catchall

[damnpire]

WHO: d & others
WHERE: around the netherworld
WHEN: oocly, month of oct
WHAT: a catchall for me for different threads during oct
WARNINGS: will update as needed

Log Post ¤ Plotting Post

Comments

[wrists]

[ laurent's pale brows rise at both the crackling of bone and the voice that suddenly scolds him. he doesn't look disturbed, per se — more curious than anything else, his eyes studying D with renewed interest as his hand slowly rises to wipe carefully at his bloodied mouth with the back of his knuckles. ]

You have a pet. [ not in the grand sense of the term. but there is a definite presence that laurent had not been made aware of. he addresses the voice as if D hadn't just told it to shut up. ] We were mostly successful, were we not? We have a general layout of the outside to work with. We know the formation of guards, though with the ruckus we caused, that's likely to change. And we know the palace is protected by magic. It's a start.

[ then he looks at D again, removing the cloak around his shoulders and tossing it aside, giving his aching back a stretch. his ribs give a protest, right where the guard's boot had made impact, and he frowns and presses a hand to his side. ] And you have a very unique hand.

[damnpire]

A parasite.

[The correction isn't scathing or irritated. He can feel Laurent looking at him, but he doesn't return the gaze for now. The ribs beneath his skin are tender even snapped together again. It's strange to have taken away what he hated relying on most to let him be stupid. Laurent is right, it isn't a bad opportunity. To see how long it takes him to heal.

Lacking a wince that might find other people's faces, D takes his hat with his left hand and pulls himself fluidly to his feet. He surveys where they are in the harbors briefly, then his right hand appears out of the edge of the cape, extended to Laurent.]

Is there pain when you breathe? Try to stand.

[wrists]

It seems a useful companion. It feeds on you? [ as any parasite does. such a power — or more likely a curse — surely comes at a price. he finds it odd that for the first time, D does not meet his eyes with his unwavering gaze, but at least the grotesque sound of popping bones has ceased. as D sweeps himself to his feet, laurent turns and spits blood onto the grassy bank, wiping fastidiously at his mouth with the inside of his wrist, the lace peeking out growing stained with red.

he looks up at the proffered hand, his mood suddenly souring. D has been an acceptable companion for this excursion, but it unsettles something within him to rely on him any further. he struggles to his feet while ignoring the hand. ]

Don't. [ fuss. ] We need paper to draw the map. I'm sure one of these shops can help. Once we finish, you'll get your payment and you may go.

[ walking introduces a new twinge at his side with each step, but he makes his way down the street nonetheless, stopping at what looks like a tea shop, fragrant. laurent slides into one of the velvety seats and soon has acquired paper and pencil, sketching away while someone brings a pot of hot tea to their table.

laurent slides the paper in front of D. ] Add what you remember.

[damnpire]

No, it doesn't.

[But that's all he says about the bothersome parasite, and it doesn't speak up again, surprisingly. For now.

The offered hand lowers when Laurent doesn't take it; he doesn't look bothered by the disinterest. Some people just don't want help, and there's nothing he can do about that. Laurent goes, and he follows quietly. He can hear the noises of Laurent's body, but makes no comment on it, figuring Laurent will only brush him off again.

In the shop, he removes his hat politely and sits with Laurent, waiting as annoyingly silent as always. Without the imposing headdress, it's easier to see more of the face framed by the long, dark hair. He's surprisingly youthful and much too beautiful for it to be natural. It's too perfect, the skin too pale and tinged gray.

His eyes watch the paper come to him. His left hand rises, the long fingers taking the pencil. The motion fits a man who leaves his right hand free for drawing a sword. But this means the left is the off-hand.

Except when he begins to sketch, it's in the soft, steady strokes of a hand skilled by time. He doesn't rush. The inhumanity in him has honed his senses, being alive for so long maybe too. He fills in small places, embellishes on a wider area that could not be seen, one fashioned from hearing the way sounds bounced, or from looking through the perimeter before Laurent had arrived. The guards appear in their current rotations with arrows, though they may change out in the future.]

You should put more thought into what you will do with this, [he says in his quiet voice,] than what you did with the plan today.

[wrists]

[ unsurprising that D doesn't offer much in the way of explanation. he could ask, but spends a moment looking at him from beneath his fronded gaze instead, pretty in a way that laurent finds almost distasteful. he'd be the subject of much talk in vere, just as laurent is.

but his usefulness is what he's interested in, and he proves it when he fills out the map, adding a level of detail laurent could not have achieved without him. ]

I fulfilled my purpose. [ he was bait more than anything else. now, he reaches into his jacket and produces a tidy bag of coin, which he sets beside D's hand. ] And so have you.

[ he pulls a cup toward himself when he withdraws his hand, examining the clear, steaming liquid without taking a sip. ] You can go.

[damnpire]

[Setting the pencil down on the paper, he exchanges it with the hat which he situates back on his head and down over his brows. His left hand takes the bag of coin, and his body pulls itself fluidly into a stand. He's not here to convince Laurent of anything; that's none of his business. He isn't a wrangler.

The two coins from earlier join a few more from the bag as he's paused, and he places them down on the other side of the table as payment for tea he didn't drink. A polite courtesy to the understanding other people work and offer a service. Laurent may or may not take them, but all that matters now is he left them initially.

While he nods in departure to the one who brought them tea, he does not give Laurent any words of goodbye nor does he look back. Not really out of rudeness, but finality. The soft jingling of the spurs on his boots and the flick of the end of his cape is what carries him to leave.]