mathieu trinket. (flauto) wrote in emillion, |
Woefully unconcerned, sat down on of the large boulders of rubble, Rivalen Beau surveyed the scene around him. Mostly the leftover of monsters with their deformed limbs greeted him, poised like grotesque art (art in bad taste, in his humble opinion). A few bodies of those unfortunate enough to be nearby concerned him even less, nothing but pieces that no longer served any purpose. Rivalen took out a cigarette, holding it between his lips as he lit up and inhaled. Bruises that would heal, cuts and scrapes — there would be no scars from this fight (no proof that he was here and had used people as shields for his benefit). His reputation was safe, instead he stood now as one of the surviving warriors that had fought valiantly to protect the citizens of Emillion. The whole thing was a bad joke. He made a mental count of the people he ought to find or filter to. His sword would need sharpening, he would go check on Kwee first (safely hidden away before anything else, his beloved pet). So here he was at the end of the day, smoking a cigarette among corpses. Not before long, another approached through the carnage that had once been a perfectly normal city street. Out surveying the damage, checking on guild members and healing those whom he was able (bardic abilities put to display), Mathieu tried to carefully edge his way around the destruction. As soon as he spotted the familiar fighter perched up on the boulder, the councilor redirected his path in Rivalen’s direction. “A relief to see you, my friend!” That cheerful greeting was unique to one person in the entire fucking city. Rivalen lifted his eyes and thought with a tiny bit of appreciation: Son of a bitch. In his initial assessment, Mathieu looked mostly unharmed, perhaps he had been one of the smart and lucky ones to keep himself out of the fight. There had been plenty of idiots dying left and right because they had no sense. “Fuzzy little man peach, you’re alive.” Blowing his smoke aimed at Mathieu, Rivalen got to his feet, he extended his cigarette sharing. He could not recall having seen Mathieu smoke, but if there was something this whole event deserved was drinks and smoking and a lot of sleep. Life was for the living, the dead were dead. |