Post by Rawdon Bray on Nov 14, 2009 17:37:46 GMT
18th Undecimber
Year LV
7.15pm
He had dreaded this moment in a sense. Why else buy a castle in the middle of nowhere if not to escape civilization and enjoy a life of quiet and solitude? The moment he stepped foot in the village, cats passed him by from all directions and stared at him creepily. He instantly felt like a trespasser, an outsider who was not welcome here but for the sake of his hunger for a decent meal, he persevered and ignored all unfriendly glances.
Did they know him? Judging by their hostile behaviour he feared they had poisoned his reputation, but who would commit such an act of unforgivable evil? The girl that skipped along the road ahead? Surely not, that sweet creature. Detaching himself from accusatory thought, he entered the inn for the second time in two days - did the number make him a regular customer? He did not doubt that some visitors had nearly become a part of the scenery after so many years of loyalty.
The villagers in the establishment shot him quizzical glances which was probably due to the fact that they rarely encountered a stranger. Mr. Bray seated himself at the bar and turned to the bartender, who nodded to acknowledge his arrival. He remembered him from before. Rawdon lacked the tact to return the gesture and merely stared at the man blankly, annoyed at his impertinent greeting.
"I should like to have a meal here. What do you have to offer?" Mr. Bray asked the man and searched the place for the mention of a daily special as was customary. The bartender, a bald, gap-toothed fellow in shabby clothes, laughed.
"We've got stew and tuna. How's that?" Obviously the inn had a selective menu of dishes so the stranger surrendered to the man's choice and agreed, ordering a beer to go with it so he might be mistaken for a man rather than a gentleman, which was not the same thing by any means.
Now that he sat here, surrounded by commoners and vulgar manners, he felt himself drawn into their lack of civility, which inspired him to grimace at his reflection in the mirror. How had a man of property ended up at such a place? Had he not been informed of the value of the local trade business, he should not have come. His order was deposited on the bar and the outsider paid the bartender for his services so he might eat his meal in peace. The constant stream of discourse that enveloped him concerned two matters: crops and wolves.
After a few minutes, Mr. Bray had managed to tune out the unwanted concert of vulgarity and languidly consumed his stew when a loud entrance caught his attention - and everybody else's. A bloodied, unconscious woman was being dragged into the establishment amid whispers and gasping voices. Who had assaulted this woman? ''Maybe the wolves,'' a distant voice conjectured hesitantly. What legend concerned the wolves in the forest Mr. Bray had not yet learned but it seemed evident that the villagers put them to blame for this violent outburst.
Not being accustomed to paying attention to idle gossip, he immediately made up his mind not to believe their foolish beliefs. What could these peasants possibly know that he did not? So Mr. Bray paid no mind to the bloody scene that unfolded behind his back and seemed determined to relish his meal undisturbed. He was in no mood for emtpy conversation or a plebeian companion.
Year LV
7.15pm
He had dreaded this moment in a sense. Why else buy a castle in the middle of nowhere if not to escape civilization and enjoy a life of quiet and solitude? The moment he stepped foot in the village, cats passed him by from all directions and stared at him creepily. He instantly felt like a trespasser, an outsider who was not welcome here but for the sake of his hunger for a decent meal, he persevered and ignored all unfriendly glances.
Did they know him? Judging by their hostile behaviour he feared they had poisoned his reputation, but who would commit such an act of unforgivable evil? The girl that skipped along the road ahead? Surely not, that sweet creature. Detaching himself from accusatory thought, he entered the inn for the second time in two days - did the number make him a regular customer? He did not doubt that some visitors had nearly become a part of the scenery after so many years of loyalty.
The villagers in the establishment shot him quizzical glances which was probably due to the fact that they rarely encountered a stranger. Mr. Bray seated himself at the bar and turned to the bartender, who nodded to acknowledge his arrival. He remembered him from before. Rawdon lacked the tact to return the gesture and merely stared at the man blankly, annoyed at his impertinent greeting.
"I should like to have a meal here. What do you have to offer?" Mr. Bray asked the man and searched the place for the mention of a daily special as was customary. The bartender, a bald, gap-toothed fellow in shabby clothes, laughed.
"We've got stew and tuna. How's that?" Obviously the inn had a selective menu of dishes so the stranger surrendered to the man's choice and agreed, ordering a beer to go with it so he might be mistaken for a man rather than a gentleman, which was not the same thing by any means.
Now that he sat here, surrounded by commoners and vulgar manners, he felt himself drawn into their lack of civility, which inspired him to grimace at his reflection in the mirror. How had a man of property ended up at such a place? Had he not been informed of the value of the local trade business, he should not have come. His order was deposited on the bar and the outsider paid the bartender for his services so he might eat his meal in peace. The constant stream of discourse that enveloped him concerned two matters: crops and wolves.
After a few minutes, Mr. Bray had managed to tune out the unwanted concert of vulgarity and languidly consumed his stew when a loud entrance caught his attention - and everybody else's. A bloodied, unconscious woman was being dragged into the establishment amid whispers and gasping voices. Who had assaulted this woman? ''Maybe the wolves,'' a distant voice conjectured hesitantly. What legend concerned the wolves in the forest Mr. Bray had not yet learned but it seemed evident that the villagers put them to blame for this violent outburst.
Not being accustomed to paying attention to idle gossip, he immediately made up his mind not to believe their foolish beliefs. What could these peasants possibly know that he did not? So Mr. Bray paid no mind to the bloody scene that unfolded behind his back and seemed determined to relish his meal undisturbed. He was in no mood for emtpy conversation or a plebeian companion.
If it isn't, just say so and I'll try to make it better. || Lyrics are from the Incubus song "Drive".