catgotyour (catgotyour) wrote in theunboundic, @ 2020-04-03 16:11:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! time: july 3 - 9, ciara byrne, henri danior |
Is It Selfish To Wonder
Who: Henri and Ciara
What: Late Night Confrontations
When: The earliest hours of Monday, July 4th.
Where: The path between the Palace and the woods behind the Rosier Estate
The gravel crunched beneath the thick soles of heavy boots as Henri stalked, hands in pockets, down the dark streets. He was alone, lost in thought and the softly acrid mist of the cigarette pasted to his lips, the smoke in slow battle for territory with the still forming dew that hung unborn in the air. Few houses were still lit, too late in the night for even the drunks. Only insomniacs, bedmates, and criminals knew the too-tight embrace offered by the hour.
In the darkness, his eyes flashed silver, heavy lidded, set on the path before him. Solitude, his most feared enemy in the dark hole of the cell, had become an unexpected ally in the past week. Such tenuous friendships, though, required work, and one was never truly alone within the soft lights of the Palace. For perhaps the first time in living memory, Henri had asked The Law, or at least a deputy, for help, and her advice had been sound. He had found a place to haunt.
He lifted his right hand from his pocket to pinch the cigarette, leaving room for the left to lift the flask. The rum had been deemed too sweet by the bitter-prone Clove clientele, too heavy a hand in the adding of molasses while casked, perhaps. The bar's loss, however, was Henri's gain; he had never been able to taste sweetness, anyhow. With a little work, time, and spices, Henri had turned the bastard blackstrap into something that suited him, syrupy, with a singe on the tongue and a fire in the throat and belly, dark and slow and dangerous. It didn't take much to get the job done, either, if one could endure the bite.
He passed the town square, picking his way past the shop faces and alleyways. The Rosier Mansion loomed in the distance, and behind it, the thick forest. In the deeper darkness of the woods, the worn, forgotten stones waited for him, as they had for a few nights now.
Alone in the dark, Henri walked towards the grave.