braymitch thornathy. (grever) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-02-23 19:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, aspel cassul, bram thornton |
this will blow over in time. this will all blow over in time.
Who: Aspel Cassul & Bram Thornton
What: Two councilors paralleling terrible coping mechanisms during a terrible week.
Where: Bahamut Hall.
When: Very late January, a couple days after this.
Rating: Tame, save for alcohol abuse.
Status: Complete!
The thanks she owed Vivi could not be voiced enough for the use of a free backroom, and a special set up granted so that she could drink through the night without being bothered. Though at the same time, Aspel knew if she attempted to thank Vivi as much as the woman deserved, she would be… Brushed off to some degree. What are friends for? or something of the sort would surely to likely to come out of the Countess’ mouth. Regardless, if it weren’t for Vivi’s carefully planned giving of a remedy on Aspel’s way out the door she’d certainly be miserable this morn. Admittedly, the first night, she’d simply pocketed the remedy, thinking this all would be in the past by the morning. She drank every night, why was this any different? Of course she’d been wrong. The morning was miserable - dry mouthed, eyes nearly sealed shut, her throat ached, her voice scratchy, her body sore and screaming from muscle exertion of the severity of shivering in the cold and dehydration -, and she’d barely made it through the day, but thankfully had by a combination of potions - the crate still had a few left in it - and an antidote or two. The remedy forgotten until she’d gotten home that night. This morning however, Aspel roused from sleep, laying in bed, and wishing the world would simply fade away, but knowing it wouldn’t. Eventually, she’d drag herself up - running late - shower, not bother to shave or anything past what would make her considered as moderately passable for a woman of her position - hair done quickly, appropriate unwrinkled dressing, perfume, make-up accordingly - and out the door she went. There was no time to fetch coffee, but Faram how good did it sound. The lonely hours whiled away in the evenings, his night tick-tocking away at the Kranky Knight with a long line of glasses, then empty glasses. There was no Theodore Finch to wander in this time, and yet Bram still tensed up whenever it seemed like another fighter might recognise him and come over for a chat. But to his relief (or perhaps disappointment—it was strangely difficult to tell the difference here), it never happened again, and so Bram kept silent vigil at his table in the back. The mornings were accordingly miserable, having to force himself awake from a fugue still hazy with hangover, then dragging himself off the sofa, rumpled and disheveled. From the sounds of it, Vera was still asleep upstairs. His paperwork still sat sprawled across the coffee table, piles of reports on the sewers and recent underworld movement in the area. He didn’t shave. Not this week. But he showered, and was careful to select cleanly-laundered clothes that didn’t betray the scent of spilled beer and whiskey. The man used a careful dousing of cologne (aged and spiced and woodsy), pinned his sleeves back, and readjusted the slump of his coat on his shoulders, hand drifting instinctively over the metal badge. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do. The detective inspector waded his way through the snow and towards the office. Once upon a time, he might have run into Siana Banes in the park, the two of them sharing a morning coffee before trudging their way towards the guildhall together—but that would never happen again. One more officer down, the desks conspicuously empty for her absence. Before he could feel the pang of that void by his side, however, another familiar figure appeared at the doorway of Bahamut Hall. He paused, one hand clutching his tar-black coffee and the other holding the door open for Aspel Cassul. “Right on time,” Bram said, the words sticking in his throat, but he managed to force them out along with a grim smile. “But of course.” A brief smile was offered, and began to fade - but not completely disappear - before she glanced down at door as he held it open. “Thank you, good sir.” A brief bowing of her head was offered before she slipped in quickly before him, and began disrobing of the wintery garb that was required while outdoors. “You are well, I hope?” A thought flickered by how she desperately still wished to be in bed. At least a few potions would be needed to keep her soreness at bay today. “Well enough.” It was the usual toothless answer from Bram, more politesse than incisive honesty. He stomped out the snow on his boots as he followed her towards the council offices, wrestling with gloves and outercoat and scarf as they went. Both councilors were slow and steady, their voices level, careful not to rise to too loud of a pitch; the normal ambient noise of the guildhall was like an endless drumbeat against his skull, but he was careful not to show it. “Drowning in EKP work,” he said, untucking a manila folder from under his elbow and dropping it onto the desk in the entryway. “One of those months.” Though there was no real end in sight—if forced to reflect on it, Bram couldn’t measure when this phase had precisely started, nor when he expected it to conclude. It was, simply put, life. “Unfortunate.” The reply was a bit short, but sincere. A glance was given over her shoulder to the door to assure they weren’t blocking the entry way for anyone else to come in before starting to move away from it. “If there anything in which I may assist, please, do not feel it a burden upon me.” It was the best offer she could make, and assuring the protective forces of the city remained functioning, well… It was an important point to make. “Can you find murderers when there’s no trace of them?” This time, his voice was truly sombre; Bram had tried to aim for a dry sort of humour and failed utterly, the joking question falling flat. “None?” A curious tone accompanied the raising of an eyebrow, and she had to wonder if she’d hit upon a tender nerve in this instance. “If you have struggled with this thus far, I certainly will be no match in comparison.” Perhaps, for now, it’d simply be best to attempt to stroke his ego to assure their working relationship remained properly intact. “Flatterer.” He shrugged, shaking his head and pulling out a chair instead, installing himself armed with pen and coffee. Bram watched the woman for a moment, weighing the potential of something to add—but none of the words seemed quite right, and couldn’t break their way through the hazy fog of this early morning. Before either of them could say anything else, there was the sound of a door rattling open and announcing someone else’s arrival, a cheerful and buoyant Drake Liu clattering his way into the offices while two bleary councilors looked up, away from each other, towards the exit. |