Post by landon on Jun 20, 2009 0:08:31 GMT -8
25 December 2010
The last of the Christmas Eve party attendees (as far as he was aware) had finally disappeared shortly after one, drunken and laughing. Many of them had had to be helped to a safe apparition point by various slaves. Landon had been one of them, but despite the downsides of having to put up with women whose breath smelled of alcohol hit on him while at the same time putting him down, it had at least got him out of an hour of the cleaning process. To him, it was worth it. He just felt like he was worth less than dirt at the moment, which was not a feeling he was accustomed to having on Christmas Eve--err, now Christmas morning. Rich pigs with "pure" blood. Whatever that was. He personally thought it was the heart that counted, but then again, who was he to them? What he thought no longer mattered. If he had opinions, then he was instructed to keep them to himself if he valued his life.
The only upside of tonight was that the Death Eaters had yet to actually realize that he and Elektra had formerly been married. Otherwise, he was certain they would have attempted to make his evening even more miserable by pairing the two together to work on things, especially while cleaning. As it was, he had seen her a few more times that was comfortable, had nearly had one of their far too familiar run-ins. Thankfully, he had realized in time to steer around, and he wasn't sure if she had even realized. It saved them both some sort of punishment for spilling trays of their "precious" champagne or caviar at any rate. Any excuse was good enough to torment a slave and promptly taken in his experience, but tonight had been fairly uneventful on that front as far as he knew. Thank Merlin. Maybe there was some humanity left in these stiffs after all.
With a sigh, he slung the dust rag over his shoulder, not caring if it left his t-shirt dirty or not. It was already tattered and stained. What was one more mark on it? The table had been cleaned, and he wanted a little breather. He was tired. He wanted sleep. That was the good thing about Christmas, though (or so he hoped as he lacked said expertise), most of these people who frequented this place would be busy with family rather than coming here to watch the slaves. Certainly, there would surely be a few guards to make sure that they didn't attempt to leave their quarters, but that made for circumstances that allowed for easily slipping beneath the radar. And what do you know? They would, if things were like they had been at past parties he'd had to aid with, be getting leftovers from tonight rather than some nasty stew and tough bread. It almost sounded like Paradise...not.
All he knew was after this short breather he hoped he had the good fortune of finding out everything else was done and he could go to bed. He leaned against the table, his palms flat and fingers grasping the edges as his head hung and he stared at the grain of the nicely polished piece of furniture that he was sure was worth more than he was to the people who used it. Christmas used to be fun and happy. He used to have something to celebrate, something to be glad about. Now, there was nothing. Christmas was dead.