Ow.
Why was this body so useless? Groaning, I got out of bed, the light just starting to come in from the windows. I stretched, hoping that would ease some of the muscle pain, before I changed into my uniform. Phew. The day's already started.
I left my room, heading to the dining room, where my father already sat at the head of the table. He looked even worse than last I saw him, yet he wasn't bad enough. In front of him was two empty bottles of wine and several plates of food.
"Look who decided to wake up," he said, spitting more food than what had been captured in his beard. "I wish you were a bastard."
I slammed my fist down on the table, glaring at him. "Well, I wish I didn't have such a disgrace of a father. Tell me, father, do you see triple right now?"
He stood, his chair sliding backwards, and pointed at me. "I'm going to throttle you to death, if you keep speaking to me like that!"
Harry stood off to the side, standing there like a statue, watching the exchange. "Please, master and young master, can't we have a civilised meal?"
"Only when he's dead," I declared, occupying the farthest seat from him.
"Keep talking, and I'll choke you to death in your sleep, boy," he said, gulping down more wine. My grip tightened on the plate I held as I filled it with bits and pieces of only meat. "Bloody hell, if your mother was here-"
My plate flew through the air at him, food going everywhere. He blinked, as though not recognising it's path. Harry stepped forwards, catching the plate right before it struck my father's face. I watched as he slowly took the image in, feeling a surge of satisfaction at how shocked he looked. "Manners, please," Harry chimed in, going unheard by the both of us. Then, there was his anger. He had the last of the bottle before walking to me. I stood up to meet him, barely chest height. My fists trembled.
The bottle was swung at my head at a breakneck pace, yet Harry was there again, stopping it again just an inch from my face.
"Manners," Harry repeated, wrenching the bottle out of the bastard's hand, forcing himself between us. "Please." There was no smile on his face, yet neither of us broke eye contact with the other. Darkness was all I saw in his eyes.
"You're pathetic," I said, sitting back in my chair. The loyal butler had already filled the plate I threw with a nutritious breakfast that I could only grimace at. The broken man stood there for another moment, his breathing heavy, before returning to his seat.
"And you're a disgrace," he said, uncorking another bottle of wine.
Not another word was exchanged between us all morning, with him disappearing into his study as soon as he finished eating. I was far more productive than he was, even going out to the garden to see the restoration in person.
Gerald was slowly clipping overgrown branches and twigs and bushes, moving at a pace that seemed to be making him groan with every movement. He hadn't noticed my appearance, yet, but he kept muttering to himself, "Come on, Gerald."
"You're making progress," I said. He jumped, almost cutting off his hand.
"Dammit, boy! I almost lost my only use." The Groundskeeper turned to face me, his eyes sunken and his skin paler than I last saw him. He was breathing hard, and wiped some sweat off his forehead.
"If you're sick, I do not want to catch it." I crossed my arms, watching him with narrowed eyes, trying to catch any lie he'd use.
"Excuse me, sir, but it's no sickness, I think," he replied. Gerald bowed deep to me, even knocking his hat off in the process. He bent, his head lowered, to pick it up, and took a breather before standing. "Just an aging body that's not used to hard work anymore."
"Good. Get it used to the work, and fast," I said, turning around and walking away. "I will be checking your progress after school."
"Yes, young master."
After that brief meeting, I headed to the front of the estate, where a carriage in House Clement colours awaited, the same one I'd ridden the day before. School, get ready for my brilliance.