Ever since his brother's death, Laurent had dreaded getting on a horse. That didn't mean he didn't do it, of course. To ride was far easier than to be hitched behind a horse, and like most things he set his mind to, Laurent was excellent at it.
But since seeing August trampled under hooves, Laurent could never truly love the act again, all the moreso now that his mare had thrown him from her back and into the ditch below. "Loyse," Laurent hissed into the darkness, but the horse had long fled, spooked by the shadow that had streaked across their path.
The shadow that Laurent was now alone with.
Mouth set in a grim line, Laurent reached past the books in his satchel to the LeMat revolver beneath them.
The brush stirred.
He cocked the hammer.
3. there was an attempt at being merry:
Laurent only came here for accomodation. A warm, dry bed, potentially a bath, seclusion from prying eyes. Yet on arrival he'd been told that there were no beds, but one might open up at any moment.
That was...unsettling, but with nowhere else to go and his horse long gone, all Laurent could do was wait. Perched now at the bar, he could not feel more out of place. He did not drink, a fact that grew only more resolute the number of times the barkeep cajoled him.
"Water," he said, not for the first time as the barkeep returned. "And stew." Pale eyes flashed. "There is extra coin in it for you if you leave me be."
4. the passage:
Laurent stared in consternation at the hole where the bookshelf had only just been. A part of him - a small, ragged part - thrilled for the sudden adventure, while the rest of him pined for the spines of books he'd truly wished to see.
In their place, darkness beckoned, as well as the tremble of distant candlelight against the walls. Laurent hesitated.
He should not go in alone, yet he did not know a soul here.
no subject
Ever since his brother's death, Laurent had dreaded getting on a horse. That didn't mean he didn't do it, of course. To ride was far easier than to be hitched behind a horse, and like most things he set his mind to, Laurent was excellent at it.
But since seeing August trampled under hooves, Laurent could never truly love the act again, all the moreso now that his mare had thrown him from her back and into the ditch below. "Loyse," Laurent hissed into the darkness, but the horse had long fled, spooked by the shadow that had streaked across their path.
The shadow that Laurent was now alone with.
Mouth set in a grim line, Laurent reached past the books in his satchel to the LeMat revolver beneath them.
The brush stirred.
He cocked the hammer.
3. there was an attempt at being merry:
Laurent only came here for accomodation. A warm, dry bed, potentially a bath, seclusion from prying eyes. Yet on arrival he'd been told that there were no beds, but one might open up at any moment.
That was...unsettling, but with nowhere else to go and his horse long gone, all Laurent could do was wait. Perched now at the bar, he could not feel more out of place. He did not drink, a fact that grew only more resolute the number of times the barkeep cajoled him.
"Water," he said, not for the first time as the barkeep returned. "And stew." Pale eyes flashed. "There is extra coin in it for you if you leave me be."
4. the passage:
Laurent stared in consternation at the hole where the bookshelf had only just been. A part of him - a small, ragged part - thrilled for the sudden adventure, while the rest of him pined for the spines of books he'd truly wished to see.
In their place, darkness beckoned, as well as the tremble of distant candlelight against the walls. Laurent hesitated.
He should not go in alone, yet he did not know a soul here.