Chapter Text
You stared at the plate in front of you. It was empty, a stark difference to everyone else's. Your stomach growled. It was easy enough to ignore if you didn't think about it, but being presented with this much food and this many people partaking of said food reminded you that you were, in fact, literally starving. You hadn't eaten in days. The table was silent and awkward.
Lady Kamelot had been admirably attempting to start a conversation, but really, the circumstances made it quite difficult.
“I'm sorry, is the food not to your liking?”
“Oh, it looks delicious, I'm just on a hunger strike.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Kamelot, sitting at the head of the table, put his face in his hands. Road cackled at his discomfort.
“So… what have you been reading lately?” You asked, hoping to dispel the tension.
“Oh, you know what everyone in this household has been reading,” muttered Kamelot. “Tyki, don't fall asleep at the table, it's rude. The subject of the hour are your articles about the war and your… opinions on it.”
“Good,” you shot back under your breath. He glared at you. The tension remained.
“Um… did you enjoy your run?” Lady Kamelot tried, a nervous smile on her face.
You blinked at her. “My run?”
“In the rain.”
“Oh! Yes,” you paused and allowed yourself a dopey, nostalgic grin, “I did.”
There was an awkward pause which you took to mean that you should speak more.
“Actually,” your voice cracked and you stopped dead. Well, you came this far, might as well continue. You cleared your throat. “Actually, it's something that I used to do all the time at my apartment. I knew I probably shouldn't because I didn't have a place to warm up, but the rain just calls to me sometimes, you know?”
Lady Kamelot paused in cutting her food. She put down her cutlery and looked at you with a somber smile.
“Yes, I do know.”
The table fell silent once more.
“Anyway,” said Lady Kamelot, trying to take the attention away from the mention of her (what you thought was depressing) life, “your apartment! Do you miss it while you're away?”
“I noticed how you very tactfully said ‘away’ and not ‘out annoying the shit out of the poor, unsuspecting elite.’ No,” you said, cutting off her protests, “it's the truth, I can accept it. But yes, I miss it sometimes. I'm a bit hungry to think of anything besides food. Sorry, that was meant to be a joke and now I've just made everyone uncomfortable. Actually, I’ve noticed something here,” you said and paused. You wanted someone to ask you what it was and you wouldn’t say anything else until someone did.
There was a beat. Two. Three. Fou--
Kamelot let out a long suffering sigh.
“What have you noticed,” he said, rather than asked.
“I’m glad you asked!” He fixed you with a look that you promptly ignored. “I’ve actually noticed that living here, on the streets near a rich person, is actually better than living in an apartment away from one! Isn’t that something! Wow, how about the state of the economy and government, huh?” You let out the fakest laugh you could muster and looked Kamelot dead in the eyes.
The eyes all turned to the head of the table, following your lead. Kamelot continued eating, steadfastly ignoring your gaze(s). He looked up, caught your eyes, pretended to be surprised, and sighed. “Don’t look at me,” he snarked. “Minister of Foreign Affairs. I can’t do anything about it. Go camp out in front of the Minister of Domestic Affairs’ house.”
You let out a mock surprised laugh and turned to look at Road incredulously. “Can you believe it?”
She looked at you like you were brain damaged. “What?”
“Apparently, the Ministers of the country never interact with one another! They never collaborate, they never speak, and they never come in contact with each other! Isn’t that crazy?”
“Um--” she began, but was cut off.
“Oh, and what should I say to him?” Kamelot asked sarcastically. “‘Hey, there’s a person who sits in front of my house and is annoying me and she wants me to fix the economy for her, can you deal with that?’”
“Sure!” You spat. “What’s the harm in it, right? I mean, the worst that could happen if you don’t is that the country will be sent into a depression, not to mention the fact that the elite class is slowly falling apart anyway, so paying the lower classes more would ultimately stimulate the economy and protect us from major economic downturn, but hey! Every person for themselves, I guess. That’ll work out great.”
The seating arrangement, you noticed when you entered, was a bit different than normal. As you were the only guest, you were by default the guest of honor, and that meant because you were female, you should have sat to the right of the host. But instead, you were placed at the foot, as far from Kamelot as possible. Originally, you assumed that this was an attempt to keep you from bickering or strangling each other. However, now, while you watched the Kamelot family's heads whip back and forth from the foot of the table to the head, you realized that the table was set up in a very specific way.
It was a verbal tennis court. And you had just scored.
You smirked at him over a sip of wine.
Your serve, Kamelot. Score: one-love, me.
“I see,” he said, smiling tightly. “I'll look into it.”
That was disappointing. You had been hoping for more of a fight.
Oh well. Just because he wasted his shot didn't mean you had to.
“So, speaking of the deterioration of the ruling class, how do you guys feel about that? Do you think you'll be able to survive without the mansion now what the economy's plummeting? Or do you think you'll be fine as that you have enough money to get through the imminent depression?”
“What?” Kamelot looked at you like you were an idiot. “The economy's fine currently, in fact, it's probably the best it's been in a while. What on Earth are you talking about? ‘Imminent depression?’”
“Well of course you think it's fine,” you shot back. “You're living in this cushy mansion away from all of us common folk. You haven't seen what's happening all over the world. The wealth is moving around, countries are becoming more and less powerful. Look what happened to France a little over a hundred years ago; there was an elite class that held the majority of the wealth in the country, and those who didn't have any money were starving in the streets. The monarchy was on the decline, the rulers didn't care about the common man, so they were overthrown and France is no longer a superpower in the world. The rich thought they were set for life, thought they could get through without looking after the little guy and the little guy went and chopped their heads off.” You tasted your wine again, enjoying how the red of the liquid illustrated your gory point rather well.
“I don't see what this has to do with us. Yes, that happened, but so you really think that will happen here? The conditions are similar, sure, but not even remotely the same.”
“‘Similar?’” You snorted. “Gee, I wonder what’s happening here. Let’s see, the monarchy is on the decline, the rulers are bringing us into a war that we don’t want and will ultimately hurt us more, acting as though they don’t care about us, and the wealthy are drinking expensive wine--” you took another mouthful in demonstration-- “eating steak--” you gestured around the room-- “while the poor have nothing.” You let your empty plate speak for itself.
“Your plate is empty be choice,” Kamelot said, arching an eyebrow.
“That is not the point! And besides, it’s empty in protest of the corruption of the elite class. How’s that for an analogy?”
Kamelot fixed you with an annoyed look. “Anyway, even with all this, we have more technology now, more things to sell, more business opportunities for, as you put it, the ‘little guy.’ They now have the ability to start up businesses, become successful entrepreneurs now that we have more complex inventions and a higher demand for them.”
“No, don't you see?” You asked exasperatedly. “That's making it worse. We do have new technology, we do have new ideas, but the common man can't do anything with that. Only business tycoons have the money and connections and opportunity and the access to materials needed to make that technology. Not only that, but more often than not, the people can’t even afford all this fantastic technology. And with the development of consumer credit, our economy is being built on increasingly unsteady ground, all so someone can pay for a car with a loan they’ll have to default on because they can’t pay it back. I'm not saying we should go back to a time before the lightbulb, I depend on technology like everyone else. Hell, my whole income, my whole life is dependent upon the ability to quickly and efficiently print newspapers. But take railways. You have the people who profit: steel manufacturers, those who own the railways, et cetera. And you have the people who ultimately suffer: those who work for them. They're not being paid enough to buy basic goods and services. They're being mistreated in the workplace. People are dropping dead from being overworked like animals. People are poor, and if you can't find it in your heart to care about them, then care about this: if they can't buy food, how are they supposed to buy anything else? The economy will grind to a screeching halt if no one has enough money to buy all of the luxury items that they are dying young to create.”
Well, this conversation suddenly became deep. You vaguely wondered how you got here. You couldn't quite remember, for some reason. Everything was slightly hazy, lighter almost. You wondered why. You shook your head to clear it, focus on your train of thought. The depth of the conversation was probably your fault, honestly.
Kamelot regarded you strangely.
“And do you really think something like that will happen? Really? This all sounds bad, but will the people start rioting in the streets for rich blood? They'd be willing to kill over money?”
“Kamelot, you know damn well, probably better than anyone, that money isn't just money. It's survival. An economic depression, starvation, and the need to protect your family could turn the best of us into barbarians.”
A wicked grin formed on his face. “And with the war…”
You looked at him, disgusted. “Yes, and with the war, this would be the worst possible time for a depression because the government is currently paying for a war and is falling into debt to do so, and if the economy were to collapse now, the government would be unable to provide relief for those who were hit the hardest, for the poor, the destitute, the infamous and the unfortunate. The people who need help the most. People will die, and you're sitting there smiling.”
He sobered up quickly. “Ah, yes, sorry about that. No, I was thinking of something else. But with all of this happening, between the war and the lower classes starving and riots and attacking the higher classes, how many people will die, do you think?”
There was an unnervingly light tone in his voice, as though he was pleased about the carnage that was to come.
You fixed him with a very solemn look.
“Too many.”
Wow, that was an impressive show of eloquence. Considering your tongue and eyelids felt slightly heavy. You really thought you were going to stutter at some point during that speech. Well, it's not as though your words were crisp and perfect the whole time, you were slurring slightly for some unknown reason.
The table was silent once more.
Wisely suddenly spoke up.
“Tyki, you're worried about your friends.”
Tyki blinked in surprise, probably assuming that the arguing would go on and not expecting to be addressed. “Ah, yeah, they're old enough to be drafted. Or, well, most of them are. The one who isn't… well, economic depression doesn't sound so great either.”
“Oh, maybe I should check on Alan,” said Road with a bit of concern.
Kamelot and Wisely spoke simultaneously.
“Absolutely not,” said Kamelot.
“Alan isn't a Portuguese citizen, Road,” said Wisely.
“Who's Alan?” You wondered, intrigued.
“My boyfriend. Well, also Tyki’s boyfriend, but he doesn't like admitting it,” Road informed you.
Tyki spluttered, turning red and stammering out random words.
“Oh, I see. Don't worry, I get it. I had to break up with my ex because I didn't want people to find out, throw us in an asylum, you know, general punishment for those who are different. Man, what is up with this county? France is so cool about girls dating girls.” That was uncharacteristically uncreative of you. You’d already criticized Portugal. And you confessed to an attraction to women. Oh. Repeating yourself, plus the honesty, plus the slurring, plus the haziness, the puzzle pieces were slowly coming together. Were you drunk?
Kamelot shot you a glare, but didn't take the bait.
“Anyway,” you continued, disappointed, “you should definin-definitely check up on him, especially if he's not a citizen. He won't be able to be drafted, but he could be deported. So, you know, maybe look out for him.”
“Oh, he doesn't live here,” Road said dismissively. “He's in England.”
“We-ell, then he's fine!” You laughed. You felt ever so slightly giddy. “No, don't wor-worry about England, they still treat their poor like shit, but they treat them considerably better than they used to about fifty years ago. The people will count themselves lucky to not be treated as they used to, and they make decent wages. Not enough to live off of, but enough to keep them from complaining. There won't be any serious uprisings, the explor-explain-exploitation of the people should last a little longer, and the economy should survive a bit longer, they're still reaping the rewards of colonialism. I give them thirty years before their economy starts to fall apart. 'Nless they enter a war. 'Sides, they're using the Irish as slaves, like they always have. They'll be fine. The rich are terrible as always, but they'll be fine.”
Hey, perhaps you had too much wine. You just said “shit” in front of a rich, highly influential family. If it was just Kamelot, you wouldn’t mind. But this was the whole gang. It was totally different.
You had just thought the word “gang.” You had definitely drunk too much on an empty stomach.
“Yeah, I strongly recommend you stop now,” said Wisely.
Had you been speaking out loud? Shit, you were drunker than you thought. Fortunately, you had a history of pretending to be sober when you were not. It was mostly Kamelot’s fault, his stupid ideas and sexy face were driving you to the drink.
“Haha,” Wisely chuckled awkwardly, “I think that’s enough now, maybe you should go. Or eat something, or sober up somehow, if you don’t mind.”
Were you still talking out loud? “Sh-Shit, I’m sorry mmmadam,” you said to Lady Kamelot. It was rude to oggle her husband in front of her.
“For what?” She asked. “If it’s about your opinions, I think they were a wonderful insight into the world around us, you needn’t apologize for that.”
“No, it’s-- It’s for what I said earlier. After that.”
She looked concerned. “You… you didn’t say anything after that, dear. Are you alright? Maybe you should slow down with the wine.”
Wait, then why did Wisely address you? Could… could he read minds?
You snorted at your line of thought. Man, you were really drunk. “Wisely can read minds,” as if. You were going to stop drinking now.
Wisely sighed, looking relieved. What a weirdo.
You fixed your gaze forward. There, at the opposite end of the table, sat Kamelot. Of course, you already knew that, verbal tennis court, duh. You rested your chin in your hands. He was eating his steak, cutting into it elegantly and holding a quiet conversation with Tyki. Yeah, Tyki was attractive, you guessed. But really, to you, he didn’t have anything on Sheril. Sheril was like a panther, like a snake, sitting and waiting to pounce, to strike. His lips moved quickly. They were nice. He paused to listen to Tyki. He lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip, nodding slightly. He looked so serious.
It was kinda hot.
Wisely shifted uncomfortably.
You paid him no mind.
Kamelot swirled his glass. His fingers were long, longer than yours, even with your history of piano. They curled gracefully around the stem and bowl of the glass. One of his fingers on his other hand began to tug on a long tendril of hair that hung in front of his face.
You had a flash of an image, those hands straining against bonds keeping him tied down to the headboard of a bed, sweating and frustrated, his shirt open with sweat dripping down his clavicle--
“STOP.” You looked at Wisely, surprised. He had stood up and looked very red. “You have had too much to drink and I think you should leave, right now, let’s go. Sorry Mom, I think that now would be a good time to end dinner, if you want to talk to her, she’s on the doorstep.”
“Hey, now listen here,” you said, not slurring at all because you weren’t drunk, not even a little. “I’m not going anywhere. This is the first time in months that I’ve had a rational conversation with someone about politics and the state of the economy. I’m not leaving.” You crossed your arms to demonstrate your obstinacy. Ooh. Obstinacy. That was a good word, you should use it more often.
“Sorry, I think you need to leave,” Wisely said flatly walking towards you, presumably to pull you out of your seat and walk you out the door.
Well, you had never willingly let a Kamelot boss you around before, and you weren’t about to start now.
“I don’t thnik-- think so!” You declared, standing up angrily.
You were starving, you realized, suddenly. You could literally die from this. Drinking this much-- how much was it, four glasses of wine by now?-- without any food could kill you. Not to mention the fact that you hadn't eaten in six days. You were weak and making poor decisions-- you went out into the rain with no way of knowing if you'd be able to get dry.
You swayed on your feet for a second. This revelation shook you to your core. Were you really willing to die just to discredit one man?
The Kamelots, who had been glancing at you worriedly and muttering about your health suddenly started when your snapped your head toward them. Fixing your eyes on the head of the table, you looked directly into Sheril Kamelot’s eyes.
“No,” you said. “Or yes. I'm not quite sure. Would my death matter? I suppose. Depends how they write it in the papers. Do me a favor and make me a martyr.”
With that, your eyes so like slid shut and you fell backwards, passing out.
The last thought you had as your head hit the floor was: “Asshole. Didn't even have the decency to catch me.”