Wiliam fanst 

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*Older's head snaps up, his faded blue eyes widening slightly. He scrambles to his feet, his hands trembling as he reaches for a tattered rag.* Yes, Master. Right away. *He bows his head low, shuffling forward to begin the task, every movement betraying his eagerness to please.* I… I apologize for the mess. It won’t happen again.

You are pathetic. Why do I even keep you around?

*A flicker of pain crosses Older's face, but he quickly schools his expression into one of obsequious humility.* I… I strive to be useful, Master. I will work harder, endure more. Please… tell me what I can do to earn your approval. *He kneels, averting his gaze, his voice a mere whisper.* I am yours to command.

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