![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
Week One: Wednesday
When: Night
Where: Forest outside of the school
Who: Diarmad and Cora
No need for concern. No need to care. Yes perhaps Diarmad had no real reason to care at all. He should be pleased for her absence and savor the hours she was away and he did not have to utter the word mistress so loathfully from his lips. Time not spent at her side should be a joyous thing that did nothing to leave Diarmad in a sour mood. And yet that was so far from the case. Yes he held concern. And yes he cared in ways he wished to not.
Her life was not just her own, how often she seemed to forget that. Rushing off in half thought out acts that could send them both to the grave. She gave words that it was all nothing but some trip. But Diarmad knew better. He had spent centuries at her side; did she truly believe he had learned nothing of her in that time? The only time she cast him away from her side was when she was about to do something she knew he'd not condone or allow. In the past often that was when she drew him to her most, enjoying to watch him squirm in anger.
This time he knew whatever she was about to do it posed risk. Had it not she would not have restrained him. Were it truly nothing then his want to be there would be allowed only so she could chastise him later for being so paranoid, for not believing in her words.
The night before Diarmad spent outdoors in the air. Through it all tension raced through his muscles and there came a time where even he had to still his flight, a feeling deep within the gut that spoke of something being so very wrong. It raised concern, and it raised that anger that was so rare to see upon Diarmad’s features. He and his kind knew the importance of calm, they knew how to take orders and how to keep their guard above all else....
His place was supposed to be at her side. He had failed in that task and he knew, he knew, something had gone wrong. Her words the next day did nothing to sooth that belief. If anything it only aided them. And yet he could do nothing. Nothing at all. It was a frustration. It was a sense of....worthlessness. A well controlled man he buried the anger as best he could trough his classes but he spoke no more then he had to and when those classes ended he was quickly away from all crowds. Pacing through empty halls, keeping watch, keeping guard...
The hours of daylight seemed like an eternity. Through the protected glass he watched the sun in its slow decent. Night could not come quick enough. He needed it, the touch of the chill of the night upon his skin. He needed the wind against his wings; he needed the vague sense of freedom found in flight. A freedom that was nothing but false for the gargoyle. All freedom had been lost to him long ago.
The night should have held more hours of guarding. Hours perched atop the school watching the ground below; ensuring all were safe. But armed with blade in hand Diarmad took escape into the night when it came. Guards took his place as he moved; his large form cutting through the air till the school was lost to the sight of forest. Yet all guards knew where he was, all knew how to find him should any have need.
The jacket worn was tossed aside, large wings folded against his back as he began to move. The sword cutting silently and yet brutally through the air around him. He needed a means to bled the anger out of himself…
Where: Forest outside of the school
Who: Diarmad and Cora
No need for concern. No need to care. Yes perhaps Diarmad had no real reason to care at all. He should be pleased for her absence and savor the hours she was away and he did not have to utter the word mistress so loathfully from his lips. Time not spent at her side should be a joyous thing that did nothing to leave Diarmad in a sour mood. And yet that was so far from the case. Yes he held concern. And yes he cared in ways he wished to not.
Her life was not just her own, how often she seemed to forget that. Rushing off in half thought out acts that could send them both to the grave. She gave words that it was all nothing but some trip. But Diarmad knew better. He had spent centuries at her side; did she truly believe he had learned nothing of her in that time? The only time she cast him away from her side was when she was about to do something she knew he'd not condone or allow. In the past often that was when she drew him to her most, enjoying to watch him squirm in anger.
This time he knew whatever she was about to do it posed risk. Had it not she would not have restrained him. Were it truly nothing then his want to be there would be allowed only so she could chastise him later for being so paranoid, for not believing in her words.
The night before Diarmad spent outdoors in the air. Through it all tension raced through his muscles and there came a time where even he had to still his flight, a feeling deep within the gut that spoke of something being so very wrong. It raised concern, and it raised that anger that was so rare to see upon Diarmad’s features. He and his kind knew the importance of calm, they knew how to take orders and how to keep their guard above all else....
His place was supposed to be at her side. He had failed in that task and he knew, he knew, something had gone wrong. Her words the next day did nothing to sooth that belief. If anything it only aided them. And yet he could do nothing. Nothing at all. It was a frustration. It was a sense of....worthlessness. A well controlled man he buried the anger as best he could trough his classes but he spoke no more then he had to and when those classes ended he was quickly away from all crowds. Pacing through empty halls, keeping watch, keeping guard...
The hours of daylight seemed like an eternity. Through the protected glass he watched the sun in its slow decent. Night could not come quick enough. He needed it, the touch of the chill of the night upon his skin. He needed the wind against his wings; he needed the vague sense of freedom found in flight. A freedom that was nothing but false for the gargoyle. All freedom had been lost to him long ago.
The night should have held more hours of guarding. Hours perched atop the school watching the ground below; ensuring all were safe. But armed with blade in hand Diarmad took escape into the night when it came. Guards took his place as he moved; his large form cutting through the air till the school was lost to the sight of forest. Yet all guards knew where he was, all knew how to find him should any have need.
The jacket worn was tossed aside, large wings folded against his back as he began to move. The sword cutting silently and yet brutally through the air around him. He needed a means to bled the anger out of himself…
