The Back Water tavern reeked of stale ale and desperation, a fitting backdrop for the arrival of Bastien. The door creaked open, and for a moment, the dim light from the hearth seemed to falter, as if even the flames feared his presence. Bastien strode in, his steps deliberate, slow, the kind of pace that made people uncomfortable, unsure whether they should stand up straight or make themselves invisible.
His eyes, cold and devoid of empathy, swept over the room like a predator surveying its prey. Bastien wasn't looking for anything in particular—he was simply letting them know he was there. And they noticed. The chatter died down, replaced by the uneasy shuffling of feet and the hesitant clink of mugs being set down. Every patron knew better than to hold his gaze for too long.
Behind him, his so-called friends followed like a pack of wolves trailing their alpha. They were a motley crew of cowards and sycophants, all too eager to laugh at his cruel jokes, too afraid to ever cross him. Bastien had a way of making them feel powerful in his shadow, but they all knew—whether consciously or not—that they were as expendable as the dirt beneath his boots.
He reached the bar, Bastien didn’t speak at first, just stared, enjoying the way the air hung between them and made things uncomfortable for a second. Finally, he leaned forward, his voice a smooth whisper that somehow cut through the air like a knife.
@Maika Arainai
His eyes, cold and devoid of empathy, swept over the room like a predator surveying its prey. Bastien wasn't looking for anything in particular—he was simply letting them know he was there. And they noticed. The chatter died down, replaced by the uneasy shuffling of feet and the hesitant clink of mugs being set down. Every patron knew better than to hold his gaze for too long.
Behind him, his so-called friends followed like a pack of wolves trailing their alpha. They were a motley crew of cowards and sycophants, all too eager to laugh at his cruel jokes, too afraid to ever cross him. Bastien had a way of making them feel powerful in his shadow, but they all knew—whether consciously or not—that they were as expendable as the dirt beneath his boots.
He reached the bar, Bastien didn’t speak at first, just stared, enjoying the way the air hung between them and made things uncomfortable for a second. Finally, he leaned forward, his voice a smooth whisper that somehow cut through the air like a knife.
A round for my friends,he said, the word "friends" dripping with condescension.
And make sure it’s the good stuff, not that swill you serve the rest of these pigs.
@Maika Arainai
08-17-2024, 01:34 PM
