[quantal_goldfish]

Suho - whose wary eyes, at the general's command, lit up like a child - deflated with the words that followed. His half-open mouth puckered into a dejected pout. Fair... that was the original intent of summoning the general here. That man's purpose was to be here, assuming the authority and "duty" of the Emperor to remind the boy of the obligations of a favoured court dancer.

Truth be told, he did not think he warranted this. He knew what he did. He knew what they did, too- but he supposed it was too late to voice against it, when they'd taken his obedience for granted for so long. The naivete of a young gosling had him bending too easily under the weight of empty promises until his bones had set and he realised the dwindling of the hour. Either that, or the Emperor had a good taste for game. Suho's frame might be fragile, but the strength of his mind far triumphed any amount of force that the strongest heart in the world could beat with.

That was what his hyung said, anyway. The chasing game between him and the emperor had in his opinion long devolved into petty guerrilla war. At this point, it was a battle to see who would break first - the Emperor's pride, or Suho's will.

In a way, in an abstract sense of the word, it was fun. If he could deride himself of the senses of the skin, then there was enjoyment to be reaped from these sessions. What would the Emperor like to show him today? How would the Emperor like to test him today? What would he wrangle this time; the flesh or the psyche? The will of the body and the will of the mind were curious things. And even he himself, the sufferer of this test, was curious to see its hypothesis. What lengths would the Emperor go? His Highness had always told him that He appreciated the dancer's pretty face. Suho wondered if there would come a day where his patience would short and the skin of his cheek would do more than bruise, and tear.

There was one other place aside from the throne room's marble floors where his agency was all his to hold, afterall - and that was here, in these stone cold walls, where, for as long as the Emperor couldn't force his head down, he was Lord. This wasn't where the Emperor should be, anyway. You couldn't be Lord of a place you don't belong in. He was Lord of this dungeon, a dirty prisoner in pristine robes unbefitting of his body, while the Emperor was his rat, who should be upstairs in the light of the Sun, in his throne room, not down here where the beggars grovel and the criminals wait for a blade to kiss them goodbye on the back of their neck.

Suho picked at the pith clinging to the skin of the tangerine slices. The fibre fell apart easily, giving limply to the push and pull of his fingers. Even as he deliberated, the General only looked on, head cocked, as though he was waiting for an answer. An answer? At long last, Suho looked up, and searched the tentative darkness for the glitter of his companion's eyes.

There was no threat in the aura of the general, he found. Oddly enough, on the contrary, General Do's presence was a comforting calm. It was a blanket that slowly the cold from the marrow of his bones; suddenly, the fire flickering outside the cell felt just a bit more real. Curious - even as the promise of impending punishment loomed over his head, Suho found, to his surprise, no apprehension creeping up along his blood vessels. On the contrary, it was a lulling sense of familiarity, like a deep trust from long time ago re-surfacing from a black ocean.

A strange thirst arose at the back of his throat. Curious; he was curious. This face in the dark was shrouded in shadow that passed by him like a gentle veil, much gentler than the harsh contrasts of the Emperor's face when he stood in that same spot. He couldn't read it. What was there to read? General Do's hands were small. What kind of power did those hands hold? The sturdiness of his figure seized the room in a pulsing calm. He wanted to see. If this calm was the river that churned violent undercurrents, if General Do was the tide that swept across acres and acres of white shore while bringing down thatched roofs and low mountain tops and ripped the grass from their roots.

"You ask for my suggestion, sir?" He ventured, the slightest hint of a smile nudging the edge of his lips, and then caught himself. Even though the General did not seem malevolent, that did not necessarily mean he was sympathetic. In this court, the job had only one purpose, and that was, afterall, to be done. "Do what you must. This subject will not be easily fazed."

But then, he added,as an after-thought: "You shouldn't fret. It does not suit your disposition."

His hand previously held aloft flopped gracelessly back onto the dungeon floor. The fruit almost tumbled out of his grasp, knocked askew with the mindlessness of his action, but he caught onto it with two fingers and drew it back into his palm. Dainty fingers closed a tender cage around it. This was the fruit borne of people's blood and sweat; he must not bruise it.