12 Chapter Twelve: Aftermath

The cold air of night brushing against his face brought an unwelcomed sense of forgetfulness accompanied by self-induced isolation. 

A candle lit, dinner table, filled with disgusting food, rests in the middle of the nearly deserted courtyard. Servants of yellow leisurely scoop food onto the luxury hand-crafted plates, somewhat rosy in color and lively as if it's their day off from work. Warranting an anxious chill, violently jolting itself through Waylen's exhausted body. 

Johnthan Riggs, a mere arm distance away, carefully analyzes the state of affairs. His cold, gray eyes moving around the place signaling both the normality and abnormality.

According to the estate's firm regiment, his position isn't what's at fault. But if the blame isn't his, the space between everyone else is more than an uncomfortable suspicion bubbling at the top of his fried brain. 

Only when all the food had been wastefully served did the maids in yellow turn their pretty faces, flirtatiously glancing. Greedily engraving a deluded image of the young master into their poor, money grabber brains. As if he alone is the justification for taking up this job in the first place. Simultaneously unaware that he is just as screwed as they are. 

"Look at the show they put on, go enjoy it." The wind whispers quietly, planting its first seed of temptation into his fostered human brain. Bringing with it a splash of life to this show of an otherwise dull graveyard. 

Breathing softly, Waylen wets his pink lips, giving a brief display of his smooth tongue. An air of naughtiness swarms his almond-colored eyes at they meet theirs. A blank canvas as always, but with a certain cold depth attracting the fragile heartstrings of unexpecting of prey. Though they should know better than anyone the true extent of the monstrosities contained in this place. In the end, it's nobody's fault but their own. Only so many flags can be triggered before an entertaining scene is played for all to see, bringing a tragic enjoyment rooted in evil. 

Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he brushes the tip of it softly. Making sure to bat his eyelids from time to time towards the properly set dinner table. "Do you have something else, more appetizing?" Waylen calculatedly pleads, directly in the unfiltered presence of the caretaker. 

One of the girls of yellow couldn't help but take a few steps forward. Her rough fingers pulling at her neckline, revealing an almost perfect peace of flesh. No open wounds or bites. Recalling the state of the courtyard earlier, Waylen slowly makes his way over to the girl flashing his pearly white teeth.

The caretaker shifts his eyes away from the man in front of him, now fixating on the building of red. The wonders a pretty face can do. If only Xavier was here, he wouldn't have to be watching this young master's hunger fueled stunt. He's almost sure Xavier would be scooping fruits into his mouth like yesterday. Making his absence even odder than the other residents of the estate or had his words finally gotten to him earlier? No, it's Xavier, arguably more of an emotional train wreck than the recently separated twins. 

"Not that darling, but do you have any fruits?" Waylen asks, stopping abruptly before making contact with the servant. Fully aware that statement is only something Xavier would say with such fluctuations in his tone. This whole thing is ridiculous, however there is nothing wrong with taking a much-needed advantage if it means not having to eat THAT garbage. If the rest of the estate wanted to complain they could show up to dinner. Seeing how the wind remained peaceful over his body providing a charming breeze, and the old caretaker didn't raise an eyebrow, these actions are perfectly acceptable. Now, if only his heart accepts that justification everything will be set. 

The servant runs away embarrassed, quickly fetching several servings of fruit carefully before placing it at the end of the table in a matter of seconds. A pair of please almond-colored eyes make it's way to the end of the dinner table, signaling for several to join him. 

The caretaker didn't dare sit at the opposite end of the dinner table, his audacity not quite as high as Xavier's. For the end of the dinner table is for those with power over the "family." Which is a necessity when dealing with problems like these. So, he calmly sits beside him, wanting to fix a bag to the other side so that one of these girl's won't end up dead whenever Xavier decides to make an overly extravagant entrance showing off the "good" side of his face. 

The servants happily indulge in the situation in front of them, thrilled with the unexpected turn of events. Though, the reluctance when holding the forks firmly in their grasp seemed unusually strong when it came to shoving the food they prepared in their mouths. The steak smelt odd, but the seasoned, boiled potatoes seemed eatable from a distance. 

"What's wrong?" Waylen questions, popping a sweet grape into his mouth smiling at the delightful, sweet taste that overcame his taste buds. Acting as if he hadn't pushed his own plate away, gradually increasing the pressure placed on the servants of yellow. 

With that several give in, digging into the potatoes taking great care into not coming in contact with the meat, granting all the insurance Waylen needed that the food is at the very least contaminated. Potentially all the food could be poisoned, with the intent of killing them more as they forcibly ate its contents. Maybe the food secretly contains eggs that would use their bodies as incubators for some sort of monsters, which is why they are separated from the rest of society. Plausible, not particularly. However, in a place out of a novel, it would make sense for it to incorporate a few more bizarre tropes into it's storyline. 

"Mr Riggs, do you not like steak?" He says, turning his eyes to the old man who managed to finish all of his potatoes carrying a look of reminiscent on his white, crinkly face. It gave warmth to his otherwise monotone features, creating the illusion of an approachable person. The caretaker only returns the questioning gaze, shoving a piece of steak into his mouth.