|Hermes (magicitself) wrote in childofeden_rp,|
@ 2014-06-10 13:45:00
|Entry tags:||character: carrick, character: hermes maiason, location: carrick estate|
Who: Hermes and Carrick
Where: Carrick's Estate
When: Week 16 - Wednesday Late Evening
Why: Hermes thinks he has it comin'. Turns out the only thing he has coming is some sort of sudden loving and caring version of his Master. It's all very surreal, but lovely.
Warnings: Abuse survivor, mentions of previous serious underage activity, depression, schmoop.
A week. Hermes had spent a week in the land of the cold shoulder, his existence completely unacknowledged by his Master. He was pretty sure that was just phase 1 of his punishment and that as soon as Carrick decided he'd let things fester long enough to get good and cold in his anger, he'd be in for the beating of his life. It really wasn't so bad aside from the crippling anxiety of when the other shoe was going to drop. He had books to read, and practicing that was always good. He knew better than to deliver his 'homework' to his Master when he was clearly supposed to be invisible, but he'd kept doing it and left it in a neat little pile on the dresser in his room. Carrick was going to thrash him regardless, but he could do his best to try to keep being good while he was Figuratively Dead.
When he'd woken up that morning to his head completely white, it only added to the certainty that he wasn't going to make it through this incident. Yeah, sure it'd been getting lighter over the past week, but Hermes had just attributed that to lounging in the sunny spots. Now it'd gone from 'maybe a little too much lemon juice in someone's hair' to 'might as well put in to replace the gorgeous vampire who did the cable news.'
Fucked. He was so fucked.
His frantic messages with Alcuin hadn't really helped much. Whatever delivery was supposed to come was either late or had been intercepted and delivered to his Master instead. He'd locked himself in his bath, completely skipped every single meal he should have eaten while he tried to figure out something, anything to do that would Fix It before Carrick decided he existed again.
Dead. He was dead. Carrick was going to take one look at him and be reminded (again) of his mortality and just say 'fuck it' and kill him. He sat on the closed toilet with his head in his hands, fingers knotted in white (though still perfectly healthy) hair while he went for the temporarily quieter version of his freak out. At least there were no other fae in Carrick's service. They'd probably feel him radiating anxiety all the way out in the woods.