Xavier enjoyed the weight of the amnesiac in his arms. It not only brought dismay to those who annoyed him, but brought him a feeling of amusement. Seeing a trigger happy young man, all docile. As if he was some pet forever tied down to him.
It is now time for afternoon exercise according to that damned itinerary. A chance to not only show his sexy figure but parade around the prize in arms. Reminding all that he is still the Lord of The Estate.
It's not as if he could harm him all defenseless. Yearning to kiss his lips, Xavier throws the man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Strutting around intentionally for all those awake to see.
"Whose in charge estate? Still me!" He proclaims quietly, flashing his sharp fangs. Feeling the slight urge to sink them into the boy's pale flesh, draining him dry as if he was one of the maids. Surely at this point it's warranted. After the multitude of assassination attempts on his life.
Waylon opens his almond colored eyes, immediately flickering around. If it weren't for his head violently shaking he may have remained passed out a little longer.
Besides his darting pupils, Waylon didn't make anymore unnecessary movements. Cloudy headed and devious, Waylon spotted the golden pair of scissors Xavier stupidly carried on him. Temporarily forgetting the events of day, as well as anything related to the String family. What a glorious gift that was. Now to steal back his mighty weapon!
Waylon's fingertips scraping the dead blades of grass, waited for a stick while Xavier flamboyantly walked not a care in the world. The wind blew around him, swirling around the leaves. Making them dance. The branches sway back and forth, back and forth, back and forth till SNAP. Right in front of Waylon's hands.
"I'm sorry Xander." Waylon lies in his head, before aggressively tripping him. Catching those golden pair of scissors mid air.
"You really are an amnesiac." Xavier reminds, grabbing hold of Waylon's small body.Pinning him down forcefully, just as he did the other day.
Long slender fingers wrapped around his, Xavier's other hand creeping his way up his shirt. The sensation of his cool finger pads tensing his chest.
"Xa-vi-er, you're taking advantage of me." Waylon cries pitifully, cocking his head back. Staring him dead in his ruby eyes.
"I'm going to kill you." He retorts, squeezing the boys wrists in his grip. Sinking his nails into a section of skin beneath his shirt.
"On my birthday?" Waylon asks for the first time In his life, thoroughly teasing Xavier per his own satisfaction. "Xa-vi-er."
"I like the sound of that." Xavier whispers, biting Waylon carefully, as to not draw blood. "Ill torture you slowly, tearing your part piece by piece so that you may live up until the last moment. Eating your bits for dessert so I may display the rest on my bedroom wall."
"Bet."
No trace of fear resides in Waylon's eyes. Only an annoying gaze of confidence.
Feeling the presence of the caretaker, Xavier went In to bite him. Delicately brushing Waylon's lips against his , before nibbling on his left earlobe.
"Harder." Waylon taunts, menacingly. Like a lion watching his prey.
Blushing slightly, Xavier couldn't help but remove his hand from Waylon's stomach and shove it in front of his murderous mouth. Pressing hard against it to ensure silence.
Even with the pressure against his lips, he didn't panic. Or even have that much of a reaction. All the aware of the caretaker watching his every move. To stay on schedule. "Does this count as exercise?" He asks himself quickly before returning his full attention back to the silver haired man. Waiting to see where he'll go. How much longer till he stops.
When nothing more happened, Waylon's eyes grew mischievous. Several moments passed before Xavier freed the young man. Unaware that he had stolen back the pair of scissors. Yet all the aware Waylon had all the audacity to strike at him again. Hierarchy apparently meant nothing.
But Waylon didn't strike again. His adrenaline faded. Leaving only a shell of the being he'd been only moments ago. No longer smiling. Hardly even breathing. With eyes devoid of any light.
Johnathan Riggs fetched him, keeping the man on schedule. Next thing they knew, both had found themselves back in the West Wing textbooks scattered In front of them.
"I'm glad the public school system didn't fail you." The caretaker comments as he grades Waylon's work.
Even if it had failed him. It wouldn't have made any difference. His fate here would be all the same. Waylon didn't voice his complaints out loud. Diligently writing words as if his life depended on it. Every character a sacrifice to this god-forsaken place. Every character screaming in desperation.
Amongst the silent room, Waylon wrote. Pain traveled up his tendons. Thirst in need of quenching. Waylon still wrote. Screams of the dead echo around his eardrums. The pen never stopped. Every stroke elegant and straight.
Dear Chesslynn
I said I wouldn't contact you. But I can't. I miss you so. Tell me, what makes us different from other people? Am I forgetting something important about our family? Just know I love you.
From Waylon Noel
Holding the note in his hands, Waylon turned his head back towards the paintings where another curtain fell. Revealing the portrait of girl in green.
"That girl is a maid." Waylon comments, not at all perplexed.
This time Waylon knew the face on the wall. It was the face he met earlier that day. Linsey of Asha. So she wasn't a maid after all. Not to him at least. She must serve the String family. Another set of watchful eyes on his condemned soul.
"I hope you don't die, Linsey of Asha." He says aloud, meeting eyes with the crinkly old caretaker.
The caretaker looks up in surprise, neither confirming nor denying anything. Somewhat curious how Waylon recognized that silly little thing. More watching and explaining that needs to be done on his end.