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serisu x cheshire pup //-- s t e a l the n i g h t away ♥

Serisu

Serisu

Planetoid
Joined
Feb 3, 2010
Tap tap tap on the window the rain fell, drenching the lands far and wide with the sudden onslaught, filling rivers and lakes to flooding. Everything was wet and dreary, except for inside the castle, where Archer sat at the throne, no end to his misery in sight. It was less than a year since the death of the king, his father, and the young boy of seventeen had been forced to overtake the job of dealing with those stupid enough to get caught stealing while his mother decided the most important decisions until she felt the soon-to-be-king was ready and mature.

Tap tap tap, the prince's rings sounded through the hall as he tapped them against the oak of the chair. He stared down from his pedestal, lamely giving decisions as the people begged for his mercy. His mind was elsewhere, outside- but not in that cold, dark world. His mind was in the past, recollecting his childhood memories of his best friend, the boy who's name he couldn't even remember.

What had happened to that boy, he wondered. Had he really decided that he was too good for the young prince of seven, as his father had claimed. How could that be? They had always seemed so close, so very much best and lasting friends. Until that fateful day when he didn't come to play, and his father had sighed and shook his head. "You know, son," He'd said, placing a thoughtful hand on the boy's shoulder. "Some people just aren't aware of what a good friend is. He decided he didn't need you anymore..."

His head slipped from the fist he was resting it on as he began to fall asleep once again, the momentum waking him up with a start. "Guilty to three years in prison!" he gasped quickly, unsure of even what the crime this woman had committed was.

"Two more, okay?" he growled to the guard. "Just two more, then I'm going to bed!" He frowned, his golden hair slipping over his sky-blue eyes, shielding them from view. Raising his beautiful hands, he brushed the strands from his face, rubbing his temples and sighing. I need to get my head out of the past... He thought, gesturing for the guard to let the next criminal in.
 
The rain poured outside and onto the head of the only prisoner left to weather it. The guards hated him, the king hated him, the prince hated him, just about everyone in power did and that left him a very unlucky man. Even more not that he had been caught. Still, he was just seventeen and assuming they didnâ??t sentence him to death he had his whole life ahead of him. Of course if he didnâ??t get pneumonia from the cold and end of dying.

The water poured off the rim of his hat which he had somehow managed to keep. Even his hat couldnâ??t keep his head dry, black hair was plastered to his face, his long coat felt like it weighted fifty pounds and after the weeks journey he was not in the best mood. A week of taunting, beating and food deprivations could leave any man sour. The white shirt beneath his open coat was dirty, bloody and practically transparent. If the rain did one thing it gave him the bath he had been longing for, even as a poor man the boy hated to be dirty. Dirty hands left behind evidence and the Specter had become very good at not leaving behind anything.

His hands were shackled behind his back with chains around his feet to keep him from running, as a final humiliation that had one shackle around his neck with a chain attached to it leading him around like a dog. Keeping his head down the hat caste a shadow, hiding the black eye he had picked up during the previous weak and his eyes hidden. The boy had the most peculiar eyes, eyes that belong only to his family line and that made him unmistakable to anyone else. The boy was unique and had many unique talents to go with it, some of those talents making him a threat and landing him here.

â??Inside vermin!â? one of the guards yelled at him and tugged hard on the chain attached to his neck shackle. The boy stumbled for just a moment before regaining his balance and walking in with a dignity and pride that a soaked man in shackles should be able to summon. The man spoke not as he was introduced, he didnâ??t even look up. He knew who was there, he didnâ??t want to see him. â??The Specter, perpetrator of multiple crimes so numerous that it was difficult to list.â? Announced the man in the middle of the room. He had a list of all the criminals and their misdeeds. This man had his own scroll.

Then when down the list, naming theft after theft and accusing him of perpetrating it. All the while the Specter stood still as a stone and a smile crept onto his lips. They had them in chronological order and his smile grew as he remembered the crimes they hadnâ??t put on their list. They knew many of his crimes but certainly not all of them. When the man had finished reading he turned to the man dripping on the kingâ??s floor. â??How do you plead?â? he asked in a way that showed the question irritated him. They already knew he was guilty, the question was meaningless.

â??One hundred and eighty four.â? The man said without moving. The people of the court turned to look at him, the announcer was confused. â??Excuse me?â? This was when the boy looked up and for the first time his eyes could be seen. They were yellow and seemed to almost glow, they were cold enough to send chills down the spin of anyone that dared to meet his gaze. â??You seem to have forgotten a few. One hundred and eighty four unlisted crimes I believe. Or was it one hundred and eighty five? You know, I loose count.â? He said, clearly mocking the man. The man became very flustered, uncomfortable and angry with the contemptuous response. â??I beg your-â? â??Pardon? No. I donâ??t think I will be receiving a pardon will I? No, not after the king was so eager to find me. Not after he killed to bring me here.â? The boy said, then his gaze turned to the prince for the first time and those yellow eyes brought back the memories from childhood.

Two small children that would laugh, play and explore. A pair of yellow eyes that frightened some but not the prince, never the prince. Those eyes were always full of such kindness and generosity that he could not be afraid of those eyes. It was as if the boy knew how you were feeling and was always trying to cheer you up. The prince couldnâ??t feel threatened looking into such kind eyes and the tender smile that the boy had always worn on his face. The gentle eyed boy, Spencer had been his name, had been the princeâ??s best friend ever since they were big enough to walk. They grew up together and they had always been close but never before in all those years had Spencer looked upon the prince with such a gaze as this.

The tender smile was gone, as was all the kindness. His gaze was hard and cold as ice. His eyes filled with such hatred, contempt, and absolute loathing that danger just seemed to emanate from his entire being. Gone was the innocent, sweet little boy. In his place stood something wild, savage, and feral.

â??But he didnâ??t make it did he? No. Itâ??s a joke. He must be rolling in his grave knowing that I am here and he is not. But youâ??ll soon fix that, wonâ??t you Archie?â? he laughed a laugh that lacked all joy and happiness that should accompany laughter, instead it seemed to such it all away. He spit out his friends pet name as though it were poison, his own words dripping with it.

â??You will respect the prince of our nation scum!â? bellowed a guard who had broken from the paralysis that seemed to grip the room. The guard punched him in the stomach with such force it knocked the wind from him and brought him to his knees. â??You highness I apologize, he has not spoken a word for the past week, had I known he would behave in such a way we would have had him muzzled.â? The guard said then turned back to the man on his knees, once more his head was down and he was silent but somehow still held dignity enough to make the guard want to kick him.

The announcer turned to the prince, trying to gather himself. â??So.... Your majesty, the criminal has pleaded guilty... I think.... What say you?â? He asked the prince. His childhood friendâ??s fate rested solely in his hands and Spencer was ready for his former friend to finish the betrayal that had been started a decade ago and sentence him to his death.
 
Archer frowned upon the sight of his old friend, the one he had just been reminiscing about, beaten and brought before him in shackles. He had heard rumors -nay, now what he knew to be true- about a man by the name of Specter, wanted and sought after by the knights. He couldn't allow himself to believe it; the boy with golden eyes had been his friend, his only companion for long years. How could he have turned to the life of crime? It was unthinkable.

"Spencer..." He gasped, flinching at the nickname and spite held in the other's voice. "I can't believe it's you." Suddenly much more awake than before, he hopped down from his pedestal, his hardened leather soles tapping against the marble tiles of the grand floor.

"To see you again this way is not what I expected." He began, tilting his shoulders in a haughty way, the way he had been raised. He was never known as the nice boy, not an angel, and was raised to treat all others as below him, even if it weren't so. He frowned, folding his arms over his chest, brows furrowed. "I thought you were too good for me? You'd left. I thought I'd never see you again." His voice was prim and curt, like tightly wound piano strings. "I hardly doubt my father would dirty his hands to catch a silly, petty thief like you..."

"Hush." He ordered the man who held the scroll, tapping around his old friend as he thought deeply. He was not supposed to hold feelings for others and give them second chances under any circumstances, but the boy could not dream of condemning such a friend, a good person, to death by the gallows.

It was unreal, a terrible crisis taking place inside dear Archer's blonde head. Golden lashes curled over pale cheeks, lids lowered over the bluest eyes many have ever seen. His arms folded behind the thin back, and he rolled his head back in such a way that he'd be able to see the ceiling if he wished. "I don't think we have the proof we need," he began finally, judging every word. "to condemn him to death. What he needs..." Grinned the prince as he approached his throne once more. "What he needs is a little guidance."

"Rehabilitation. I believe that is the key." He declared, crossing his left leg on his right knee. "That way, we can tell if he'll ever actually be ready for society. I should be the one to administer, just to see if this new institution would work."
 
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