A Couch

"Weapon Lem," a soft voice murmured, somewhat distant given the layers of sleep it crossed to reach Lem's consciousness. The voice sounded faintly amused, though the amusement was tinged with confusion, too. "What are you doing here?"

Lem knew he hadn't slept nearly long enough, his body stiff and aching. His legs had fallen asleep from the hard floor pressed against his hips, and his neck complained bitterly of the angle at which his head rested. Opening his eyes felt like a terrible undertaking, and it was only after a few seconds that he managed to pry one of them open, his vision blurred with sleep. He tried to answer the voice, but all that escaped his sleep-addled tongue was a tangle of meaningless syllables. "Ugh, bluh, muh, guh," he shook his head, lifting a hand to his head, forced to manually lift it away from his shoulder, too stiff to try lifting his head without help. That done, he scrubbed at both eyes, blinking a few times before lifting his gaze to the owner of the voice.

Lady Nassau stared down at him, a slight wrinkle in her forehead. She didn't look angry, no matter how menacingly her blood-red eyes glinted in the low light of the candles. If anything, her expression spoke of a deep befuddlement.

"Lady Nassau!" Lem exclaimed, and tried to stand. He'd forgotten that his legs were still asleep, though. When he tried to move, his legs refused to work properly, and so all he managed to accomplish was a pathetic yelp as he fell over, sprawling sideways at the feet of his new master.

"Weapon Lem," Lady Nassau said, her voice still soft, still confused, but now significantly more amused, "When I suggested you sleep, I did not intend for you to sleep here."

Lem felt his face heat with embarrassment as he picked himself up from the floor, reaching down to knead some feeling into one of his thighs before switching to the other. "I apologize," he said, a bit sullenly. He waited, then, expecting punishment.

Instead, Lady Nassau crouched in front of him, meeting his surprised glance up with a half-smile. Her lips remained closed, hiding her dangerous fangs, a soothing gesture usually employed by vampires who wished to appear non-threatening. Lem couldn't remember Lord Nassau ever smiling with his fangs concealed, nor did he think the smile had ever reached his eyes, the crimson pools of cruelty leaving a greater impression than his fangs in Lem's memory.

"You can go to bed," she said plainly.

"I don't have one up here," Lem said, a bit idiotically. He shouldn't have contradicted her, but he was confused by everything she did. Her behavior was so baffling, it made him stupid. "My bed is in the lower manor."

Lady Nassau considered him for a long moment. "Is that a problem?" she asked.

"Uh. Lower Thralls and Upper Thralls don't usually… interact," Lem explained. He was a bit surprised she was unaware of the hierarchy, though perhaps he shouldn't have been. Those of the Blood tended to care very little for the politics of those beneath them, after all.

"I see," Lady Nassau said, rising once more. "So you need new chambers, then."

Chambers was probably a generous term for the small closet that was likely to be his new room, but Lem kept his mouth shut for once, nodding.

Lady Nassau frowned. "It's still daytime," she noted, glancing up and down the deserted halls.

Lem nodded again.

After considering Lem for a long moment, Lady Nassau sighed. "Come in," she said, turning to her door, pushing it open. "I have a couch in here, you can sleep there until we can find you a place of your own."

Lem stared at her with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. The only time thralls were ever given a seat in the presence of a vampire was when a feeding was about to commence. But he was a weapon, which meant his blood was not particularly well-liked by most vampires. Weapons were rarely specifically requested. Feeding on them tended to be more… traumatic, often triggered by an excess of blood drawn during a weapon duel, driving one of the vampiric observers of the duel into a blood frenzy. He may have been fed upon many times in his life, but Lem had only ever sat on a couch once or twice in his eighteen years. Instinctively, he felt his hand clasping the scarring at his neck as he stared back at Lady Nassau.

For her part, Lady Nassau stared back at him, confused, for a long moment. Then, her eyes widened. "Oh! No, not…" she trailed off awkwardly. "I won't be in the room. So you don't need to worry." Her face twisted even as she said the words, as if realizing how idiotic that sounded. Could a thrall not worry in the presence of the Blood? Lem doubted such a thing was possible.

"Yes, Lady Nassau," Lem said, forcing himself to drop his hand from his neck, tucking his thumb into his belt to keep it from shaking. He didn't really believe her, couldn't believe her, but it didn't really matter. If she ordered him to the couch, he would be forced to go there anyway. At least this way it felt a little bit like a choice. "Thank you."

Turning away, Lady Nassau flung the door to her chambers open, traipsing inside and waving him along. Lem trailed in behind her.

She pointed at a long, very soft-looking couch, and said, "You can sleep there. Um. You can take off your…" she stopped, and again Lem got the impression that if she could have blushed, her face would be bright red. "Anyway, feel free to get comfortable…" her voice trailed off in a squeak, and she turned, rushing past Lem, practically slamming the door behind her as she left the room.

Then it was just Lem and the couch.

Sighing, Lem unbuckled the dagger belt, draping it over one of the arms of the couch. He kicked off his boots, too, and then tentatively sat on the couch. It was soft, and infinitely more comfortable than the floor.

He wasn't convinced he wouldn't be rudely awakened by fangs in his throat, but hopefully in the interim, he would get a few hours of sleep. That would have to be enough. Gingerly, Lem lay down on the couch, closing his eyes.

Sleep found him mere moments later.