#roman sinclair

Kevin blinked, as if waiting for the punchline. The thought that his master’s daughter would give him, a servant, a gift for Christmas, was at the least improper, at the most mad.

Upon seeing the quizzical look on his face, Roman grinned. “Come now, it’s Christmas!! Will you not allow one little gift?” he leaned over and spoke behind his hand, (though she could probably still hear him), “if you don’t accept, the little tyrant might just get offended. We wouldn’t want that, would we? Who can tell what her majesty’s ruling would be?”

“Please, I couldn’t possibly accept—”

“Keeviin!!” The little girl moaned. “Just let me do something nice for you, you dummy!”

He blinked. He knew The Sinclairs to be both benevolent and stubborn, but this was something else.

“My apologies, Ojousama,” he bowed.

The little girl had been attempting to hide something by keeping it behind her father’s back. Roman now lifted her off his shoulders, giving her to the floor. She pattered up to Kevin and offered him the gift with the innocent smile only little girls are capable of.

It was a red flower.

He blinked, reaching down and plucking it from her hand.

“It’s a…I forget what they’re called. But I’ve only ever seen these flowers be white. I’d never seen a red one, and it made me think of your eyes!”

The aforementioned eyes widened.

“See, I’ve never seen a person with red eyes either! I think they’re really pretty…and I just thought maybe you and the flower should be together!” She put her hands behind her back and swayed back and forth.

Others had noticed his eyes too...’noticed’ was a bit of an understatement. At her age he often got bullied for his strange appearance, but as he grew older people would often avoid eye contact, or seem very uneasy beneath his gaze…and those were some of the milder reactions.

“Well, what do you say?” Roman said like someone had just complimented his young son. Kevin cleared his throat and spoke properly and simply. “Thank you…I appreciate it,” he added when she continued staring at him.

She grinned, giving a small curtsey. “Good. Then I won’t have to behead you for your impudence!”

Something of his expression must have shown his shock because her father laughed, patting her head, ruffling her hair, “Always the little jester, this one.”

“Father! You’ll mess up my hair!” the Sinclair girl put her hands on her head, scowling at him.

“Sorry, sunshine!”

She took his hand, dragging her father back out into the party.

“We’ve leave you to keep manning the fort!” Roman saluted, and Emily waved.

Kevin leaned back against the wall, twirling the stem, watching the petals twist like a dancer in a red dress, trying to hide his smile.

*****

Kevin twisted the stem between his thumb and forefinger.

The same flower, but the times were so different.

A lot can change in a year.

“Master?” Albus asked again.

Kevin stood, looking the way of the painting-like scene the Chain looked at as a menu.

“It’s Christmas,” he said softly.

On this day last year, he was in a warm manor, the knight of an even warmer family. On this day last year he was a part of these traditions and games, even if on the sidelines.

Now he was cast out of that world, and no fires warmed his skin, no glittering lights peppered his vision, no candy or cake gracing his tongue…Not that having come now could sooth the ache in his stomach.

“And?”

His eyes darted from the twirling children to the twirling petals in his hand.

But others could still enjoy the warmth of this day. Even he was alone, and cold, his eyes attuned to the dark, others still gave each other gifts, and told stories, and ate sweets in the firelight. Others still had families they could sit with, and who they would be devastated to lose…especially tonight.

He began walking forward, tossing the bloom to the ground, it landing like a drop of blood on the snow.

“I won’t be killing anyone tonight.”

*****

“Break! Break!” the little girl toddled up to him, her feet carrying her as fast as they could in the snow, causing her to nearly topple over in her oversized coat. “I—” she panted, “I found something for you!”

She held up the bouquet of unevenly picked flowers like a trophy of war.

“Mother said you’re supposed to put flowers on people’s graves.” Sharon explained once she’d caught her breath, “I don’t really know what that means, but I made sure to pick the prettiest ones I could find.”

He blinked at her, taking them in an almost ginger way. It took him a moment to notice the red bloom hiding, slightly wilted, amongst the white.

“Do…Do you like them?” she asked, drawing circles in the snow with her boot.

He tried to smile, “Yes. Thank you, Sharon.”

Reim caught up with his friend, then gasped when he saw the makeshift bouquet.

“Sharon! You shouldn’t have picked those! I was just reading somewhere; the red variety is very rare!”

“You have nothing better to do then read about flowers?” she put her hands on her hips, “Why not pick up a book about something exciting,” she flourished with her hands, “something that will actually strengthen your mind… like a romance novel!”

“Shelly told you you’re not ready to read those!”

As the children squabbled—(he tried not to smirk at their fight…he’d slipped her that romance novel)—Break carried the bundle to said graves.

He pieced out the group, setting a few blooms on each, until only the red one was left.

As he let it drift onto the last stone, he murmured, “Merry Christmas, Emily.”

*****

Break strolled through the frosty Pandora garden. Reim had left his notebook back here—(…either that or someone hid it from him)—and he had commissioned (more like drilled) everyone in a nearby radius to help him look for it.

The garden was mostly barren at this time, though there were a few flowers that bloomed in winter. In particular, white blooms lined the pathway near the ground. He thought nothing of them until he rounded the corner to find a bit of a disaster on the pathway:

Petals were strewn about the stones, the stem in fractured pieces, like flower had offended someone, and this was their revenge.

Break knelt down and picked what was left of the bloom, guessing exactly who had decided to take whatever frustrations he had out on the innocent flower—(he made a mental note enhance those frustrations later).

“Oh, there you are Break!” Sharon ran up to him, hugging Reim’s notebook to her chest, “I found—Oh! What’s this?” She knelt down, observing the crime. “Who would do such a thing?”

“I think a rat may have gotten in here.”

She frowned, standing back up. “That’s too bad, I would have liked to put it in a vase. I think I remember someone telling me the red ones are very rare variety. It’s pretty... It kind of reminds me of your eye.”

He tried to laugh it off, crushing what was left of the flower and standing, joining her to return Reim’s property, thinking all the while it probably reminded Vincent of his eye too.

*****

“What is it, Sharon?” Reim asked.

She had stopped, before proceeded to running off to a nearby patch of flowers.

He couldn’t recall their name, but when he caught up to her, he saw that they were white flowers, blending in to the surrounding snow. Sharon knelt down before them and plucked one.

The one in her hand, however, was red.

“It’s been a long time since I saw a red one of these,” she said softly, twisting it in her finger.

“Yes,” he leaned over her shoulder, trying to get a better look at it, “I believe they’re quite rare.”

She proceeded to add this red flower to one of the bouquets she was carrying.

“My apologies for the detour,” she mentioned properly as he helped her back up.

They finished the rest of their journey, stopping before the graves. She knelt down and set one down at each respectively, removing the red flower and carefully placing it on top of the headstone.