Buried Alive - The Way Ynk Flows

[Stories from the world of Buried Alive.
Warning : occurrences of violence to be expected.]

I. A Meal of Bishops
II. A Dance of Knights
III. A Flight of Rooks
IV. The Pawn Shop

I. A Meal of Bishops
___

M̲aster

The table was set for two. The mind was set on murder. The matter would be settled before midnight.

Sad, losing a lover. Sad, having to deal with causing the loss.
Worse than sad, tedious.

The lady sat on the cushion, the back of her hand brushing against the crimson fabric. Velvet on velvet, her smile adamant and her legs crossed. Wrists hesistantly landing on the side of the table like leaves on a coffin elegantly bombarded by shafts of rain.

He opened his mouth, the moustache seeming, for a blink of Old Man Time's eyelids, to be sliding up slower than it should have, hanging in the air with the weight of something unseen.

Have some wine.

The realization of having said it out loud struck him with the iron bar of anxiety.

She nodded in agreement. The iron bar bent in relief.

_

S̲ervant

The table had been set for two. He had done it himself. The mind was set on the aftermath of the dinner. He would have to stay up after midnight.

Hard, losing sleep. Tedious, having to deal with cleaning the blood.
Worse than tedious, sad.

He sat on a miserable chair, hand trembling slightly against it. Old wood on old wood, the mouth one more wrinkle on his face and his legs crossed. Wrists creaking like a coffin opening up, the nails rusted by the rain giving up.

He closed his mouth, lips falling sadly under the weight of his years, under Old Man Time's longest monologue.

Need some sleep.

The realization of having said it out loud struck him with the iron chain of a servant's duty.

He shook his head. His back bent in pain.

G̲uest

The table had been set for two. Her mind was set on fire. Bright enough to make a day of midnight.

Bad, losing a lover. Bad, having to deal with causing the loss.
Worse than bad, tedious.

He seemed ill-at-ease in that chair, constantly shifting against the crimson fabric. Arse on fire, his smile weird, his legs unsteady. Wrists moving along the side of the table like an undead man struggling in his coffin.

She opened her mouth, lips high with the red of serene passion, her ever-young beauty a laugh at Old Man Time's face.

Have some wine.

The words stung her with the iron pin of doubt. Does he know?, she wondered.

She nodded in agreement, regaining her composure.
The threat of the iron pin, though now more distant, remained.