Chapter Eight: Hangnail

The clack of his heels was the march of death. When prisoners heard it they shrunk back into the shadows, as caged creatures shying from movement. If he had any mind to pay attention to the mannerisms of these snivelling creatures, he may have found them amusing, but gods was he hungry. So blinded by hunger was he that his gait became a prowl, a true predator with eyes that had hardened like liquid rock into jagged slits, cutting through the gloom with near disarming intensity. Indeed, if he were to look upon one of these prisoners at personal level they may picture themselves in an entirely different setting. A look from him could turn even the darkest cave into red velvet. But, it was not in his nature to look in such a way, not until the very moment before he drained away a life. Instead his eyes darted about like hummingbirds going from flower to flower, but were disappointed to find the flowers withered and old and lacking in sustenance.

With a swirl of fluttering cloak and a flick of the raven feather that dangled from one ear, Teivel turned back to face his two primary underlings. He halted so suddenly, they very nearly walked headlong into him. They both breathed a silent sigh of relief that they had the reflexes to avoid such an occurrence.

Haemon's lips twitched up into a nervous smile. "Is there anything wrong, my lord?"

"Yes, there is," he drawled, leaning against the bars of the nearest cell, scrutinizing his nails and, by proxy, thoroughly unnerving its inhabitant, "All those I have passed are far too old. That or they're half-dead. Or both."

Tievel began to gnaw on his index finger, working his teeth around the nail's perimeter while keeping his eyes locked upon Haemon and Ambrosine. He worked his gaze back and forth between the two for a moment of uncomfortable silence. Both his followers looked stricken, as their minds worked to supply their lord with the words he wanted to hear, taking the sudden hush as a prompt for them to start talking. Their minds were running blank.

Their lord withdrew his lips from his finger with a squeaky plop. Ambrosine blanched. Haemon's smile quivered. Tievel raised an eyebrow at the two and waggled his finger before them, to answer an inane question that had not even been posed to him in the first place. "Hangnail," he told them, offhand.

"Err—"

"Do we not have any children in stock?" He lapped his tongue over the now bleeding imperfection around his nail, waiting expectantly. The intensity of his lord's keen gaze, as he realised he had no answer to give, caused Haemon to recoil. He blinked, inundated, unexpectedly so. He turned to Ambrosine, jerking his head meaningfully towards their master.

She had not been expecting that. Ordinarily, Haemon was the one running his mouth of in front of the lord, anything he could do to increase his standing. It would be very hard to cut across the smart mouthed Haemon, so she normally remained quiet and she came to realise she might prefer it that way too. Ambrosine instead fought tooth and nail to be noticed in other ways (lest she be cast of for her incompetence), proving herself through her magical and athletic merit, catching more mages, claiming her stakes in the kidnappings when she could. Ambrosine had well defined her position as the muscle in this operation. Haemon could remain the supposed brains if that's what kept him off her back.

Ambrosine silently cursed Haemon's sudden decision to become a bumbling mute and fumbled to respond quickly, "Why of course, my lord. There are a few young mages... But they have been here for a rather long time. It's likely that most of their magical energy has already been absorbed. I'm not sure if a child would be enough to satisfy you, my lord."

"How many are there?"

"There are three, my lord."

"Very well then, I'll take the lot. Make sure you capture more afterwards. I do like to treat myself to a delicacy occasionally," he said grinning and licking his lips hungrily, "Bring them to the east wing; I'll take my dinner in the study."

His two followers bowed their respects. "Yes, my lord."

A while later, Haemon and Ambrosine passed Lucy in her cell. They were fast, but lurching, and passed her in a mere moment. Haemon was first, clipped dirty blonde hair and wiry frame disappearing out of her periphery, before Lucy could even register him there. Next was Ambrosine, slinking behind him, slumped pasty shoulders supporting a sheet of sleek red curls, her pink ribbon knotted haphazardly around the crown of her head. The woman's eyes were flighty, dilated – Did she just look at Natsu?

In a blur of sharp green, Ambrosine's eyes had flicked back, head pivoting just so, gaze hovering where Lucy knew Natsu's cell to be. It was a double-take. She had looked directly at Natsu.

Ambrosine was gone now and Lucy was second-guessing herself. Why would she look at Natsu? Why Natsu, over every other prisoner? It was coincidence. A random occurrence. A trick of the light. Delirium. Delusion. Mirage.

But Ambrosine's eyes had been so full of…something.

"Where are they going in such a hurry?" Lucy wondered aloud, contrary to the questions her mind really wanted to ask.

"I might have an idea," Natsu said.

"What?"

Natsu didn't reply.

Edited 03.02.17