making her unhappy?"

There was a bit of a flirtatious undertone to his suggestion, not that he exactly meant it as such, but as it were, could one blame him? He hadn't been with a woman for some three years. He was bound to make little slips now and again.

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