25 Days of SyndiSparklez and Motanite

12: The Troubles of the Evil

Hours till Christmas

(25 Californian)
(24 Mountain)
(23 hours till Christmas Central time)
(22 Eastern)
(15 UK)

Motanite:

Setting: Pre-Mianite S2, Pre-Mianite Corruption, So Back When Mot Was 16 And Not Fucking Dianite
Sum: have fun reading. Probably canonly inaccurate, but spend 5 hours scrolling through a blog run by Mot's actor looking for info and tell me how to write him.

His eyes opened for the fifth time that night. Desperately, dark green eyes flitted to the window. To the ceiling. To the wall. To the door. To the sparse furniture. When everything contained in the room was deemed familiar his eyes drifted shut.

A small creak and they flew open again. Mot sat up, bare feet brushed against polished wood, whispering secrets to the ground. To hell if he didn't know who was in his house. He threw open his bedroom door and saw a god he had come to know in a few weeks sitting on his couch drinking his wine.

"Dianite, must you bother me in my own home?" Mot growled.

"You didn't do what I asked, again. And I was the one who gave you this home, if you recall," Dianite said testily. He pursed his lips and took a sip of the wine. "I asked for a report on how the negotiation went, typed, spell-checked, and handed to me in person. You did none of that."

"I didn't want to," Mot said with an air of candor. He didn't trust the god enough to approach him and kept his distance.

"I'm not sure you understand what being a follower of mine means," Dianite said. "If you want to be a whore and thief in alleys again, do so and admit to me you can't be anything other than a wretch." At this Mot clenched his fists. "Or try to change that attitude of yours and attempt to be a proper businessman."

Mot was silent and he watched as Dianite set the glass down, his dark eyes shifted to Mot in a stare that held the soul. If Mot didn't answer, Dianite would take it as a sign of failure.

"I..." Mot swallowed heavily. "I don't know how to use a typewriter."

Dianite cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. "By next negotiations you better learn. You chose to be my associate, you will do whatever it takes to prove your use." The god stood and approached Mot, keeping distance between them. "I gave you the chance, because I can see something in you that if sharpened will be a brilliant sword."

"I'm so deeply honored to be your tool," Mot said sarcastically.

He took a few steps back to assure distance and leaned next to his bedroom door, ready to escape back behind the door if needed.

"Watch your tone," Dianite snapped, his dark eyes staring threateningly at Mot.

"Watch your words," Mot said evenly. "I have higher standards than you think."

"Really?" Dianite scoffed. His eyes held the unspoken words, the unspoken insult. Mot growled and clenched his fists.

"You-" Mot stopped abruptly at the dark glimmer behind Dianite's eyes, he was purposely baiting the young man. He closed his mouth with an audible click and nodded, not trusting his own words to come out clean.

"Next negotiation is in three days, those papers better be good boy or else," Dianite said and he walked back over to the couch, he grabbed the wine bottle as an afterthought. "I'm taking this; you have good taste I'll give you that."

"Jackass," Mot muttered and ran a hand through his hair, the dark blonde spilling past his fingers. Dark green mottled some of his hair, but he could still see the dark blonde if he parted the top strands of his hair.