The Guild Hall

[relentless]

Duval closed his eyes after George had stopped talking, a neutral expression befell him, as if he were storing rage. But then, he seemed to chuckle, and smile weakly before he shook his head, finally reaching to the glass and taking it in his hand.
"No worries."
He winked at him, and broke off into a dim smirk, before he sipped and sighed.
"She came to the bathhouse, the place where I now work. Surpisingly, Courcy is more gentle than she seems! Though perhaps a little... insecure, maybe."
The rogue put down his glass onto the desk, but kept his fingers glasped around it, turning the glass from left to right in order for him to distract his mind. Eventually, he came to and looked up at George, a bit tongue hampering him.

"How come you ask? You think I'm pissed off that you got some head and I didn't? Na'... I've..."
He paused, a shade of goosebumps seemed to prickle on his hand in front of George, along with Duval glancing behind him and rolling his shoulder out of emotional discomfort.
"I've... I've changed, just a little bit. Don't really-... don't really know what to make of it, truth be told."
Finally, would his concealed emotion show, a look of disgust and bitterness washed over him, straightening himself in the chair he was provided before he rubbed his nose with a single finger, longing in silence.

[rumsztyk]

"Ah, no nothing like that, I just... uh... It was a dick move to ditch you like that, you know. In all the senses of the word. Hah!" He laughed at his own joke. "Good to hear that you have a stable job. Just don't turn into the grumpy old me."

George felt like dodging the subject was not an option. "I see." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Wanna talk about it. Actually... one second."

He reached down under his desk, taking out a wooden box. "You still smoke, right? I don't - well, didn't - but look."

Inside the box are eleven medium-sized cigars, with room for one more. Three inches of tightly packed tobacco leaves.

"Got hold of those beauties and I just couldn't help myself. They're really fuckin' good, not that I know anything about cigars. Here." He slid the box towards Duval, along with a small blade to cut the tip and a matchbox.

[relentless]

He didn't look at the box, at least not immediately, Duvals eyes seemed focused, almost strained on the wooden floor before he lolled his head to the left, staring blankly at the box of cigars.
"Na', I don't... alright maybe a little."
He glanced up at George, though it was more like a glare than anything remotely gentle than before. His expression was neutral, almost dark, before he sighed and leaned forward in a hunched over posture. His hands came to his face, rubbing his face up and down before he straightened up, sighed and shook his head at George.

"Why are you even still here?"
He asked directly, his tone half accusing and half confused, before he bit his lip and hissed.
"Like- You flash these cigars and drink this booze in the worst shithole you could ever see, as if you're trying to... what? You could go anywhere else, but instead... you're here, sat here in this hell, showing off all this bent shit."
Duval sighed heavily, and leaned forward, his expression apologetic as he peered close across the desk, putting his flintlock on the desk itself.

"I know I sound like I have a stick up me arse, which isn't usually me. But lets be honest-"
He leaned back, leaving his flintlock as he threw his overcoat about himself tighter, before he crossed his arms over his abdomen.

"This? This seems poncy, and believe me I never thought you'd be the one to get all posh with me like this. Wavin' fancy tobacco at me, pouring me fine drinks. Hell, are you the Heir or do I need to get me' some new eyes?"

Finally, he cackled, but it was more rejectful than cheerful. To think that George would might actually be starting to get soft and fat, it scared Duval, mainly because it meant he couldn't look at his ass anymore. Not like he did. Much.

"Pah, I don't feckin' know. Gods, last thing I need to hear is you getting pegged up the ass by some queer fat nobles covered in grapejuice."
He shivered, extending a hand as he dipped into the box and withdrew a cigar with mild curiosity. He gave it a sniff, before he sighed and nodded.

"Well... at least you're not that much of a ponce to get some shit cigars. Nice flavour you got, strong and dark, just how I like em!"

[rumsztyk]

Oh how the atmosphere was flipped on its head.

George glared back at Duval, barely stopping himself from barking back at him. "Listen, you... Hrm!" Instead of finishing his thought, he agressively took out a cigar, cut the tip and lit a match.

"Yeah... cough they're good." George clearly wasn't a terribly experienced smoker, but he seemed genuinely pleased nonetheless. All that joy was not enough to make up for his knit eyebrows and angry glare. "I think I told you how I burned all the bridges, long ago. Remember that?" He alternated between the glass and the cigar. "I have nothing to go back to." He growled.

George continued in the same half-accusatory tone: "Call it poncy for all I care. I'm just enjoying myself before everything goes to hell again. 'Cause you know just as well as me that it's going to happen sooner or later."

"Why not leave, you ask? Call me a fucking idiot, I don't want to. I'm a soldier and I hate it with every ounce of my being, but I'm not going to back out from the post. It sounds dumb as fuck, yeah. You and I both know this is likely the worst shithole on Earth. And yet, I'm stuck here because of my cursed pride and military upbringing - I can't fucking leave this place. Least I did the sensible thing and stepped up to become the Warden - that way I can satiate my ego while not risking life and limb day in, day out. It's... not terrible, all things considered. At least in-between the grand disasters."

At last, he slammed his empty glass on the desk and grinned the vilest smile.

"And don't get me started on that gay shit. Pegged by fat nobles covered in grapejuice... you talkin' from experience? Enjoyed it?" He let out a chuckle.

[relentless]

Duval listend as he rambled on, ranting and raving twice as bombastically as Duval did. For half of it, all he could do was sit in discomfort from the vulture woman peering down at him, giving him lewd handgestures to hint at salacious actions from the corner of his eye, making him turn away and close his eyes. To George, it would just look like he was disheartened by his words, before he sighed, and leaned his head back in silence.

"...Yeah? That's great George... Good to see you're a bender."

A long silence overtook him, overtook them both, before Duval choked on laughter, snorting and wheezing for a short while as he mocked him with humour.

"Really? Christ, you really are a right faggot aren't ye? Even if I swung like you did, I'd at least fancy me some 'class', and not some 'pig'."

He teased with an obnoxious snort to end off his series of laughter, a heartening turn of events, given how he was being mentally tortured as of right now. But he did dwell on some of those points seriously, blowing a thin blow of air from his mouth.

"Yeaaah... I'm a bit of a hypocrite for asking all that shite. Hell, the outside world things I'm dead! Pah!"

He scoffed with rejection and dramatic sadness, before he let off a long sigh and kicked up his leg.

"-Italy."

He sporadically mentioned off the top of his tongue, twiddling the cigar inbetween his two fingers.

"That's where I'll be spending my days. Blossom of sunshine, and... nice fruit! And..."

He seemed to stumble as his mind reached for the unconscious choice of flesh, but he was consciously trying to avoid it so he didn't coax the vulture woman into doing anything to him in his head. Duval shook his head, and chuckled, before he stuck out the cigar toward George.

"Now are you going to keep trying to act like you have a bigger cock than me, or are you going to light my cigar?"

Duval opened one eye at him, flashing his pearly whites at him with a vile level of snarkiness.

[rumsztyk]

He... really had no idea what the fuck Duval was going on about. So he laughed, defaulting into a deflective "Fuck you." and taking a whiff of the cigar. He hacked and coughed from the smoke a bit.

"Italy, huh... Well, anything's better than England. Rain, rain, rain. Sure could use some sun. We did have a guy from down there in the battallion... He had a picture of his amore, drew it himself. Pretty lass. All the Italian chicks are good-looking, apparently. Then again, so are the Slavic women... and the German, once you sift through the dozen ugly ones." He went on a mild rant.

"Light it yourself." He pushed the box of matches towards him, now leaning back in the chair, relaxing.

[relentless]

He let off a broken smirk, shaking his head as he waggled the cigar inbetween his fingers unconsciously, rolling his neck out of discomfort once again.
"Eh, England has its perks. Nice booze, and... shite."
He let out a chuckle, shaking his head before he looked up at George.

"Oh really? I hope the picture wasn't shit! Well-... It would be shit, else he wouldn't of become a guard for you!"
Duval let out an awful chuckle, though it seemed to be cut short, reaching at his neck with a sudden reach of his free hand.
"A-ah, shite. Sorry, somethin' nipped me..."
He hissed, though he seemed to sigh in defeat, wiping his hand down the black overcoat he currently wore. Craning his shoulder, he then looked to the matches, then to the cigar, before he slowly reached forward, becoming evident that the hand that he felt at his shoulder was shaking, at least by the fingers. His slightly trembling hand took one match, and he struck it against his overcoat with a practiced hand, a flame sparking from the sulphur, before he held it long to the tip of the cigar that had been cut off to expose the tobacco.

Once the tip was lit adequately enough, he puffed on it, inhaling smoke only into his mouth so he didn't kill his lungs. He savoured the flavour for a moment, which was ashy and sweet, before he blew out a thin stream of smoke into the air above. He sighed a breath of relief afterwards, rolling the tobacco leaf wrapped product between his fingers slowly, before he glanced at George followed with a neutral expression.

"Didn't you want me for some shooting shite or something? I recall you offered a wee job, before you did the nasty with that ginger lass, then I made her all clean again with a nice backrub, hehehe..."

[rumsztyk]

"Ah, nah. That was back in the military, before... all this." He stopped for a second, overcoming a wave of nostalgia.

The silence continued as Duval lit the match with shaking hands. Something was clearly on his mind.

"Aye. Job's still up, dare I say more needed than before." He regarded him with a bit of suspicion, then eyed the glass that beckoned to be refilled. He did just that.

The mention of Courcy made him stifle a chuckle. "She is something, that ginger. Looks like you landed the dream job, Duval." The veil of amicability slowly dropped as George looked Duval dead in the eye.

"Yeah. Job's available. Somehow I doubt you came here to discuss that, though." He sighed. "You're shivering. What's up with that?"

[relentless]

Duval, at the mention of his noticable affliction he was currently undergoing, he took a moment to compose himself, taking the drink in his hand and getting up from his chair with the cigar in the other hand. Calmly, he walked over to the window, past George and to his left, looking outward toward the hamlet streets from the height they gained.

"I..."
He gulped, taking an anxious sip out of his glass, and after a few moments, raising the cigar to his mouth with the same shakiness as before. A small puff sufficer, blowing it onto the window pane as he looked onward.
"You know... you know those cultists, hm?"
He looked to George, pointing his cigar at him.
"The ones that raided us only a day before?"
Duval nodded at him, hissing quietly as he tried to think of words, as he made his way back to his chair and slumpe down lazily. He took a moment to kick his leg up, leaving the cigar in his mouth whilst the glass slid onto the table. Though his hand would be perched ontop of it, like an eagles claw.

"'Fraid they got me, heh..."
He shrugged it off, chuckling out of fear, and lack of sanity, blowing a thin stream of smoke from his mouth and into the air, an unnerving smile plastered on his face.
"Yeah... wasn't pretty."

[rumsztyk]

"Fuck!" The cigar snapped in half in George's steel grip, bits of ash searing the skin on his hand. He barely noticed it.

The Warden raised his voice considerably. "Where, how? How bad is it? Why are you not in the bloody Sanitarium! By the Light, you moron - shaking means you already caught the worst shit! You can fucking die from that!"

His facial expression was one of fury mixed with concern.

[relentless]

"Oh fuck off."
Duval let out a genuine cackle, before he smiled to himself, shaking his head as he dabbed the ashes of the cigar onto the desk and held it idly between his fingers.
"Nah... too late. They already got me. They..."
This is when he would choke, and his skin paled, rubbing his forehead with a shaky hand.

"They got in my head, made me... black out."

[rumsztyk]

"Oh." His face slowly sank. "Uh... not sure if that's better or worse."

He slowly sat back down in his chair, thoughtful, looking at Duval unsure what to do or say. So he drank. He didn't even notice when the new glass got empty, and was already pouring the next one in awkward silence.

"In your head, huh. And what now?" He prodded him to say more, having nothing to say himself.

[relentless]

"Not... possessed, least I don't think so. I..."
He paused, cocking his head to one side with unease.
"They made me... dream, of desire. Doesnt sound all that bad but-... but I think something happened, to me whilst I was... out."
Duval declared, though he skirted around the bush, avoiding the main premise out of fea and anxiety.

"I just don't know-"
He felt the chitter of the crow woman behind him, as if it were about to lick his neck.
"-what happened."
Duval croaked out with a sense of bitterness, shaking his head as he took a longer drag on his cigar.

[rumsztyk]

"Mhm..." He could sense the bullshitting. He didn't know what happened, yet it physically haunted him. Sure.

Regardless, he wasn't going to push.

"You need to talk? Drink? This can wait." He waved dismissively at the stack of papers.

[relentless]

Duval sighed, shaking his head, and staring at George with a rather blank look.
"I know you probably can't be arsed... I just thought I'd tell you incase 'something'... happened."
He gulped, cupping his chin with a depressed pout, sighing as he picked up his glass, and sipped again.

"George, you're a busy fuckin' man and I'm a dead man on the run. I ain't forcing you to be my 'therapist' lad... I can- I can handle it, I think."