houseofcards_rp | A storm to would-be death

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A storm to would-be death

[He'd gotten the power back. He'd finally (though it was hard to tell if his efforts had actually done anything for it) coordinated everything and the power was back on.

And he was so tired. Ready to sleep. Sleep harder and longer than he had in years. Until this little anonymous (no, that wasn't true. He knew him, knew all his Spades. It was just the exhaustion talking, the exhaustion) had appeared to what?

What, exactly did this child thing he could do to the King of Spades?

Nothing.

Which is why his voice is a frozen rumble as be literally tosses the would-be assassin out of his room, stalking into the hallway after the body.]

That is not acceptable behavior.

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PJs are in full gear -- although there's extra bundling, even though power is back and heat is returning to the castle a little at a time. Her room really isn't warm yet, but that's okay, because it's been a while since she visited Papa, and surely he could use some --

The entire line of thinking is ruined when a body collides with the wall. It takes a minute for her to respond, to decide between her instincts as his daughter to protect him (surely he'd return the favor, were it necessary, because they're family, right?), and her instincts as a Spade to let her King prove his dominance when it's so clear that he can. With the man limp on the floor, not yet recovered from the shock of being thrown quite literally out of a room, Amy steps forward.

"I'll call someone." Because surely, with the guy laying prone and David still standing, dominance is expressed, isn't it? He doesn't look like he's getting up anytime soon.

[David stood in the doorway, looming and angry.]

Yes, Amy. Thank you.

[Polite formality, as cold and closed off as could be.

But... she was dressed wrong for this situation. She was dressed for papa, not the King. Damn and blast, wasn't that something he was trying to encourage, after his months of cutting himself off from everyone? He tried to modulate his tone into something a little warmer, but he was certain that if Amy tried to touch him while he was so wound up, he'd break her arm.

Itchy had said his distance would be the death of him. Perhaps that's why the man had attacked - he no longer believed David to be worthy of his Kingship.]

I'll wait here.

[With the man. And his temper. And possibly a few joints out of place.]

[Only an idiot would reach out for the King of Spades when he has that look in his eyes, but that doesn't stop her from moving closer. She doesn't try to touch, but she's moving closer. Making the call for the night shift guards to come get this idiot doesn't take much time, and no one questions why she's not doing something about it despite being part-time guard herself.

And then she's snapping her phone closed, dropping it into the pocket of her oversized cardigan.]

What happened? I swear to God, five minutes ago things were quiet and fairly peaceful in here. Rundown. I need it.

[...Despite not being a guard responsible for hauling this guy's sorry ass off, she can take a statement and submit a report. She did it for years, after all.]

Someone attacked my in my office, Amy.

[The fact that he allows himself to sound annoyed while he says it - and while he deals roughly with preparing the man for the guards - says a lot about the closeness of their relationship.]

And then I dealt with them. What else do you desire to know?

[Because now is so not the time to be asking him for a report.]

[Amy will go on believing that it says they are, indeed, as close as father and daughter. Any information to the contrary will be promptly ignored.]

...I'll get details when he's gone, milord. I don't think he's going anywhere, though, so you can probably put him on the floor.

[She's not flinching at his rough treatment of the would-be assassin (after all, he's probably where her own instincts to do the same came from -- him and Ethan), but it would probably be bad for him to execute him before official Things could be filed and whatnot.]

We'll get that all handled, all right? It'll be all right.

Indeed.

[She was right. He was manhandling an unconscious man. It made him feel better, but it certainly didn't give the same intimidation factor - made it a bit pointless, really.

He drops the man, right there, and lets the body crumple to the floor.]

I'm sure it will be, Amy. There's little choice for it not to be.

[He'd make it all right through sheer stubbornness and force of will if he had to.]

[With the man back on the floor, Amy resumes her careful approach, and when she's within reach, she simply extends her hand -- an offer, not an attempt to touch. Take her hand, David, let her help. She loves her Papa so very much, and she'll do whatever it takes to get him into a position wherein things are okay.

Because they have to be. Like he said, there is no other option.

It's not long before the guards arrive, and two cart the guy off while the other lingers, waiting until the King looks ready to give a statement without ripping someone's arms off.]

[David allows her to slip her hand into his - a repression of his anger and an acknowledgement of her need.

He'd never admit to taking the slightest comfort from it himself.]

Come in, Amy. I will construct a report.

[An unspoken order for her to send the guards away as he turned back into his office.]

[With David disappearing into his office, Amy sends the other guard off under the guarantee that she'll get the report herself. Then she's following her Papa in, closing the door quietly behind her, and settling close. Because she's allowed to do that, isn't she? He did hold her hand...]

[He settles down at his desk while she sits, sorting more for the sake of something to do with his hands than anything else.]

There's not much to tell.

I don't care.

[She grabs her phone and sets it to record before setting it on his desk. A written statement can be taken later.]

Tell me everything, starting with your name and the date, please.

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A storm to would-be death

...And just when she was coming to cuddle because it's a storm, even if it's not That Kind of storm.

Poor Amy.

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