『Schadenfreude』▷ jaesahi。

i r r e l e v a n t

The longer hand of his watch ticked once again, signalling another minute to pass and Asahi found himself still unable to feel any sort of enjoyment in the current predicament. Jaehyuk, on the other hand, was a whole different tale.

It was not too long ago— thirty years, perhaps, since the three of the twelve chaplets of Nesrin were gathered altogether. Unlike the previous meeting between Yoshinori and his knights, they were now sat on a much distinguished place where the richest of the rich only would meet, sumptuous earthenware and porcelain graciously still on top of the table in the confinement of four walls. The redolence of four different aromas was strong yet sophisticated, and Asahi couldn't help but glance at Jaehyuk's cup full of half-soy decaf organic chocolate and vanilla... something.

He had known the other for seven hundred and three years but he still couldn't quite grasp the workings of his mind yet. It was far too Daedalian and particular, like the intricately crocheted sweaters that Sello used to make for the two of them, or perhaps even more complicated than it. He wondered how long it would take to memorize every thing that Jaehyuk liked and disliked, every little habit he had and every word that would cause him to have that small quirk on his lips.

A lifetime, probably.

He paused.

A lifetime.

Am I willing to spend that long?

Then his gaze moved towards Jaehyuk to behold the sight of those roseate lips making way for his teeth to make their rare advent, and he decided that yes, indeed he was.

"How fares my Ren?" Jaehyuk began, eyes shining with mockery as he smiled.

"With all due respect, Sir Leonzel," Yoshinori replied, mien tranquil despite his ire. "I believe we have met in the lieu of official matters. Addressing me as such is simply a blasphemy."

"Oh, nonsense," the other jibed. "It has been so long, Ren. I am merely delighted to see my good friend."

"Seymour," Haruto's cold voice cut through the tension as fast as it could. "Or Yoshinori. Please do not address my lord in such an unpleasant manner."

Jaehyuk halted in a fraction of a second, eyebrows rising. "Unpleasant?"

He turned to Yoshi with amusement glimmering in his shiny orbs.

"My," he gasped with blasphemous dismay. "Does Sir Daemon not know—"

"Yshid," Yoshi called. "Enough."

Asahi's eyes were quick to narrow at the call, head whipping around far too hasty for normal. With brows scrunched up together in chaude melle, mouth slightly parted in alarm, he gawked at Jaehyuk. Yshid? He had been born and had grown in the country of Arryn. He, who was more than familiar with every tradition and culture of the vampiric nation, knew well enough that it was rare to call someone by their made name.

In vampiric tradition, there were four parts to the name of a citizen— more for the royalties, but commoners and nobles alike always had four. The first was the bestowed name, the most commonly used to address someone, a name bestowed by the leader of their families or perhpas even by a reputable person. The third was their mother's surname, and fourth their father's.

The most salient one, however, was the second piece; and that was a vampire's made name.

A made name was a moniker that one had made by oneself for themself, a name that they beleieved defined their true essence. As such, made names were the most intimate way of addressing a vampire, and ones allowed to do so were only one's family, lover or extremely close friends.