Surrendering Isn't an Option

-Part 3-

Leaning on the walls, the lark marched down the new hallway, the walls lad in white and the floors with a rich red carpet stretching to the corner. In similar fashion the the hall next to my room doors lined the walls in rich wood. We turned right and climbed a few more stairs, took our way down the hall, went down another right turn, and soon i felt lost.

After climbing many, many stairs, all equally dangerous, and walking through many hallways, all equally uneventful, i met a landing with a short hall and a large metal door, grey, metallic, and cold. At the end of the hall on the right I saw a silver ladder, leading up, and I guessed it lead to the grey crown that lay on the top of this white dome.

The large door immediately in front of me was actually a double door, with about three locks. One a normal key lock, a pad, and a crank. The Lark huffed for a bit until straightening up, walking towards the door, and knocking.

The knocks sounded oddly loud, echoey, and disorientating. We waited in absolute silence before I hear gears crunching against each other and two clicks. The King stood with the door open.

"Ah, I was just dealing with Sir Evalaz's first born. I am glad I sent him down by the elevators, the stairs would have been quite the conundrum. Corruption, come. Gortyre, make yourself scarce, and send a guard up instead. I need a list of the items and a new lashel."

I stepped inside, feeling the King's eyes on me, and supposed my wanted me to sit down. In the room was a little messy: books, papers and random lectronics sat neatly stacked on shelves and on a wooden desk. Behind the desk sat a grand chair, similar to the throne in the first room of the capital. In front of the desk was a stool, wooden frame and red velvety cushion. I seated myself on the stool and waited for the king to walk over to his seat. He sat down comfortable, with his legs crossed and his hands grabbing some paper and a pen, as he scribbled down something.

"I like to interview my subjects personally before sending off." he said, looking up from his page and into my eyes. His were cold and unfeeling, grey and bored.

"So. I have but a few questions to ask before you may be escorted to your living quarters. So my first question: what skills do you think you have?"

He picked up the pen and readied his hand to note my words. I paused to think. What skills did I have? Not any off the top of my head.

"And I can't leave if I don't answer?" I asked, heavy with dread.

"I tire from the assaults on my curiosity, so therefor you are correct. I had much difficulty with Patient-- and I would like to enjoy my little interview. So what skills do you have?" he finished, sweetening his voice, like poisoned honey.

I cocked my head to the side and shut my eyes in thought.

Sighing, I replied, with a flat tone, "I don't have any skills. I guess i try not to become attached, and I'm good at that. But gee-golly-willikers, i don't know. Maybe i can analyze situations okay."

"Good." said the King, writing down my words rapidly, "next question, what kind of people do you like?"

At this I almost coughed, i choked on nothing and looked at him, confused.

"What kind of people do I like? What does that have to do with anything?"

But the King looked at me expectantly with his unfathomable eyes, and I sighed again, heavily.

"I don't."

"Splendid."

The scratching of his pen on the paper was eiry in the silence, and I pulled my knees up to my chest. It was difficult to balance on the measly little stool, but I managed.