『 Ionia 』 discussion

Being cousins to the crown, and of royal blood, the Mallory family, now two children orphaned to the Duke Mallory and headed by the eldest, Loralie Mallory, they have received a generous estate. It isn't as big as the royal palace, not nearly, but it certainly does rival the homes of other nobles.

Incompetent servants would be the bane of Tristan's existence, if he wasn't already his own. How hard was it for them to follow instructions? Close the windows in the morning, open them after the sun is at its highest point, repeat. It was so simple, Tristan would do it himself if the curtains weren’t so heavy. And if that loose curtain rod hadn’t fallen on him the one time he had tried and broken his right forearm. He was about willing to risk it this morning, even in spite of that awful memory. The late morning sun was streaming through his window, leaving a burning stripe across his bare back. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his palm, he groaned into the pillow, yanking the blanket up over his head. The disgusting herbal remedy he was ordered to take each night made him so sleepy that he only woke around late morning, and sometimes even into the afternoon. But he would never beg to get out of bed. Until someone reminded him about visiting his garden.

Great. Now that thought is in my head. Thank you, self. Can we not be ill today? That would be just swell. Tris rolled over onto his back, peeking his head out from under the covers just in time for a knock to sound on his bedroom door. But alas, my wish will never be granted. And I will never not have completely useless servants. I cannot get out of bed and over to the door fast enough, dearie, you must open it yourself. It took several knocks before the heavy wooden slab creaked open. Good job. The face was unrecognizable, which was enough to make him sit up and hug the blanket to his bare chest. His own face he schooled into careful disinterest, but his mind was reeling. Where was Loralie? She never let a new servant into his bedroom, let alone have them be the first thing he saw in the morning. She may have been terrible to him and hit him around at times, but she knew how he hated new people.

“Y-Your Grace,” the servant girl squeaked, peeking the door open a bit more. She seemed to be waiting for his permission to enter the room, but when he gave none, she simply let herself in. Good. She was learning already. “Her Grace Mallory has left the estate… She hired a few more staff members, such as myself, as she informed us that it would be a longer business trip than what she had hoped. I have a list of the seven new servants, Your Grace, as well as their positions in the household. There aren’t any new cooks or physicians, Your Grace, just a few more waitstaff as well as maids and personal guards. I was told to introduce myself sooner rather than later, and...well the sun is well up there so I took it upon myself to wake you. I apologize, Your Grace…” His lack of response must have spooked her, as she bit down on her bottom lip and began shifting from foot to foot slowly. “Um… I will..take my leave now, Your Grace. Will you be dining downstairs today? I was given your daily schedule...but it says on the paper that you do not always eat in your chambers…?”

Tristan didn’t like her. A slight furrowing of his brows was enough to send her scurrying though, so he assumed that she wouldn’t be too much of a hassle. Now...to deal with the rest of the new staff. What had she said, seven? He groaned and slid out of bed carefully, making sure his legs would support his weight before making his way over to the armoire. He wasn’t much of a person for proper clothing, so he simply pulled on a large, loose maroon shirt and some comfortable leggings before grabbing his favorite shawl. It was made by his late mother, and though it absolutely dwarfed him, it matched how ill he appeared and it had definitely become his favorite possession. Hooking it on his shoulders and at his inner elbows, he exited his room...only to find a line neat line of the seven new servants waiting for him… This was going to be a long day.


(Hotaru would probably be at the end of the line. Considering him currently being a garden worker. But the line was likely there when the new maid or whatever she is peeked in, so he's been waiting there for a while. Maybe put a little bit about the before-hand??? Make up some rumors he's heard about Tristan from around. Maybe about him being a vampire or some shiz??? Idk, you do you, boo!!!)

Hotaru sighed softly, unable to refrain from doing so. He was new to the manor, and was sure to gain some inside information. Of course, he assumed they were rumors- save for a few, which he truly believed. Despite the absurdity of the rumors that were spread around, Tristan's behavior definitely didn't make Hotaru disregard them. He glanced at some of the other servants, and eventually turned to the woman speaking with Tristan. Why was she taking so long?

Hotaru's curious golden eyes landed on Tristan, gaze softening a bit. He definitely didn't look as scary as people said he did. That could've just been Hotaru's opinion. He began mentally crossing out some of the rumors he had heard about the boy. For one, he definitely wasn't a vampire. Two, he definitely wasn't secretly healthy. A small conspiracy had been made, about Tristan's condition. Hotaru found it absolutely preposterous, but still kept it in mind. He was both glad and upset that it wasn't true. If it was, the person he was serving would be a liar- he'd definitely not stand for that. Since Tristan was really sick, Hotaru felt a bit of guilt bubble up inside him. He wondered what exactly kept the other boy going through out the day. Hotaru remained quiet, sparing a final glance towards the rest of the servants. Due to being a mere garden worker, he wasn't as important as the others. At least, that was his own opinion.

Tristan was overwhelmed to say the least. He hugged his shawl tighter around himself, inching a step back toward his bedroom door. The maid who had come to his room to wake him was suddenly there at his arm, grabbing onto him gently and nudging him toward the line of servants, as if meaning for him to introduce himself. Unfortunately, panic immediately set in at her touch. He slapped her away and flinched back as she hit the wall. One of the male servants from the line rushed to her aid, but all Tris could register was that there were more people near him. "Don't touch. Work," he murmured, his voice soft and raspy from rarely being used. Just as he turned to flee into his room, a familiar voice stopped him.
"What on earth is going on here?" It was Cecilia, his favorite and longest working personal servant. She had been with him for years and knew how he functioned, how he reacted to certain things. She had seen the before and after of his time in the insane asylum. Which was likely why she came immediately over to him instead of addressing the maid he had more or less shoved. "Slow your breathing, Your Grace. It is alright. I am certain she meant no harm," she assured him, holding her hands palm-up to him as if he were a cornered animal. He felt like one. He also hadn't noticed how harshly he was panting until she mentioned it. Cecilia spun sharply, glaring at the whimpering maid and the scowling man holding her up, putting herself quite visibly between Tristan and the other servants. "Explain what happened, right now. One of you," she hissed.

Tristan slowly backed into the wall beside his open door, clutching his arms to his chest. He tried to calm his breathing, but all he could think about was how many people were surrounding him. With a soft whimper, pain pulsed through his chest in pace with his heartbeat. That soft whimper drew Cecilia's attention, but his own faded as he sunk to the floor. A sharp snap in his ear made him flinch. He knew it was Cecilia. He knew that he needed to be shaken from this panic, but the second snap made him hit the wall hard. "...carry...garden," was all he heard Cecilia say before he was being pulled to his feet. What he didn't know is that Cecilia had just asked someone to carry him down to the garden, and that the only person in the hall who could possibly carry him was the tall, blond gardener in the middle of the line.

(Boop.)

Everything had suddenly happened at once, to the point where he couldn't even register what was going on until he was snapped out of his thoughts by Cecilia ordering someone to take Tristan to the garden. Immediately, he sprung into action.

"Yes ma'am." Hotaru said quickly, advancing towards Tristan. He first tried to pull the other boy to his feet, but came to the conclusion that picking him up would be easier. So, Hotaru lifted him up, similar to the way a groom would carry a bride. Wasting no time, Hotaru breezed through the hallway, trying to keep the nervous expression off of his face as he walked. Hotaru finally made it to the garden, exhaling softly. It wasn't too hot out, but the sun did shine brightly that day.

Hotaru sat him down on the bench carefully, and stood by his side. "Is there anything you need, Your Grace?" Hotaru asked, keeping his curious gaze on him. Most of the other servants, or at least the female, seemed nervous. Hotaru on the other hand showed no nervousness. Because the male wasn't burning in the sun, he could confirm that he wasn't a vampire. So, that was nice.

Tristan was only just on his feet, and then suddenly he was against a hard chest. Put me down, put me down! Contrary to his thoughts, instinct brought him to cling onto the tall, unfamiliar man. He clamped his eyes shut and tried to focus on his breathing, but it had only gotten worse after being picked up. What the hell was Cecilia expecting to happen?! He had just slapped a new servant for touching his arm. How could she have thought it would be a good idea to have one of those new servants carry him?! By the time he was brought outside, he had forgotten where the heathen was taking him. He was so focused on trying to breathe that it had slipped his mind. But the heat of the sun warming his cheeks coaxed him to open his eyes. They fluttered open, then shut for a moment at the harsh brightness that greeted them, before squinting open once more. The garden. His only safe haven, aside from his bedroom. It was so beautiful, his garden. An assortment of rare flowers blooming every which way and that, little stone paths leading into a shaded cove of trees where several benches and chairs were situated, butterflies seasonally fluttering around, hummingbirds looking for a snack.

The sound of a voice split through Tristan's daze, snapping him back into the present. His breathing had stopped nearly entirely. And he was now on a bench, though not one of those under the trees. Instead, he was on a hot bench in near-direct sunlight. Tris fixed a cold gaze on the male servant. It took him a moment to see past the pretty golden eyes and nearly-glowing hair, but once he had, all he saw was an incompetent servant, just like the rest of those his sister had hired. Where was she? Lifting his arm, he pointed over to the cove of trees, clearly ordering the boy to take him there. After his demand, he hugged his shawl tightly around him. The doctors told him that he shouldn't be in direct sunlight, but whether he was or not, it didn't matter. Tris was always cold.

Hotaru widened his eyes slightly, and nodded. He wanted to say something, but Tristan did not seem like he was in the mood for a discussion. Especially with a servant. He carefully lifted Tristan, smiling gently. "I'm sorry, Your Grace." Hotaru said softly, his gentle smile breaking out into a grin. Maybe if he smiled and acted positive, Tristan's spirits would be lifted a bit. At least, Hotaru hoped so.

Despite all of the rumors, he'd still stay loyal. Otherwise, what use was he for? Hotaru brought him over to the cove of trees, and looked around. "Where exactly do you want to sit, Your Grace?" Hotaru asked, and sat him down when Tristan responded. Repeatedly saying 'Your Grace' had become a bit annoying already, but he continuously kept up his chipper tone.

Tristan allowed Hotaru to do as he pleased, now expecting to be picked up. He had composed himself for the moment, his disinterested mask once again in place. There was already too much this boy had seen of him in so short a time and it made Tris uneasy. He had little control in any aspect of his life, and one of the few things he did was how he came across to other people. The rumors, the coldness kept people away. Though he wasn't exactly sure if that was what he wanted, it was the facade he had put up after leaving the asylum, and he intended to keep it. He held onto his shawl tightly, not allowing himself to grasp at Hotaru as he had before. Gesturing toward the high-backed chair under the massive willow tree, Tris lifted a hand to play with his bottom lip. It was chapped. Only once Hotaru set him down did Tris allow himself to look at the boy. His eyes were wary, his body language defensive. Luckily, his stomach answered for him, snarling loudly. A light flush lit his cheeks, but he cleared his throat and turned his head away, strangely regal for someone so ill.

Hotaru had served a few people before. He knew how to keep people happy, yet things were totally different with Tristan. If anything, he felt like Tristan hated him. Well, I'm only here for work anyways. Hotaru thought, holding back an amused smile at the growl of Tristan's stomach.

"Are you hungry, Your Grace?" Hotaru asked, an attentive look on his face. He broke his gaze away from Tristan, in awe when he saw some of the beautiful flowers in the garden. He was looking forward to tending to it in the near future. "I can have the cooks prepare something for you if you'd like."

Tristan didn't offer Hotaru a response to his question. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, before narrowing his eyes on Hotaru. There wasn't a single part of him that believed that smile, that gentle voice. Too many people had tried to get to him. Too many people had hurt and deceived him. Too many people had tried to kill him. He was the Duke after all. It didn't matter if his older sister ran the Mallory estate, he still had the title. He was still next-in-line for the throne, should anything unfortunate happen to the royal family. He was still a target for the world. "Cecilia," was all he said, watching Hotaru in distrust.

Hotaru's smile didn't falter, but he had to refrain from pouting. That would be far too unsightly. His pleasant expression wavered slightly with confusion, but he soon made an 'o' expression with his mouth in understanding. "Yes sir." Hotaru said, turning on his heel. He turned to glance at Tristan one more time, before scurrying off to get Cecilia.

Once he found her, he informed the woman about what was going on. Tristan's distrust in him made him a bit upset, but he could understand why. He didn't know what he'd do if he were the target of many people.

((Mind if I jump in?))

((no worries, CP!))

((yup!))

Tristan warily watched Hotaru's retreating back, only calming once Cecilia was there beside him with his breakfast. That was how his interactions with Hotaru remained for the next month. He would go out of his way to avoid Hotaru: dodging his attempts at conversation with silence, scheduling Hotaru's hours in the garden later in the evening or earlier in the morning so they would not run into each other when he went out for his time outside. However, as the weeks passed, he found himself more and more intrigued by Hotaru. He knew that the work Hotaru was given was difficult, and yet...the boy always had a smile on his face. At this point, Tristan was unsure if it was fake or not. He has assumed so, but as the days bled into the second month of Hotaru's employment, his silent observations muddled his certainty.

Now, Tristan stood off to the side of a rose bush, openly, but silently, studying Hotaru as he worked around the other side. He didn't say a word; he hadn't since that day. And yet his interest was still obvious. It was two weeks into the second month though, and Cecilia had been pressuring him to speak to the boy who so intrigued him. Damn her. She was amused by the whole situation. Swallowing dryly and hugging his shawl tighter around himself, he stepped out from behind the bush and knelt down to look closer at what Hotaru was tending. It was a: "Dahlia," he mumbled, finishing his thought aloud. They were his: "Favorite flower..." His voice was soft, as if he hadn't realized he was speaking aloud. As he traced his fingers gently over the delicate petals, it became quite clear that he hadn't noticed he was speaking at all.

Hotaru tended to the bush carefully, working hard to make sure it looked perfect. Despite his cheerful and sometimes careless nature, he worked in the garden meticulously. Hotaru's lips upturned into a smile, as he paused and looked at Tristan. "Really? Dahlias are very pretty, but I think my favorite is the Freesia. It's a beautiful flower." Hotaru practically gushed, as he went back to work. He chuckled softly, gaze focused on the flower bush. He was crouched down on one knee, and he ran a hand through his hair. "Do you have any other favorite flowers?" Horaru asked curiously, hoping the conversation would continue.

Tristan's pale cheeks flushed lightly at Hotaru's acknowledgement. He'd said something out loud that he hadn't meant to. Pulling his hand away from the dahlia slowly, he half-listened to what the other boy said. Freesias were pretty, sure. But he couldn't understand how Hotaru even bothered to entertain the idea that those flowers were prettier than dahlias. There was absolutely no competition between them. The slight furrowing to his brow, one of the few changes in his expression that he would allow as he had no control over it, making his thoughts on Hotaru's statement clear.

For a moment, Tristan thought over Hotaru's question, debating with himself whether or not he should respond. It took him several minutes to decide, and as he mulled it over, he returned to tracing the dahlia with his fingertips. A comfortable quiet took over in those minutes, the sounds of controlled nature around them the thing keeping them from total silence. "Amaryllis," he whispered, his voice so soft that it didn't disturb the peaceful air, despite being sudden. He fell silent again, but the way his lips moved, the thoughtful tracing of the dahlia's petals was enough to say he wasn't finished. "Snapdragons..." Pausing again, he mulled over a third flower, wondering if he should even mention it. They were a strange flower to enjoy. And one would think that with as much blood as he had seen in his life, that he would hate them. They were his mother's favorite though, and he after a minute of silence, he murmured, "Spider lilies."

Hotaru felt a smile tug at his lips when he noticed the change in Tristan's expression. "Really? Aw, I think Freesias are one of the prettiest flowers. Their petals are really elegant looking. Well, sort of elegant looking I suppose." He babbled on, quickly shutting up when he heard Tristan speak again.

"Amaryllis? Oh! Those are really beautiful too." Hotaru gushed, having a hard time actually deciding which flower he liked best. Despite saying the Freesia was his favorite, he enjoyed almost every flower, and that much was obvious. With the small smile on his face and the careful tending of the flower bushes, it would definitely be hard not to tell. Hotaru was pretty content with working as a gardener- while he didn't enjoy serving people all too much, he was happy that he could almost always work in the gardens in peace.

Tristan nodded silently, continuing to pet the dahlia softly. He couldn't tell if he was glad or disappointed that Hotaru didn't question his strange affection toward spider lilies, but decided to let it pass. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the boy carefully. He was still incredibly curious about many things pertaining to the gardener, but there was one question in particular that didn't want to be silenced anymore. It took a moment to build up his courage. Breathing in a slow, quiet deep breath, he finally spoke. "Doesn't smiling get exhausting?" It was the most he had ever said at once since being discharged from the asylum he was put into, especially to a male. But his eyes were strangely open and curious as he looked up at Hotaru.

Hotaru's smile seemed to falter a bit. "Definitely." He replied, pausing from his work to look at Tristan. He raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw the curious gaze, and decided to continue speaking. "I like smiling, though. Even if it's tiring for me, sometimes other people need it. I..don't know if that makes sense?" Hotaru said, before chuckling slightly. "I just like to think that if more and more people smile, others will do so too." Hotaru said with a shrug. He definitely wasn't good at piecing his thoughts together when it came to things like that, but what he said was genuine. He went back to tending to the bush, before glancing over at another one.

Tristan's brows lowered just slightly once again. He took another long pause, but this time he was watching Hotaru, looking up at him. He had caught the falter in the boy's smile. It was perhaps one of the most genuine things he'd seen from the gardener, save for when he was tending the flowers. Allowing impulse to drive him, he gently pressed a finger against Hotaru's cheek, near the corner of his mouth. "Don't your muscles hurt?" he mumbled. It was really just a thought spoken aloud, another thing he had said that had slipped out. But he turned toward the man just slightly, pushing that little bit of skin up and down gently. His brows lowered further. It was almost funny how intense his eyes looked.

((ah,, i didn't see this notification. tyyy))

Hotaru had tried his best to refrain from bursting out into laughter, but he couldn't help it. His laughs were soft, and they seemed to get softer before he spoke. Tristan seemed rather different compared to most of the rumors Hotaru had heard about Tristan, and in all honesty, it was amusing to him. "Well, they used to hurt. I've adjusted to it though." He explained, adding a shrug.

Tristan's brows lowered the slightest bit more, confusion flashing through his eyes. Why was Hotaru laughing at him? Had he said something amusing? Was his expression funny? Was Hotaru's face ticklish? He tilted his head, lips turning down in a nearly nonexistent pout at Hotaru's reply, which didn't answer any of his questions—despite them being in his head. Lowering his hand, he turned back toward the dahlia, hugging his shawl tighter around himself. Just as before, Hotaru was met with a long pause of silence, though this time Tristan's staring problem was pointedly focused on the flower. Several minutes later, still pouting, the duke finally spoke again. "You're weird."

Hotaru shrugged ever so slightly, visibly loosening up. He had seemed a little stiff, in an attempt to seem formal around Tristan. In all honesty, Hotaru felt little to no reason to do so when they were like this. Of course, he'd definitely not voice these opinions out aloud though. "I mean, I suppose so." Hotaru said, somewhat agreeing.

Tristan didn't even allow the barest twitch upward of the corner of his lips despite the tug it caused in his mind. He watched the dahlia, detaching from himself for a moment. He preferred when Hotaru did not speak to him formally, though he would never tell the boy. In a sudden wave, fatigue overcame him. Spying on Hotaru had proved to be a taxing endeavor and he found himself becoming tired earlier in the day than before they had hired the gardener. The world swayed around him, his head thumping against something soft—Hotaru's shoulder. His eyes drooped, the grip he had on his shawl slacking. "Sorry...," he muttered, unable to lift his head.

.