HEATWAVE ( open )

[Vanek]

Sheep are easy to come by.

Stupidity, gullibility, obliviousness: they run rampant in this kingdom. He thinks of what will be, how easily he could weed out the imperfection. He thinks of Yume, high on their pedestal, how far they'd fall with even the gentlest push. He thinks of his father, his half-brother. His mother. Images of her slaughtered corpse arrive too. And the sheep keep up their incessant, baa, baa, baaa. Thin fingers, long and perfect from lack of physical labor, curl against the table top. Wood buries under his fingernails but the pain is dull from how often it finds itself there. He finds the hatred and resentment. He finds the self-loathing because he couldn't help his mother. Because he was duped by his father -- fool me twice, shame on me. Because he still needs the approval so badly his soul aches.

Because the crown sits on someone else's head.

But sheep.
Yes, sheep are easy to come by.

Mismatched eyes move languidly around the table, fingers moving lucidly to flick splinters from under nails, thin legs uncross, stretch, recross. Animals lift glasses, slosh booze on the table, intensifying ire as droplets land on his side of the table. His fingers pause. Eyes violet and gold, cold as ice and steel, more promise than threat, stare, glare, pierce. Conversation prattles to a stop and he looks at the herd once more before hiding looks that could kill behind eyelashes too long. "Leave." Sharp and nonnegotiable. But sheep are just that: sheep. And they gap and stumble for words, for reason to stay. The boy's eyes flicker open again, violent this time. He is younger than them by centuries but he has given them the most dazzling promises, all false.

But sheep are only sheep.

Hands find motion, setting lightly against his cheek as he leans forward. They watch but do not think. They hear but do not listen. Vanek does not repeat himself. His voice is cool, surprisingly calm for a boy so overtaken by his own emotion. Lips dramatize the syllables of the name. "Nereza." the raven in question is not in the room, not allowed, but his abilities can reach far enough to find her. Vanek sees eyes click with dull knowledge, but the ends of the bastard child's fingers are splitting as his fingernails flesh out. Broad and black, they glint in the light, razor sharp and deadly. Talons that have no purpose but to destroy.

Sheep are spineless creatures. The men nearly move in unison, shifting haphazardly to their feet, some with their drinks, some left forgotten. The biggest, feigning control, infuriated by his fear of a child, shrugs his shoulders as if in nonchalance.

'We'll send word when it's done.'

Vanek's smile is eerily sweet. "Be quick." He does not watch them go. Instead, he watches his hands change back to normality, hand before him, palm toward him. His fingers stretch, curl into a fist when talons are nothing more than fingernails. He presses digits to his forehead, breathing slowly. The job will take time. This goal of power and control will take far longer. His head aches from the thought.

Vanek holds very few virtues and patience is not one of them.