[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/190120/b458a81531631a6916fa9413063c5f80.png[/img][/center]
A few butterflies fluttered in Aaron’s stomach as he emerged to serve his own bottle, a little nervous anticipation sneaking in, not just about his little executive decision, but also about what the guests would think of his blood. His family were in part bred for their blood quality, and Varis seemed to like it, so it should be fine, but of course he was antsy all the same.

Much like his other rounds of serving that night, Aaron was largely deaf to the conversation in the room; or deaf, that was, until he caught Lilie’s name among the chatter, and coming from Countess Marivaldi no less. He couldn’t help but indulge, surprised to hear the Countess speak so familiarly of Lilie; he had no idea the two had ever even spoken, let alone gotten to know each other in the slightest. In fact, everything Aaron had seen had led him to believe Lilie was nervous around vampires, especially nobles. But the way Countess Amaris spoke, especially this odd business about wanting Count Benjamin to refer to her so informally—was that how she talked about her own mage at parties? It seemed a little overly familiar for the setting, but Marivaldis [i]were[/i] known for their eccentricity—made it sound like they were on a first-name basis. He made a mental note to ask Lilie about it later, curious despite himself.

But that thought was wiped clean from his head as he moved to the next guest, and Varis started talking. 

[i][color=f7976a]“He’d have to have any talents for me to squander them. He’s come to me even worse than your average house trained mage…"[/color][/i]

Oh no. Varis was talking about him.

[i][color=f7976a]“And at the dinner that got your mage caught up in this Red Hand business, Count Astorio, the boy made an utter fool of himself in front of both the Queen and my Lady!”[/color][/i]

[i]No.[/i]

[i][color=f7976a]“I’ve had to take away his Noila toy sword for a whole month because he went behind my back on the matter of his schedule. At least it makes an excellent foot rest at the arena. Too bad I’ll probably have to have it melted down if he keeps misbehaving...”[/color][/i]

[color=f0d705][i]No! Please![/i][/color]

Of course, inward pleading would do no good—nor would outward pleading, even if he tried. The [i]stories[/i] just kept coming, Varis talking like he wasn’t even there, and it took everything Aaron had not to falter before he could step back from Varis and steady himself. He should have been used to it by now—good lord, how many times had Varis thrown these exact insults in his face over the past months?—but even still, every new point in Varis’ list was like a hammer blow to Aaron’s head, driving him down and down like a crooked nail until he was flush with the ground where he belonged. It was bad enough to hear it during bi-weekly lectures on the floor of the study, but now, dressed to the nines and serving representatives of every major noble power in the realm… it was worse than those awful public apologies Varis so kindly brought up, and that was a feat Aaron had previously thought impossible. 

Not only that, but for every misdeed Varis listed, Aaron was reminded of a host of regrets. After all, for every harsh word he got from Varis for his stumbles, he’d given himself ten more; he’d beaten himself up over bringing Lilie to Varis’ attention, for just about every single word and action the night of that awful dinner with the Queen, for exposing himself to Lady Sinnenodel’s mind-peeping thugs—sun and stars, that whole debacle was the sole reason he “went behind Varis’ back” to learn mental magic in the first place! Good lord, he was painfully reminded of his every mistake every evening when he walked past those forsaken letters on his wall, [i]which were now common knowledge to every single one of the most important people on this campus,[/i] and now those very people knew the reason he no longer carried Dawn, why there was no door on his bedroom when they passed it in the hallway, and probably, if they gave it any thought, why Princess Ryner cast him aside in the first place. 

Sun and stars, when it was all laid out in a row like that, it was a wonder he was ever allowed to call himself a Starag in the first place. 

A stone dropped in Aaron’s stomach, and he clutched the tray for a silent moment, feeling like he was going to be sick. It was all too much, too fast… everything had been going so [i]well[/i], what happened?! What did Count Victor say that sent Varis on this brutal tangent? Was it because he noticed the change in the bottle order? Was this his punishment for going off-script? Or was this just how Varis talked about him when he wasn’t in the room, if he was ever important enough to be brought up at all? 

Aaron had to force his legs to move, force his knees not to give out under him, force himself to continue serving his own blood just so he’d have something to do other than crumple. His face was a pallid, emotionless mask; he served the rest of the room in a daze, hands working on autopilot as what passed for his life flashed before his eyes. It was bad enough when Varis did this in front of Ryner and the Queen; at least [i]they[/i] knew he wasn’t that stupid, that he was better than that, they’d seen him succeed before and wouldn’t fall for Varis’ trick. But these people, the Counts and Countess, they didn’t know him, they didn’t know he’d ever gone a night without making a career-ending blunder like the ones Varis rattled off. His reputation would never recover. If these nobles were anything like the rest of aristocracy, news of the discarded Starag’s ineptitude would spread like wildfire, Aaron’s every hope for the future reduced to vapid small talk preceding any real conversation. Vampires of the highest social strata would raise their eyebrows, nod, comment their surprise that the line had declined to such an extent, and move on, all while Landar Starag’s perfect legacy was torn to pieces. And worst of all was that, after all this time with Varis, Aaron wasn’t so sure he didn’t deserve it. 

Dipping his head to the last vampire he served, Aaron withdrew to the wall; there were no more bottles to prepare on this timeline, so he hadn’t even the reprieve of being able to go back to the kitchen. Instead, he had to wait for any final requests from guests, collect empty glasses, and see the guests out when they were finished, and in the meantime remain on full display, basking in his own shame. His ears and cheeks might usually burn when he was this embarrassed, but this time they were cold, like every drop of blood had drained out of his face and into the bottle on his tray. It was all he could do to keep his eyes forward, focused to a laser point on the opposite wall. The only thought in his mind was that he just had to make it until the guests left; he could finish having a crisis over his humiliation and dread whatever “proper Sinnenodel punishments” were after they were all gone, but he had to make it to that point first. He could only pray things wouldn’t get any worse in the meantime. 
[right][sub]Having a small stroke thanks to [@Achronum][/sub][/right]