In Which Searle's Brain Is Broken

March 2, 1172

Searle wedged his thumb beneath the prong of his belt and pushed it upward, only to let it fall back down and repeat the process. That period from September through December had been torturous enough--having to watch Sparron grimace as he went about with Camaline at his side while pretending it didn't matter, desperate not to look without looking like not looking--but now that the New Year had come and gone, things had yet to return to any semblance of normalcy. Searle would feed his father some excuse about hunting or riding or some pretty little thing of loose morals, then head over to Tetran and sneak up to Sparron's room. It would start out all well and good, kissing and fondling and otherwise fooling around, but then...

Well, Camaline happened.

It could have been worse, he supposed; after all, Camaline didn't give a damn about who Sparron took to his bed, nor did she seem at all interested in letting the secret slip. She and Sparron, from what Searle could tell, were quite content to leave each other be in regards to all things sex, but even if she wasn't Sparron's lover, she was still his wife--and a rather high-maintenance one, at that.

"Look, last time was just too close for comfort." She crossed her arms and sniffed. Searle had no idea what she was talking about and she didn't seem intent on letting him in the know--indeed, if not for one brief flicker of her lashes when she'd first entered the room, he might have thought she'd never even noticed him. "You told your stepmother one thing, and I told your father another, and we would have both been in for it had it not been for some chance observation from your little sister. We need to sort out an excuse before I leave."

Sparron sighed. Searle sometimes suspected that Sparron disliked Camaline's interruptions even more than he did; after all, it was always Sparron who was keen to get things over and done with, and these intrusions did little for efficiency. "Can't you just say you're visiting your sister? You're off to Armion anyway..."

"Supposedly, I've already 'visited my sister' twice this week--besides, your father sees Lorn all the time, and it's bound to come up one of these days."

Searle watched as Sparron's eyes closed in defeat, his boots twitching in preparation for their inevitable reunion with the floor. Three... two...

"Sorry, Searle, but could we have a moment? It won't be long."

"Right." He slung his used, frustrated form off the bed and trudged past the pair of them and into the corridor. Couldn't Camaline have waited until he'd left? Wasn't she supposed to be entertaining her brother and the pair of ladies-in-waiting he'd brought along, anyway? Not that he would have cared to sit around and talk with Ietrin and Ellona and Catherelle himself, but really--it would have only been common courtesy for her to have taken one for the team.

But now came the question of how to kill this extra bit of time. Neither the baron nor the baroness knew that he was here, but if he ran into them, he could always say he'd come over to see Sparron's little half-siblings--they, at least, were always happy to see him and never pressured him to leave, bless their tiny young hearts. They never barged in and demanded attention for themselves. They never--

As he half-mindlessly wandered into the sitting room at the end of the hall, his thoughts were censored by a loud crash! within his skull, its lingering after-sounds echoing off the bone and bouncing infinitely throughout his head. Perhaps, given why he himself was here, it was a little hypocritical... but it couldn't have been a similar situation. At the very least, he wasn't hurting anyone other than his own damn self--and he wasn't dumb enough to go about his business where anyone could just walk in and see.

Not that it mattered much. Whatever the hell was going on here, Searle's brain had broken.

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