Entry tags:
Open
WHO: Edgard and YOU
WHAT: I'm doing the catch-all thing too
WHEN: Now-ish, post-Murderhaus and Satinalia
WHERE: Various places
NOTES: Open to all unless otherwise specified. Post-murderhaus stuff might have murdery discussions
WHAT: I'm doing the catch-all thing too
WHEN: Now-ish, post-Murderhaus and Satinalia
WHERE: Various places
NOTES: Open to all unless otherwise specified. Post-murderhaus stuff might have murdery discussions
All prompts in comments! Feel three to throw wildcards in here if you so desire. I love you.
Infirmary, Post-Murderhaus
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Edgard seems awake, if forlornly.
Mhavos picks up a stylus and throws it at Edgard. Were he in a better state, it would smack Edgard squarely on the head. As it is, the stylus lands in Edgard's lap.
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"Is this a gift or are you trying to injure me further?"
If it's a joke, it's pretty halfhearted.
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Chin nodding into his chest, he tries to stay upright. "I need your help."
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scream!!!!
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Sad Birthday
"What do you want?" He snaps.
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She catches sight of Edgard, clearly soused, and answers honestly, "fantastic riches. You?"
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"Doesn't matter what I want." He grumps. "Not that, though."
He drinks a cup down again.
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He holds up both hands, pausing near where Edgard sits. He sounds more or less unruffled, though.
"I was just passing through."
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"Oh." He says stupidly. "Good to see you moving about." Edgard slurs. There is a brief pause and Edgard moves to pour himself another glass, hiccuping.
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"Mind if I join you?"
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He doesn't usually bother people who don't look like they want to be bothered. But people who don't want to be bothered don't often sit in the middle of open gardens, drinking alone. So he sits down next to him, and leans over to get what he just said he wanted:
"Hello."
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"Hello?" He responds in the same language and then after a moment: "Bastien?"
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He picks up one of the empty bottles to examine it, then sniff the contents, as if judging the quality of the now-missing wine.
“This is a lot of wine, my friend. Did you have help?”
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Post-Satinalia
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Well, this is what it looks like--simmering blankness staring up at Edgard from beneath black eyebrows, a clenched jaw and flushed face with little else in terms of change.
"Is this a joke to you?" comes the seething hiss.
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"I-" He stutters. Great start. He then puts on a huge smile. "How are you, Maman?"
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"Some servant or other here is going to take the fall for what you've done and you're fine with that."
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his eyebrows may be not impressed but i am impressed by his eyebrows
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1/2
2/2
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...
Closed to Benedict
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So used to the schedule by now that he's actually awakened by the absence of Edgard yelling, Benedict sits up, blinks confusedly, and looks over to the man-shaped lump in the adjacent bed.
"Edgard?"
Maybe he died.
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The lump might as well be dead.
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He sits on the edge of his own bed and uses one long leg to prod gently at Edgard's back.
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makes my OWN PROMPT like a REBEL
It's a cold, dingy night in Lowtown, and amidst the hustle and bustle of the city's sounds there comes a series of frantic, high-pitched barks. It's drowned out before long by a cacophony of other barks, lower and at times more fearsome in tone, and the residents of the neighborhood complain under their breath about that fucking kennel: it's where the fighting dogs are kept, and the slightest disturbance can make them all lose their minds.
The first dog quiets down amidst the mayhem, and anyone listening more closely can hear the angry shouting of the kennel keeper before he slams the door and ostensibly goes back to bed.
Rebel, Rebel, you've torn your dress
He waits until he sees a light go out, before he quickly and quietly slips in. He smiles. It feels good to be back to his breaking and entering ways.
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Down at the end of the row of cages is a much subtler clicking sound, human fingers dragging furtively at what they can reach of the latch, to little avail: there isn't an opening large enough to accommodate a whole hand, and the man inside is sitting rather uncomfortably folded up in an enclosure barely big enough for a medium-sized dog to turn around.
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