Rotting_Ink
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The Aide- Little Stupid Spies
🕑 Added 2025-05-31 17:31:15 +0000 UTCThe soft thud of a closed door meant that they could finally relax their shoulders with a barely-audible sigh. Their broad shoulders pressing against the wooden frame, they took just a second. Just one. They could steal that long without everything going wrong immediately. Breath in. Breath out.
Their shoulders stiffened once more and they pushed themself off the door, walking down the hidden passage, all the way down to the kitchens. Only one servant passed them, and he ducked his head deeply when they did, afraid to even make eye contact. They couldn’t help but smile at that.
Their charge had shared their loneliness with them before. About how they had no friends outside of a little servant in their youth. The little Royal had looked up at them, begging for a connection. The Aide had just given them a gentle pat on the hand and it placated the little Crown into a smile, thinking they understood. Well.
They didn’t.They could never. They disliked most of their companions throughout their life, finding them lacking in some way or another, except for a few. Notably… General Pavel Volchek. Few men step down in life, and fewer do it for a reason that wasn’t completely idiotic. Pavel saved them from the noose, and once again from a worse fate, by… Entertaining a child. They were older than one, of course. In fact, by their own estimations, there could only be about… 5 years between them. But it was a child. With soft eyes and softer hands and no better than an aimless lamb, lost in the field and blind to the vultures lurking, having already spotted the wolf making its way over.
The Aide did not like their peers. They did not like the people they slept with. They did not like the weak little bugs who lived with one foot in the grave and one encased in a cuff to their master. And their inherent dislike of most, excluding a strong man and a blameless lamb who didn’t know better, made them a better hunter.
Grubby hands always desire food and coin. Grabby ones wanted flesh and dominance. And other hands… Well. Weren’t important. Not when those pathetic eyes, empty like those of a fowl, turned to them the moment they stepped into coop. They clucked like chickens too. Among themselves and then to the Aide. Beaks open. Waiting for their feed.
Coins were cheap. Just little round pieces of silver and cold. Blood had been spilled over these. Exchanged for flesh and food and anything that could take the edge off. And while they themself had a fondness for meaningless dalliances, the others were of a keen disinterest for them. And so they let the chickens peck the pieces of metal out of their palms, before trotting off.
One good thing about keeping chickens. Along with the rest of the noise, the farmers stopped noticing their clucking. Little black beady eyes. Staring. Seeing. It would help for them to raise the screeching alarm when wolves got too close to the lost lamb. And for now…
Well. One of the new hands for the kitchen had a stern look in his eyes. Reminded them of an uptight, sharp, desperate to be good General. They could use a stress relief before they had to go back up when their charge awoke.
