Infuriating!
Beside himself with rage the young Mekhet paced the hallway with short, brisk steps. The new heels on his shoes clacked on the marble floors as he did so, echoing through the silent gallery with occasional unintentional bursts of preternatural speed. With his hands behind him one fist smacked rhythmically against an open palm. In his anger he lashed out and only just stopped himself from destroying a vase on a nearby pedestal.
His patron was an idiot. He had great personal power, obviously, but he was blind to the assets their relationship could provide. His was the club, and a heavy club, thus the scalpel that the Shadow wielded so expertly went unappreciated.
His trained ears, sharper than any human’s, heard the patron’s footsteps much earlier than the elder Invictus would’ve preferred but it couldn’t be helped. He could not apologize for what he was, nor would he. It was unacceptable to continue this way, to be treated so -
“Stare fermi,” the patron said, and the supernatural power of the oath that bound them brought the Mekhet’s feet to a stop. “Inginocchiati,” he said, and the same power brought the younger Invictus to his knees.
“Sembra che ancora una volta dobbiamo discutere questioni di rispetto e di protocollo...” the elder began, but the younger tuned him out. This elder was deserving of respect; his many years and experiences had earned him that. But the man was still a fool. To be so self-righteous, so self-aggrandizing, these were mere minor character flaws. But to treat a fellow Unconquered as lesser, regardless of difference in age or standing, was...unseemly at best.
Vaguely listening to the old fool’s babble, he who would one day become Lord Quinn of House Quinn swore that when he was the ancient things would be different.
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