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Post by Kidney on Oct 22, 2017 16:59:13 GMT -8
Tod laughed, awkwardly.
He slowly increased his pressure on the crucifix, placing his fist and metal on his lap as he extended his hand out and tool Nick's. He shook glumly and without much manly force as he opened his mouth to say something, but didn't. He instead relaxed himself against the cushion, taking in a breath as he built up his own facade of stability. "I have not looked worse. But I have felt worse."
The answer was non-intentionally cryptic, but Tod's vernacular and wiry delivery didn't help the case. He reached down and clutched the crucifix with both hands, holding it almost therapeutically as his eyes began surveying the man's every move. He clearly wasn't possessed, at least not in Tod's eyes. With consent, he could probably check.
Tod nearly out loud cursed himself, he hadn't spoke in 12.64 seconds. He opened his mouth again, "I imagine i'll look worse if I lost my life that is inside me."
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Post by hopper on Oct 22, 2017 18:02:56 GMT -8
She stared blankly at where he'd stood for a moment, before once more retreating back into her room.
"Perhaps, this may have been a mis-step."
She murmured. Hugo seemed nice enough, and at the very least Smoke seemed driven for the cause, but the instability between the two could potentially end in tears.
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Post by Mr. Swagwalker on Oct 23, 2017 7:41:39 GMT -8
Brenton made a sigh and slowly shook his head. "Hmmhhh...Read like an open book..." he commented with a smile. "I knew you would be hesitant to take my words into consideration; blinded as you are with your fruitless compassion for that delinquent. But make no mistake; I am not a man of dishonesty, sister Charis. Clarity is a part of my line of work. I didn't come all this way to toss about lies - being capable of honesty is crucial if a group is to function. Lies only hinders that, and I am not here to hinder folk."
Brenton resumed his long-forgotten duty of counting coins on the table, placing them one by one in the pile. "You may interpret what I say as you please." he said with a back straightened by confidence. "You can claim all of my words to be false and continue living in ignorant bliss...or you can prove your maturity and accept the truth as it is." The doctor adjusted his dark, soulless goggles once again. "This man is a criminal, with a long list of transgressions and has been sentenced to die in the dungeons. That is how it is, and it is my duty to see it through. Simple as that."
Edgar glanced over at Charis to get a look of her face. Her eyes - it could just be Edgar seeing things, but he could have sworn he had seen a fire in her gaze. Perhaps it was just a reflection of the surrounding tavern, or even wishful thinking, but there was something about her that fascinated Edgar. Her determination, her refusal to back down, her strong will of selflessnes. No matter what either he or Brenton said to the nun she would not budge. Perhaps it was simple stubborness, but Edgar chose to see it in a more positive light. For the most part, at least.
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Post by relentless on Oct 23, 2017 8:33:14 GMT -8
Duval furrowed his brow and nodded sagely in agreement, allowing his hand to retract as if pulled by a string, before he set his elbow up and let his hand hang in the air as he studied the man. The man was afraid, and it made Duval smirk loosely with appreciative eyes. Not out of a maniacal mocking sense, but at least he had his wits about him. Only the foolish and boring showed no fear in such a place as this, and Duval didn't keep these this kinds of people close to his chest. He'd have a better chance of survival filling his flintlock to the brim with gunpowder and firing it at his foot than trusting that of a man stricken with a religious fever, a vestal with nothing to lose other than her clothes and cherry... in the hands of Duval, that is.
Unconsciously, he had been biting his lip a tad bit loosely, dragging his teeth back across from his lip before clearing his throat in rash fashion.
"Well I think that's common sense really: Corpses tend to not attract ripe little birds. Then again skeletons walk around and fishmen cut us down... who knows!"
Duval replied to the man with a fresh tongue, before he twirled his finger upward toward a barmaid.
"Two glasses dove! 'hapes I could pay you after hours!"
Duval shouted in her direction, before she smirked and waved him off before turning around, briefly rolling her eyes. A light chuckle left Duvals mouth, the smile becoming more pleasant and that negative demeanor that had occured, began to pass. Leaning back into the boothe, he throws his arms up either side of the top of the booth, his left arm hooking inward as he inspected his nails with a rub of his thumb.
"But it's fine, trust me. What you find awful now in this hamlet? It'll onnnly get worse! Food for thought, nothing to fret about. Think of it as... preparing for the inevitable!"
Duval took his eyes off his nails for a moment as he eyed Tod with a confident glance, emerald glow connecting with Tod's only eye colour as he stared him down.
"Now I'm not trying to scare you buuuuut , I don't know. I see all these new fleshbags come around and they usually end up throwing themselves into the butcher shop without any care. You get me mate?"
Duval finally finished off as he motioned out toward him with his right hand, quickly falling to grace, then rising again to raise itself lazily back upon the back of the booth.
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Post by azmoham on Oct 23, 2017 14:14:05 GMT -8
His lips curled into a smile, bristling with anticipation. He quickly stood from the bed, picking his bag from the duty floor and depositing it onto an equally dusty bed. Unfastening the top, he began searching through it, removing item after item from the bag. He first removed a series of rolled tubes of parchment paper, some till crisp and white with others crinkly and yellowing at the edges with spots of dirt and mud plastered across their faces; maps, each laid out on the bed with something almost like reverence. If there was one thing outside of hunting that Markus could earnestly say he loved, it was maps. There was something uniquely enchanting about a map, like a little slice of the world that'd been transformed with charcoal and paint into something someone could hold in their hand, something beautiful, something useful, something valuable. He could still recall the wall-sized map of The Isle that his father had hung in his study, how Markus would sneak in after his father had retired for the night and stared in slack-jawed awe that the thing, tracing his small fingers over the carefully-made strokes that were mountains or lakes or even whole cities. It seemed like the purest magic there was. Sighing, the Scotsman continued searching through the bag, next retrieving quills and and a single tin inkwell which was followed soon by a small brass telescope and then two or three leather-bound journals that mainly pertained to their various hunting exploits.Removing two glasses, one with an 'A' printed on it and the other with an 'M', setting them on the bedside table. Finally, he took out a finely sculpted green bottle, It was about eight inches tall and had a label on the front which read in a swirling font: 'Winthrop Whiskey, a true Vintage.' Underneath there was a picture of a lion atop a shield bearing a picture of a pickaxe crossed with a sword.
"How long's it been since we 'ad a drink o' this, eh Al?"
he chuckled, taking of the glasses and pouring a finger of the fine amber liquid into it. The drink was smokey and as dark as the oak barrels it was aged in, with a strong smell that smelled almost like burning earth, peat. He handed the glass over to Albrecht and poured his own finger before raising the glass into the air.
"To new ventures, and their inevitable success!"
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Post by Kidney on Oct 23, 2017 16:23:08 GMT -8
To Duval, Tod may have seemed a bit less scared than he would have liked. He furrowed his brow, and the beginnings of Rage's sneer curled malevolently up his lip at "skeletons walk around". His eyes showed a spark of zeal, but Tod snuffed it. He looked down, smirking awkwardly. His attempt at covering this was important, clearly this man did not appreciate overconfident recruits. Tod held his crucifix to his abdomen, letting out a held breath through his nose.
"I get you, mate," Tod said with a slight chuckle at his own butchering of the phrase this Duval used on a whim. He rubbed the back of his neck with a clammy left hand, "I heard about the presences here. I was told this place was evil, from the dirt to the skies."
Tod crinkled his nose, his lips scrunching a bit, "The skies are gray most of the time, it's strange," he seemed a little less scared now. But the crowd around, and Duval's perverted comments made Tod a bit uncomfortable. It probably wasn't the man's fault, just Tod's internal preferences of a conversation that Tod had assumed everyone lived by.
Deep down, Tod knew that he would have to compromise this conversation further. He knew he couldn't let these mannerisms slip.
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Post by relentless on Oct 23, 2017 16:48:31 GMT -8
Duval took a momentary pause as he studied the man. He watched as he lips curled into an aggravated sneer, then becoming more relaxed after he mentioned such a thing. At least Duval knew he was religious, which already made the man snicker. In Duvals eyes, religion was pretty bad... a fundamental loop of a dying man or woman with a holy fever, in Duvals eyes anyway. Though, he couldn't deny that the ladies in such a religion definitely took care of themselves. Grace was an example, and a nice friend to talk to... and settle his eyes upon.
For a moment, he briefly looked at the man with a slight lapse of affection, before he brought his hands together, holding them tight before he extended his elbows a tad before shooting double index fingers at the man whilst maintaining clenched fingers.
"You were told this place was evil, but do you believe them?"
Duval hummed, an undeniable growth of a smile appeared on his face quickly after asking the rhetorical question. Clearing his throat the next second, he continued.
"Walking bones? Brigands at every corner? Demonic fishmen looking to gut sooner than breath through their gills?"
Duval let out a snicker, his hands falling apart with the left returning to his pocket whilst the other tiptapped against the surface of the table, a rhythm of taps with his fingers as he looked at the man with a solid smirk and almost mocking eyes.
"A lot of people would say I'm mad you know? And they do! But here's the thing.."
Duval paused, leaning forward a bit with his right hand coming up and waggling a finger at Tod, giving him a more tense stare.
"Those people are dead now, or worse... so tell me, new fish!"
Duval leaned back suddenly, adjusting his leg to sit slightly more up against his thigh, throwing his arms back up on the booth whilst giving him a weak and brief display of jazz hands, followed with wide eyes and a cheerful grin.
"Am I mad or no?"
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Post by Kidney on Oct 23, 2017 17:03:48 GMT -8
Tod took a moment to consider his own answer, his eyes searching each crevice, each rise in Duval's face. For a moment, his facade dropped, as he could focus on Duval and not the crowds around. He could understand this man, for moments at a time. That sat as evidence that this man may have been sane, but his mannerisms, his faces. His sincerity with his advice, things began to build that this man had a sound mind.
Tod rubbed the space under his nose, sniffing a bit dramatically as his nose crinkled again. His eyes focused on the man again, brought back from a momentary nasal distraction as he tapped his knuckles on the table. At that point, an idea popped into Tod's head.
He slowly, quietly, without a care, brought up his sleeve. The start of his tattoos poked out from the slightly pale forearm, and he smiled. Maybe he could do this. "Well, you don't seem mad to me. Out of both of us, I think i'm the maddest."
He chuckled, attempting to make a joke out of nothing.
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Post by twostepsback on Oct 23, 2017 22:37:57 GMT -8
Charis ignores Breton as she moves behind Edgar, though if Breton were to glace over at her, he would see Charis rolling up the sleeves of her habit, revealing in the process an impressive collection of fading scars of various types on her forearms. One on the anterior of her left forearm stands out, mostly due to the fact that it appears to run the length of Charis' forearm.
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Post by relentless on Oct 24, 2017 15:42:42 GMT -8
Duval let out a brief chuckle, and then a longer and enthuastic one. The smile was wide and his face was creased with happiness.
"Well! Lets hope for both our sakes that we don't get any madder!"
Duval cackled, reaching out as a barmaid came with the glasses, holding them in both hands, though he paused, before smiling wider with wide eyes.
"Oh bugger it! Like that'll happen!"
Duval jested further with a more jovial and joyous laughter as he set both the glasses down, reaching for the bottle and beginning to pour it into the glasses. The smile faded, but followed with some dying chuckles as he finished topping up his glass, moving up to the other as he glanced up, keeping his eye on Tod.
"So then chap! I'll ask you the same question every other merc has asked you here, because I'm curious: You here for gold? Killing the baddies or what lad?"
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Post by Kidney on Oct 24, 2017 16:11:51 GMT -8
Tod looked down, the liquor in the bottle sloshing into his cup as he took a gulp of his own saliva. He wasn't a drinker. His eyes darted to Duval's face, where he nodded and considered again the question given to him. He ran his hands across his wrists out of habit, chuckling way too late for the joke Duval yelled out. He turned his head towards the barmaid, tipping his head in her direction as she left, but sadly he wasn't wearing a hat.
His hand pushed forward to grab the glass, pulling it gingerly across the tabletop, holding it with two hands. His fingers laced with each other, underneath the bottom of the wine glass. His thumbs rubbed the sides of the cool glass, and he suddenly yelped as he realized he was asked a question. He looked up, "I came here because I was sent. Had some trouble with the local church, they sent me here because they believed my services could be of use."
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Post by relentless on Oct 26, 2017 8:06:34 GMT -8
Duval clicked his fingers and crossed his arms, nodding soundly at the answer.
"Aye, aye. You look like one of those 'kum by yah' type of guys..."
Duval affirmed with confidence, unfolding his left arm slightly and leaning over to grasp at his drink before reclining backwards into the booth.
"Say! Have you seen these things with your own-"
Duval motions with a twirl of his finger at his two eyes, before he downs half the ale in his glass before Tod can register, putting the glass on the table with simple motions.
"Eyes?"
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Post by rumsztyk on Oct 26, 2017 11:32:18 GMT -8
Courcy shot upright abruptly as she was groped. Her face was red with embarrassment, more from being startled than the act itself. She quickly put on a smirk, sultry as she could muster, and turned to face George. "Morning, handsome." The ginger crawled up the bed until her face hovered above his, and pressed her hand to his chest. It wasn't obvious she was upset, at most she looked tired, or disheveled from their nocturnal activities. She leaned down to plant a short kiss on his scarred lips. "Sleep well, Warden?" The Warden smiled wryly, returning the kiss, then gently pushing Courcy off of him. "Not at all, too busy with... other things." he teased. In all his masculine glory, he got off the bed, stretching his bones, dressing himself and paying a visit to the locker where the alcohol was kept. "Want some?" He offered, flashing a wine bottle back at the redhead, already pouring one cup for himself. |
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Post by black379 on Oct 26, 2017 14:55:22 GMT -8
Courcy rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up, idly kicking her feet. She watched the man, and while George had his back to her, the ginger's smile faltered. Was she so desperate to give herself to someone she hardly knew, her jailer for that matter?
"I shouldn't. I've got to find my companions, run an errand for the heir, if I'm ever to be free from my crimes." She sighed and fell back onto the tossed sheets. It was comfortable, even despite the musky scent, and she would have rather spent the remainder of the day there. "At least in the law's eyes."
Stretching her arms and crossing them behind her head, she glanced across her bare body toward George. "Have you any more use of your prisoner?" Forcing a sly smirk was still better than conceding to her guilt.
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Post by Kidney on Oct 26, 2017 15:18:35 GMT -8
Tod's very bushy left eyebrow slowly climbed upwards on his head, showing very successfully a confused expression. His hands wandered on the cup, rubbing for relative comfort as the true comfort-bringing crucifix sat in his lap. His right forearm tattoos still sat exposed from the rolling up Tod had done on his sleeve, drawing very small amounts of attention from church-hating common folk. He seemed almost displeased by the oversimplification of his identity, but he hid this with the second eyebrow climbing to sit at the same height as his other in a almost surprised expression.
"I find myself to be optimistic, yes. But altogether my services could be of use in the act of ethereal influences on our plane of existence."
He sat, letting that sink in for a moment before his lips met the edge of the cup. He painfully sipped from it, right eye squinting. He let it slide back to the table before coughing and speaking again.
"I don't understand your meaning also, Nick. You seem to be addressing something that I don't see."
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