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 Posted: Sun Jun 28, 2009 6:19 pm
 [The meeting RP between Yam-Yam and Amir. Read at your own risk, and make sure you're fully awake or else you'll probably fall asleep.]
"You need to read something other than that," a sullen maid remarked one evening, hands crossed politely in front of her skirt.
"Oh?"
"Yes. That is my opinion, in any case. Dinner is ready."
And that had been it. An off-hand comment about his poor choice in reading material, and he'd been off to the library the next day. They must have been a sight, he and his driver; him sitting arms-crossed-tightly in the back of the old-fashioned vehicle, his driver prim and tight-lipped in the front, hat pulled low over his eyes as he turned onto the proper street.
The car hummed to a slow stop, and the driver stepped out, opening the door in the back with a solemn face.
"We are here, sir," he said in a monotonous tone, although it was not devoid of the rich, European accent he secretly wished he had, returning to the driver's seat when he was dismissed.
The man stood in front of the library, his breath hitched in his chest as he took it all in. He had never been to a "public library" before, and he could only begin to surmise what sort of books and people were within its welcoming walls. Gripping his cane to his side, the middle-aged man pushed open the door and headed in.
What greeted him wasn't quite as exotic as he'd expected. Old shelves were set up in rows about the room, books of every size and color crammed into them. An elderly, plump woman - who he assumed was the librarian - looked up as he entered, and he noted with a bit of delight the way the little bell chimed, warning the building that he was there. She looked like she was about to smile, but once she got a good look at him, it quickly dropped to an almost baffled, "Hello."
Anyone who caught the fleeting expression on her face would know what she had been thinking; he looked like a complete and utter scrub. Although he had showered that day, his hair was still unkempt, and he hadn't shaved, so a five o' clock shadow clung to his face. He looked almost perfectly to be the mad scientist type, bags under tired eyes and everything, although he was dressed a bit too well. Nevertheless, he looked like a scrub. The suit couldn't cover that.
"Hello," he returned cheerily, scratching his chin. He seemed blissfully unaware of the look that had crossed the librarian's face, and went on his way, merrily dragging the tips of his fingers along the bindings of the books. He was currently in the childrens' section, and none of the colorful, plastic books appealed to him. He went on to the "Young Adult" section.
Here, the shelves were lined with mystery and adventure novels. Were these the type of books his maid had meant? Obviously he wasn't to go near the adult section. He was forbidden, he decided, already having banished himself from the comforting allure of "mature reading". Those had been getting boring, anyway.
Pulling out a random book, he began thumbing through it boredly, never having found the appeal of the adventurer's story. The pages were worn and the ink a bit light, and the edges were soft from years of either love or neglect. Curious, he closed it and examined the cover.
The Prince of the Sandseas. Clicking his jaw, he turned from the shelf, book still in hand, and presented it to the woman at the desk. He was feeling very uncomfortable in the silent room, and decided he would take the first book that seemed to be of the slightest interest home with him, if only to get out of there as soon as possible. Lifting a brow, the woman flipped the book to the inside of its back cover and promptly stamped it.
"This is your first time here, I'm guessing," she spoke, causing him to jump. He laughed nervously, nodding and fingering the end of his cane. "Well, let's get you checked in as a member," the woman concluded, glancing around her desk for a card.
A member? He gripped his cane more tightly to his side, feeling that he was being more of a nuisance than anything to this woman. Finding the stack of bound cards, she pulled one out and slid it across the desk, toward him. A pen shortly followed.
"Write your name, address, and phone number, and we'll get you squared away."
Taking the pen, he jotted down his information, a rush of excitement washing over him in the process. It almost felt forbidden, the way he was giving out his information. As she took the card to type in what he'd written, an eyebrow shot up.
She looked up at him incredulously. ".... that's your name?"
A polite - and strained - grin appeared on his face, although it looked painful. "You may call me Doctor Yam-Yam for shor --"
"Alright, thank you. Enjoy your new book," she drawled, clearly not wanting to put up with this strange man a moment longer. Soon he was out and hopping lightly down the stairs, book under one arm and cane under the other. His driver was already by the door, having been waiting once he saw his master approach the desk, and opened the door for him.
"Find something that arouses the interest, sir?" he asked plainly, settling back into his seat. Yam-Yam, holding the book to his chest, nodded fervently.
"Yes, it should be good. The reviews on the back said so."
------------------
Later that night, after having worked tirelessly all day, Yam-Yam found himself in his usual place of relaxation. His body had already formed an impression in the big, soft chair, but still it was the most comfortable place in the house, and it was now that he had sunken into it. Sighing, he tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. His body told him to sleep, but his mind was still buzzing and alive with the day's experiments. Who knew how long it would be until his body won out; hours, probably, knowing him. His days were days, as were his nights. Sleep was a rare treat.
Running his palm over his eye, he forgot about the book he had checked out that morning, rising to grab one of his many medical novels. For the remainder of the night he sat, reading it through heavy eyes.
Without realizing it, he'd drifted off to sleep.
------------------
It hadn't been the sunlight that had roused him from his sleep, or the birds chirping noisily outside the window. The back of the chair was high enough to block both out, to some degree, and so he woke unusually early with a startled jump. Had he heard a sound? He couldn't remember. Something had yanked him from his sleep, and now, as he searched the room from his chair, he couldn't decide what.
The heavy book now lay on the floor, bent at an awkward angle. It had caused a loud enough 'thump' to bring his chauffeur out of his room and to the door, knocking loudly.
"Sir?" he called, standing obediently behind the door. "I heard a noise. Are you alright?"
His housekeepers were all-too aware of their master's habits and quirks. They were also used to hearing strange noises throughout the day, and thus generally thought nothing of it. However, the doctor almost never woke up so early. With a practiced tone, he repeated the question.
"Are you alright?"
He didn't flinch when the door opened, nor when he was met with a disheveled, tired Yam-Yam. He didn't even bat an eye when, upon closer inspection, he saw a young boy clinging tightly to his master's leg.
Yam-Yam smiled sheepishly, patting the boy's head lightly, carefully, and, he noticed, hesitantly. The good doctor didn't know anything of dealing with children, having only taken in adults and teenagers. Now, he looked as confused as his driver should have, although the latter rarely showed emotion. Instead, he offered the cup of tea he had poured for himself.
"Oh, no thank you," Yam-Yam began, raising his free hand to wave it away. "Aimery, did you bring this child into my home?" He gestured to the boy at his side.
Stoic, he shook his head, turning it to peer at the boy with grey eyes. "I did not."
It wasn't every day a child appeared in his household; in fact, it had only happened once before, and Aimery had taken the girl to the police station and waited with her until her parents were located and brought. That girl had looked perfectly normal for the day and setting, however. The boy looked like he came straight from Arabia.
That was Aimery's opinion, in any case. Delicately sipping the tea, he followed Yam-Yam as he led the boy down the stairs and into the kitchen, and he watched as the doctor helped the boy onto a chair. Seemingly content with the picture he had painted, Yam-Yam then proceeded to sit across from the boy, lacing his fingers under his chin.
For a while, neither spoke. The boy stared at a crack in the ground, Yam-Yam stared at the boy, and the chauffeur went about his own business, as he had been that morning.
"Who are you?"
Silence.
"... do you know where your parents are?"
More silence. His eyes flicked up toward Yam-Yam's, cold and brooding.
He tried again. "How did you come to be in my home?"
After several attempts at that, he could tell they weren't going to get anywhere as long as the boy couldn't be persuaded to talk. Since direct questions weren't working, he tried a different approach.
"Chef! Please bring this child something to eat," he said loudly, cheek in palm. "He must be starving. That must be why he won't talk." Of course. His logic was flawless. Silently and swiftly, a piece of Italian Creme Cake was set upon the table in front of the boy, who only eyed it boredly.
"There. Go on, eat it up. It's not poisoned, I assure you." He tried to smile, but he had the feeling that wasn't helping his case, judging by the almost offended look the child gave him. Without a word, the boy pushed the plate away.
Defeat.
This was going to take a while.
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Posted: Tue Jun 30, 2009 6:37 am
• Day Three: Dear diary journal:
After a great deal of gentle persuasion, I was unsuccessful in coaxing the boy to speak to me. He instead sulked in his room - kindly assigned to him by my lovely maid, Anita - continuing to do so throughout the remainder of the morning. I'll admit, I'm quite confused as to where this child came from.
I was reminded of something, however. It's an idle and absurd thought, to say the least, but that book I bought; The Prince of the Sandseas, I'm looking at it now. Upon closer inspection, the boy certainly seems the type to be a "prince" of seas made of sand, delightful metaphor and all. I am not a unfamiliar with the strange and "impossible", of course, but this seems to be much more than a mere coincidence. I check out the book, the next morning, a boy has appeared in my living quarters who seems far too exotic and - dare I say it - confused as hell, to have come from the streets. Surely someone would have noticed a small Arabian child making his way through my gates - through my locked, seventeen-and-one-quarter-foot gates - and into my home. Surely one of my many housekeepers would have heard the door open and would have noticed him.
This is all a good deal to take in, and my head is quite sore from having woken up early. I will have to study this child further, and perhaps pick up that book in the meantime.
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Posted: Fri Jul 10, 2009 2:37 pm
• Day Thirteen: Dear journal:
He has been with me for a short while now, and has finally spoken to me. The funny thing is, he doesn't speak any English at all! Which I suppose I should have expected, having come from the "desert", apparently. He seemed very confused, whatever he was saying, and we have yet to understand each other.
I finally picked up the book I checked out from the library, The Prince of the Sandseas. Upon reading it, the man in the story, although much older in comparison, nonetheless bore a striking resemblance to this child. The man's name was Amir.
Amir... could this be the boy's name?
I'll have to study the book a bit more before I test him. And I will also have to see to teaching this boy to speak English, for I certainly do not have the time, nor the patience, to learn Arabic.
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Posted: Wed Jul 15, 2009 6:23 am
• Day Eighteen: Dear journal:
Amir. Amir Amir Amir. Yes, this is his name. At least, it is now, if it wasn't before.
I began reading the book. The Prince of the Sandseas. Who knew it would be such a compelling read! The story of a young prince, the intricacies of the royal court, betrayal, loss... so much, contained in a child's novel. Granted, it is a rather thick book for children, but I feel it would serve to hold both a child's attention and an adult's. But I digress.
The prince in the story's name is Amir. His description seemed to match this boy's perfectly, if not for the age difference. The unusual coloring of his hair, his bright eyes; why, even the clothing seems to match the setting, although it (of course) differs from the young man's.
I haven't gotten far into it, due to my busy work schedule, but so far the story... it sounds sad.
And Amir... his eyes worry me. I hope he will be able to smile soon.
He has become very attached to my servants, moreso than me. Particularly Aimery, which I suspect is because he is not the smothering type, like Anita, nor is he as sullen as some of my other housekeepers. It's ironic and funny. He strikes me as the least fatherly of all of my housekeepers, but we shall see. The boy follows him everywhere, but sometimes I find him watching me in my lab. Never says a word.
....
I'll bet he talks to Aimery. Fine! I will have Aimery teach him to speak English.
... I am not pouting.
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Posted: Fri Jul 17, 2009 1:32 am
• Day Twenty: Amir has finally begun to speak to me more openly, although I think he is afraid to approach me while I am working. I must admit, it is very difficult to balance watching a child and trying to get things done in the lab, but I have found a new friend in a lovely woman named 'Nan', and she has resolved to become a better parent. I should follow her example, especially since I lack the... natural grace some have, particularly in that department.
I have been working less and less. It's all in an effort to make more time for Amir, who, upon starting to come out of his shell a bit, has proven to be quite a handful. As is to be expected of a child, he enjoys exploring and getting himself into all sorts of trouble. My housekeepers are being very good at keeping him in their sights when I cannot, but I know I need to be there for him, as well. If I shove him off onto the others, he won't begin to see me as a parent.
... at least, that is how I think it goes. I'm not sure. I'll need to go buy a book on the subject.
Oh, and he loves to eat ham sandwiches.
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Posted: Wed Jul 22, 2009 9:03 pm
 [A little bonding RP between Amir and Aimery, to establish their relationship.]
"I guess," Yam-Yam waved a hand awkwardly, unsure of how kids generally got their hair cut. "Just don't give him a bob. God knows kids hate bobs."
Aimery, tight-lipped as always, nodded, accepting his mission. It would be simple, right?
It couldn't have been more difficult.
"ومما يؤلم! ومما يؤلم! " He sat, resolute, in his chair, hands gripping the edges while his legs were drawn up tightly, crying in the only language he knew fluidly. "ومما يؤلم!"
"Hush," Aimery poised the scissors above his head, his normally perfect brow bent in absolute concentration. He had no idea what the boy said, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the age-old defense mechanism children used when someone approached their head with scissors. "I haven't even begun yet. I have yet to do anything more than touch your hair with my fingers." When this failed to placate the boy, he added, "If you do not stop yelling, I might slip and cut off too much hair."
Towel drawn tightly around his shoulders and clipped securely at his neck, Amir felt very much naked without his headband and scarf. His hair - his pride and joy, although the world, let alone Aimery, would probably never understand - was on the verge of being violated by a pair of steel death knives. He did not approve.
"Do not cut my hair!" he cried in moderately decent English, flinching away when he saw the scissors coming. His eyes, very wide, were trained on his assailant and the scissors he bore, a stark contrast to Aimery's calm, half-mooned ones. When Aimery drew back, he was relieved. When he approached, he grew frightened. Aimery frowned.
While it was true that he apparently possessed the most maternal instincts among the housekeepers (which was strange enough, all things considered), Aimery would never understand why the tasks of child-rearing seemed to always fall on him. The doctor rarely had enough time to truly watch his child, and they all understood that, as a busy man, he couldn't simply abandon his work altogether. Dr. Yam-Yam made time when he could.
Regardless, Aimery sometimes missed the quiet simplicity of his old job alone. Now he was designated chauffeur, official tea-brewer, part-time housekeeper, and full-time babysitter. Despite his misgivings, he would never outright complain. After all, a job was a job.
Still, this seemed to be overstepping the boundaries a bit.
Lost in thought, it took him a few moments to realize Amir had managed to wriggle himself and the chair about a foot away from him, and was quickly gaining distance as he hopped along. Disapproval once again bending his brow, he closed the distance between them and gripped a hand on the back of the chair.
"Amir," his tone held no nonsense, the boy noted, and winced. "Sit still. You are making it difficult to do my job." His effort was rewarded with a sour look.
Finally, his chest rose in a surprisingly heavy sigh.
"Why don't you want your hair trimmed?" he asked, hand on hip. "It won't get in the way if you cut it short. Especially that braid --"
"Not my braid!" His hand shot to the lone braid at the side of his head, gripping it gently but protectively. "If you cut my braid, I will die."
His brow lifted incredulously. "I doubt that."
"It is true." A mischievous look. Recalling his English lessons, he went on confidently. "You do not know, Aimery. You have never had a braid. It is, ahh," he searched for an excuse, trying to recall what he had heard from Yam-Yam, "connected to my heart! It is a vein." He gestured to one of the veins in his wrist. "ومن على هذا المنوال."
His disapproving frown became wider, lines appearing where they promised to one day forever reside. "That is disgusting, Amir, and impossible. Hair cannot contain 'veins'. Veins are in your body, and simply cutting a vein won't necessarily kill you unless it is a large one." Taking his babbling toward his wrists as Amir's attempt to compare the two, he added, "For example, the veins in your arms --"
"Aimery!" Arms full with a basket of laundry, Marie passed by, voice stern. "Stop telling Amir how he can kill himself."
Horrified, Amir's eyes grew wide as he stared up at Aimery. Unable to help himself, his lip curled with a suppressed chuckle, which he quickly stifled. Adopting his best 'stern' look, Aimery raised the scissors yet again, his hand remaining on the back of the chair. "Please, Amir. Please be mature about this. It is only a hair cut."
A sly smile took place of his gaping mouth. "Okay, you may cut one hair. But do not touch my braid!"
Funny, he didn't recall the child calling all the shots. Amazingly, his patience had yet to run out, and he met Amir's schemes with the cold precision of a surgeon. "You know what I meant. I intend to cut more than simply one hair. We could have been done a while ago if you had only cooperated."
Amir's face twisted into a look of confusion. "Coo - ohp - er - ate - ed? I do not know that word. فأنت confusing مني!"
He understood one of those words. Sighing and shaking his head, he pulled over a chair and sat in it, next to Amir. The scissors were left on the counter, his arms in his lap. Steely-grey eyes met cyan ones in a battle of wills, and a quest for understanding.
"Amir, I am sorry if my English confuses you. Cooperate, it means to work together. Will you say it?"
Amir frowned, mouthed the word, then spoke it. "Coo... coo - oh - perate." Close enough.
"I know you do not want your hair cut, but if you do not at least let me trim the ends, it will grow to cover your eyes and will obstruct --" he rethought his phrasing, "-- make it hard to see. Do you understand?"
Nodding slowly, Amir stared down at his feet. "Then why do you fight it?" His mouth turned down into a frown.
"وليس من الإنصاف. It is not fair." He looked up, eyes sulky. "It is my hair. Why can I not have it long? I do not care if it is in the way. It is how I like it."
Gods, he looked to be on the verge of tears. Tipping his head back, the suddenly-looking-older-than-he-was man closed his eyes and sighed. How could he have been assigned to watch after this child? He knew nothing of children, and yet Amir seemed to trust him more than anyone else. It was incredibly difficult to understand children sometimes, he thought, even though he had been one once. Somewhere in that evening, what had started as a simple hair cut had grown into an honest quest for understanding. It really was quite troublesome.
A hand sought Amir's shoulder, hovered over it for a moment, then gently cupped it, for it was much smaller than his hand. Amir turned his head to stare with pleading eyes.
"Amir," he spoke gently, keeping his tone as even and practiced as he was accustomed to. "I promise to only cut a little bit. Do you know that word? Promise."
"Promise," he repeated, legs swinging. "I understand." Defeat.
Aimery smiled; it was faint, and tight-lipped as always, for he did not practice, but it was there. "I promise. I will only cut a little bit so it will not be any shorter than when we first met. Alright?"
Shoulders relaxing, Amir's head drooped, and he nodded. "But you will not cut my braid," he worried, glancing up at the pair of scissors now back in Aimery's hand.
"Yes, yes. I will not cut your braid," as his scissors rose to take the first snip, "I promise."
Notes: Here are the translations to the Arabic Amir speaks in the passage, in order of where they appear in the story. I had to use a translator, so it was a pain in the butt.ومما يؤلم! "It hurts!" ومن على هذا المنوال. "It is in this way." فأنت confusing مني! "You are confusing me!" وليس من الإنصاف. "It is not fair."
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Posted: Thu Jul 23, 2009 4:32 pm
• Day Twenty-Six: Dearest diary, I hope you'll allow me a moment to wallow a bit in self-pity.
Yesterday, I found some time to sit for a lunch date with Amir and Aimery. I was very delighted to finally have some sit-down time with my family, and the food was very good. Even better, Amir seemed to be in the best of spirits, gushing about his "new friends" and a boy named "Aleister" having drawn a picture of him, which had never happened before. He seemed very excited about this, haha, because I couldn't understand half of what he said, what with the English, the Arabic...
Aimery appeared to be in exceptionally good spirits, as well.
The two of them together... they really do look like a... family, don't they? Much more than Amir and I. Why, Aimery is always around him, cares for him when I cannot... It really makes a man feel inadequate. I can't simply abandon my job, I know, and I've been told that, were I to stop doing my experiments so much, I would have much more time.
It's pretty difficult! Changing my life around completely, so suddenly. It took me completely off guard, and I still haven't recovered from the after-shock. How do parents do it? I suppose, with normal conception, they are generally expecting it, and are able to "prepare" themselves the best they can. Goodness, they have nine months to get ready, and I had... no time at all!
... can I do this?
If only I had the maternal instincts of a woman, o-or, of Aimery... I don't want to let Amir down. I really don't. He has already become a part of my life, and I don't want to simply shove him off onto another, either.
Diary... what am I to do? Sigh.
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Posted: Wed Aug 05, 2009 12:40 am
• Day Thirty-Nine: Amir has been coming along remarkably well on his English lessons. He still stumbles here and there, and long words tend to escape him, but overall, he is doing much, much better than I would have expected of any child. There seems to be an intellect untapped somewhere in that head of his - god knows I'll never find it under all of that hair, but then again, who am I to talk?
Amir has been begging me to take him to a "movie" - one of those giant screens that shows pictures, much like a film. I'll admit, while I am hesitant to venture into a movie theatre, I am very much pleased to know that he would go to me, and not someone else, to ask such a request. I have been making a great effort to balance my time more wisely, if only to spend more of it with the permanent addition to my household.
It occurred to me that many of the people who found these children - yes, I am not the only one, and this is quite shocking in itself - have made attempts to find their parents. I suppose I am simply far too used to taking in, excuse me for lack of a better word, strays, without a second thought, that I didn't even bother to try that. It simply didn't seem logical, either, considering his looks, his language... the only place he could have come from would have to be some sort of... underground child slavery ring or something. And god knows I wouldn't return anyone to that.
A few days ago, Amir asked me where he came from.
I didn't know what to say. He said he had heard things from a new friend of his - a boy named Echo. Things that made him realize that he, and Dasdeva, were not the only ones in their predicament. This was news to me as well.
I can only assume... no, begin to think of assuming that he must have... there is no other way. I checked the book out (which I will not be returning, begging the librarian's forgiveness), the next morning, a child who greatly resembles a central character from the book appears in my study... It's all too... surreal, to not be real.
Fact... fiction.... science... religion... magic? I have no idea of anything anymore. I haven't done any tests on the boy, as that would be purely unethical, and it really isn't my area of study. I am a doctor, not a scientist.
Ahh... my head is swimming.
Amir... who are you?
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Posted: Tue Aug 11, 2009 7:20 pm
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Posted: Sat Aug 29, 2009 5:51 pm
• Day Sixty-Three: The days have been very quiet for the past few weeks. Amir has steadily made a few friends, much to my relief, and has become a very active boy. The initial shyness he held has apparently faded quite a bit, something I'll account to his rapid gaining of confidence. Aimery has even confided in me that Amir wishes to see me more, although he has yet to tell me that himself. Still, it made me happy.
I took Amir to a toystore in town. Children like that, or so I've heard, and we don't exactly have a lot in the way of childrens' things in my home. So when we went out, I told him to pick out a few things to play with around the house. What did he get... oh, a stuffed rabbit, an elephant, and a box of rubber duckies for the bath. Everyone seemed pretty excited about the duckies, so I doubt Amir will be able to keep them to himself for long. Ahh, I really do have a house full of children, don't I? I wonder if that's healthy, considering my state of mind...
You know, I... I sometimes wonder if it is alright for me to be letting others into my life. Outsiders, if you will. I really can't afford to trust anyone, not with the type of life I live, and if someone were to know... I only worry about my inhabitants. They came here to escape the life they used to live, and have found peace. If anyone broke that, I...
...
... I would never, ever be able to forgive them.
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Posted: Thu Sep 03, 2009 10:29 pm
Attached to the fridge is a piece of paper, with a label above that reads "Amir's Studies":
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Posted: Sun Sep 13, 2009 5:44 pm
 [ Amir grows from an infant to a rowdy adolescent! What horrors await? ]
Honestly, it was wearing down on even him, ever-patient as he was.
"Honestly," the familiar, monotonous voice muttered, the tired man stooping over a spot on the floor. Hands deftly worked with an old sponge to scrub away the persistent stain - it looked to be some sort of charcoal, or burn mark - sighing softly and with a noticeable edge when he failed to kill it. Not to be defeated, Aimery rose and took to the supply closet, searching for the jug of bleach.
"You'd think a man... even one as busy as him, would notice when his child grew nearly a foot. Honestly." He huffed a breath, yanking the jug from the closet. "Honestly!"
Sergei's voice, deep and recognizable for its heavy accent, rose from the kitchen nearby. "Having trouble with the closet?" A light chuckle followed. "If you get stuck, please do not move too much, or you will be smashed."
He didn't appreciate the joke about his height, and frankly, Sergei gave the man the chills. His only rebuttal was a firm "I'm fine," followed with a grunt as he heaved the jug down the hallway, eyes uncharacteristically stormy. That spot on the floor was history.
Damn it, and he was going to make sure the doctor realized his son had suddenly gained height.
-------------------
Once the spot had been eliminated, Aimery took a few minutes to cool down. This feeling had been gathering inside of him for a few days now and even though the doctor had seen Amir many times between then, he had failed to notice his son's hints toward his growth. Granted, he had grown rather suddenly, it seemed, and at first Aimery had suspected that he'd ingested one of the doctor's potions. After some intense grilling he found - thank god - this was not the case.
The hallway echoed with uneven footsteps, the usual pattern of a tired doctor who had been up all night working and was on his way to bed. Downstairs, Amir was busily yakking on the phone with a friend. Upstairs, somewhere between the bottom floor and the level Yam-Yam currently walked, Aimery stood, nail lifted to his lip in thought.
"Doctor Yam-Yam!" he bellowed; he didn't hide his tone, which sounded oddly angry, the doctor noted with raised brows. Somewhere in the hallway upstairs, Yam-Yam knew he was in trouble. After a moment's hesitation, he meekly answered, "Yes?" Silence followed.
Aimery took their separation, and the time he knew it would take Yam-Yam to amble downstairs, if he dared, to regain his composure. This was not like him at all, and really, it was quite inappropriate. He wasn't supposed to be the emotional sort. It was so... unprofessional.
Well, he'd remedy that quickly enough.
Leaning an arm on the wall, he balled his hand into a loose fist and let his fingers curl and uncurl, lips pressed into a line. At times, the doctor was like a child, and thus had to be treated carefully. He took offense easily and it took very little to embarrass him or hurt his feelings, and already he felt the familiar weight of guilt settle in his stomach.
"Forgive me," he called, inclining his chin to speak to the ceiling. "I should not have sounded so cross. Would you please join me in the living room, Doctor?"
Yam-Yam hesitated, frowning at the floor. His concern was obvious; was he going to get a verbal beating, or was Aimery's apology sincere? He never knew with that man. Oftentimes he would forget he was the man of the house, and it took many reminders for him to defend himself against workers wanting to walk all over him. Yet, as he descended the short flight of stairs, he couldn't help but feel that Aimery, too, might walk that path. The thought made him sick to his stomach.
-------------------
Amir hadn't the foggiest as to why he was so suddenly summoned to the living room, although he had certainly picked up on Aimery's agitated mannerisms that day, and so sat in a large chair, wringing his hands in worry. His mind raced through his day in an attempt to recall what he had done to deserve whatever punishment was certain to be dealt; for all he could remember, he had dropped a candle on the floor and burnt it a bit. Had Aimery discovered who had done it? Oh, he wanted to die - nothing that had ever happened in his life was worse than today.
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Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 6:18 pm
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