Erik and James, the Study.
James took a few steps forward towards the medium-sized wood cabinet serving as a table next to his old winged armchair and crouched down, reaching inside for the typical rough-texture whiskey glass-jug and two crystal-shaped glass cups. He straightened himself up and closed the cabinet's door with his knee, juggling the objects elegantly and graciously. There was absolute stillness in the room when the sound of the three glass-objects echoed while hitting the wooden cabinet's surface in turns. Erik had been silent for quite some time; his lack of reaction and response was a bit uncomfortable to James. He tilted his head to the side but didn't look at his brother. "Do you want me to fetch you some?" He asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Erik had his hands on top of the desk supporting his head-weight as he was slightly bet over it, his thoughts somewhere far away from there. He didn't flinch or even blink at James' words, just kept his eyes glazed to the desk's surface as if he was actually getting answers from it.
"I'll take that as a yes." Erik's silence spoke for itself; he needed that more than he knew. James poured the soft amber color liquid into both cups, adding some little extra to Erik's. After finishing the serving, James made his way to his brother and offered him the drink."Here."
Erik raised his head, turning in Jame's direction. He observed the cup in between his hand's grasp. The ice clinked against the cup's glass and sizzled in contact with the warm air. He stretched his hand, launching it forward but ended up retreating just slightly; with only a fraction of a second hesitation, quickly he grabbed the cup and took a sip only to first taste it. Then, to make up for its pickiness, he scoffed hastily the rest in one shot-style, the whiskey slid forcefully down his throat and, despite the burning sensation taking his breath away for a split second, he just asked for another.
"Calm down, cowboy," James advised but didn't argue further. He took the cup from his brother's and went to refill it. Then, again, stretched his arm, didn't bother going to him this time.
Erik drowned his sorrow on another cup.
James sat down, crossing one leg, an ankle over the other leg's knee. With his arm fully supported on the armchair, he merrily moved his wrist, inadvertently swirling the whiskey in his glass. The chinking of the ice cubes onto the glass caught James' attention for a while; just watching its gentle vortex was hypnotizing enough to him. But that didn't mean he wasn't paying any attention to his surroundings. "Is that the way you're going to face your problems?" He asked, a scolding tone subtly muffled.
Erik had made himself at home and was looking inside the drink's holder. "Don't you have anything stronger than whiskey, James?" He just said, careless of what his brother might think of his kink attitude, with his head threaded inside the cabinet. His forsooth intentions stood by blacking out cold on the floor, or somewhere comfy if it was possible.
"Of course," James answered. "But I won't give it to you."
"Party killer." Erik stepped away, cursing beneath his breath as he fetched himself another drink.
James' gaze remained on his cup. "Let me tell you that, if you exceed your limits, tomorrow won't be such a great day."
"If you were in my place, you too would be drinking as well. So, just let me be." Another one, right down the throat. "I wonder how much it will take..." He mumbled only to himself.
James' eyes shot up and just observed how his brother's misery very much clouded his actions and perception, making him think with his heart instead of his head. He sighed, troubled for him.
Erik was sitting on the floor across from him, back leaned against the wall where the door stood, legs semi-folded, with the whiskey jar next to him and a cup in his hand. From time to time he would take a small sip, reflecting on how to act upon what he knew now. The person he had been spending the last few weeks, the person he had been sleeping side by side, making love to wasn't the person he thought it to be. His fingers slid across his gingery bang, exposing his other eye for once. Erik frowned, firmly closing his eyes and biting his lower lip almost 'till it bleeds. His head was at the edge of exploding with the flowing of thoughts coming in; Erik took a breath to calm himself down. The shock and disbelief hovered his head like a vulture around the carcass of an animal on the brink of death, and the guilt and remorse stung to his heart like sharp razors. What he had done he could not undo. It was consuming him at the speed of light. He was without reaction, he didn't know if he wanted to shout or to cry himself to sleep. As much as he tried to vent it out, he found himself trapped inside a vicious cycle, reaching the same point over and over again. It was like, whenever he wanted to speak about how he was feeling, there was this knot in his throat that prevented him from speaking. He was so lost in what to do. So, he was counting on the drinks to enlighten him a bit. In silence, he drank, hoping that the answer he sought would lay at the bottom of the glass and then the bottom of the bottle and then the next and the next. With each gulp, his adam's apple bobbed violently. Drinks like that were made to be sipped from small glasses, not like how the water was usually drunk.
However, James knew better not to stop him. It wasn't the right way but was his way of coping with the situation, it was a lot shallow in one go, and so, he wouldn't meddle with it. For now, he would just stand by, giving his brother his physical presence as a way of saying 'I'm here for you if you need'.
And so, the night dragged on. Few words exchanged between them. And the words spoken were slurred and senseless.
(...)
Sarah Anderson, Kitchen.
I really shouldn't be doing this. I thought as I snuck out of my room. Sam made me promise that I just stay put and wouldn't wander the castle alone but, with all of that energy being drained earlier, I had to feed my stomach. Eventually, I found a room that was very similar to a rudimentary kitchen. Everywhere I looked there were stacks of food; little did they had of human food. I found a couple of eggs, a bag of potatoes, meat sausages, carrots, one or two onions hung on the storage door, bread, and some herbs. Lunch or a snack wasn't particularly hard to make if the right ingredients were stocked, I just had to work with what I got. So, I decided to make an omelet. I grabbed a bowl and a fork, or the most similar objects that I found, clapped the eggs on the edge of the table, and poured its contents into the bowl; I did my very best to give the yolks that blended texture. I drew my shoulder back and forth with the help of my left hand to relieve tension due to being stirring the eggs. Next, I chopped the sausages and the onion, added them to the orange liquid, and gave it a small wiggle. I brushed some hair locks from my eyes with the back of my dominant hand. Finally, I lit the fire and grabbed the skillet, letting the omelet gain form. The omelet would have done better as a new sole for my work boots than a snack. It was somehow thick and rubbery, perhaps it was because I sucked as a 'chef' and, maybe, because I got somewhat distracted with my own thoughts and let it get burnt. I shrugged my shoulders mindlessly. "Oh well..." I sighed and opened the bread and threw the omelet in there. "Time to return to my room now..." I turned to leave the division, the porcelain plate with the bread and the omelet in my hands, and my stomach growling wildly for it.
"AAAAHHHHH--!" The boy screamed like a scary baby, a yell so piercing and intense that could break through the glass just like that, with a snap of fingers.
I jolted up in a startle, feeling the hair rising on the back of my neck, dropped the plate, and yelled as well."AAAAHHH!" I was not expecting to stomp upon anyone. I looked down at my feet disappointed; the plate shattered and the omelet was as good as gone. "Goddammit!" I cursed loudly.
"I-I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll make you another one, promise!" Immediately, the boy bent his head down with his hands joined together right above it, asking for forgiveness for his rashness.
"Don't worry," I said, still not acknowledging how familiar that voice sounded. "I wasn't that hungry." I rubbed my arm awkwardly. What a waste... I nagged at myself.
"D-Don't say that! If you came here it was because you-- wait, Sarah? Sarah! What are you doing in these parts of the castle?!"
My eyes widened in surprise upon catching my name. How did he know my name? Who was him? What did he mean by 'these parts of the castle'? I raised my gaze up in order to clear my doubts; my lips instantly lifted upward the minute I identified the person in front of me. "Matthew!" I yelled cheerfully.