@aurouze : Few things unnerved Servillia like being caught under Solus' eye. Whatever simple joy she had been basking in melted away just as the icicles puddling under the sun's heat. Verbena barked and frolicked, the immediate grounds directly behind the palace half-mud and half-snow; the thick-skulled dog was happy to finally be allowed to roam longer than it took for them to relieve themselves, mud and snow dirtying their paws and underbelly. Lia had crouched down - dress hem collected into her lap to avoid getting them dirty - and had happily put her head in her palm and cooed laughter at the beastly creature she adored. That was, until she peered over and caught him. His contempt was not for her, she knew. She was a bother, but not the object of his dissatisfaction - at least, not usually. But now, just him and her and the dog he detested so fervently, it felt pointed, as if a blade were climbing up the buttons of her dress bodice. "Your Radiance," Lia said curtly. She did not rise: she bowed her head, still careful to keep her skirts piled atop her lap, dark hosiery dipping into rather worn boots. (Of course, he would see her thus: in her outing wear, not in something more becoming of her station. Not that it mattered aught, she knew.) "I will ensure she is clean before she comes back inside," she promised. "Being cooped up with all that snow... I thought she deserved to stretch her legs. Is that what brought you out?"
"ah. it's you."
solus thinks he's fallen rather low, to be scuffling with a girl so green in years that her ears might spontaneously sprout spring grass. that is the con of being so old and so wise, you see--you watch your mistakes committed in real time and can do nothing. the young do not listen to your screaming warnings. they think themselves different, more fortunate, than the generations before them. but solus knows the truth. the girl will die, whether of childbirth or some other unfortunate accident. it will destroy his grandson, so young and smitten with his wife. those who attend the funeral will say she was so young, and to leave behind a newborn, what a shame. his grandson will exit the experience a harder, more unhappy man.
'tis not that he can see the future. rather, solus has already lived it a thousand times and has lost most of his sympathy for the players in this farcical drama. he had tried to warn his grandson: the elder amicitia daughter had been hard-hearted, and varis would not have become attached to her--even if she had died of woman's woes, it would not have mattered. a new wife and marriage could have been drawn up. mistresses taken. the line continued with as little blood spilt as possible. but varis has always been soft, romantic. it runs in the blood, and solus blames the parentage. if not for lucius and hypatia's insistence on spoiling their son, if not for cossutia's foolish ideas about marrying for love-
solus squeezes his cane so tightly that he feels it creak in his palm. he stares at the girl for a long moment, expression strangled, terrifying. a strange, foolish urge to warn her overcomes him. my line is cursed, emet-selch, or even hades might say, i was not made to bear children with these half-creatures. you would do well to desert my foolish grandson and flee this place. nothing good will come from your union.
solus crushes such an urge under an steel toed boot, like scrubbing out a lit cigarette into a cold floor. his expression contorts into its typical bitter shape, as if she's offended him. she hasn't. but she's an easy target that can't fight back, and her soul is that color.
"you and your bloody mutt. must you bring it with you everywhere?" the snow crunches under his feet as solus walks, slow and steady, like a behemoth that does not care what dies under its tread. "it won't thank you for your service, you know. it'll only shit on your floors, then keel over dead one day, the thankless beast."
