|Hermes (magicitself) wrote in childofeden_rp,|
@ 2014-06-15 11:32:00
|Entry tags:||character: carrick, character: hermes maiason, location: carrick estate|
Who: Hermes and Carrick
Where: Carrick's Estate
When: Week 16 - Saturday, Midnight.
Why: Epistolary digestion
Warnings: mentions of previous non-con, possibly other things. will be updated.
Things were changed. In a way, they were easier, but at the same time, Hermes wasn't quite sure how to find his footing. He'd been to the doctor, though and had regained some measure of his normal demeanor back. The official test results weren't in yet, but based on the young witch's estimation, the only thing that could possibly cause such an immediate, drastic change was either a spell or prolonged exposure to powerful magic. So either his former life was very obviously coming back to haunt him or he'd been right to blame the angel. It was probably the latter, honestly. Those witches would be way more interested in ending him than they would be in bothering to screw with him.
Either way, his appointment with the salon he'd decided on was the next week so perhaps soon he'd be less walking ghost and more what he should be. The question really was if the upkeep was worth it or if he should just accept himself as he was now. Perhaps the angel might be willing to fix what was done to him, but Hermes wasn't willing to go seeking him out just yet. He dropped his bill of health off on Carrick's desk while the vampire was still sleeping (including the note that he was exceedingly healthy in all respects save for the mystery of his hair,) and wandered off to do other things the rest of the day.
He'd ridden his horse for a while, now that he was apparently allowed to acknowledge that it was his and they could dispense with the formality that unless Carrick kept things to himself it was impossible to surprise the fae. Staying on the grounds was easy enough, particularly with Anubis giving him dirty looks every so often like he was just daring him to put one toe out of line without permission so he could tear him apart for the sport of it.
He'd read some, curled up in the sunny spot in the library with Elsa. He'd gone through his own exercises in a way he hadn't permitted himself during his week long isolation, making sure he was still limber and strong, as flexible as Carrick could want in a slave boy who could bend himself nearly in half when he bought him.
He didn't hear Carrick approach when he did. He was too focused on keeping his balance on the pads of one hand as he kept his eyes closed and stayed in a perfectly balanced handstand, one leg stretched out to the side to compensate for his positioning. He'd been holding it for a good ten minutes before he let out a slow breath and lowered his other arm at the same time he raised his leg, staying up on fingertips though on both hands now as he arched his back, pointed his toes, stayed there for a beat and then lowered himself gracefully into a backbend before finally straightening.