Tiberius rasped a dry, tired laugh, watching Lyric’s pale white hands set to work on his filthy skin. It was quite against his inclination – but like so many other things today, he did not think he’d get his way if he fought her on it.
“Yes, I think burning them all would be for the best.” All the rest of his things were still packed, on the roof of the carriage. Perhaps one of the men of the house could be persuaded to give up a shirt? … Once she was done with the basin and rags, he dropped the spell keeping pressure on the wound. The scales fizzled away into smoke and the wound began to bleed sluggishly again.
If he couldn’t trust Lyric, well. In all likelihood he was about to die. Tiberius gripped the bolt by the end and forced it through his flesh, an involuntary whimper escaping through gritted teeth. It fell to the floor with a heavy thump. Hunched and sweating, he watched her go about the rest of her work, glazed and distant. His thoughts were sluggish in a way that would have usually alarmed him.
This situation didn’t make sense. He’d been fairly certain that they kind of hated each other yesterday and through at least part of this morning. Tiberius leaned toward her as she got up, afraid she was leaving.
No, she was only carrying a few things away. He struggled to peel out of his clothes, balling up coat and vest and the sad remains of his trousers. He should – sleep elsewhere, the floor maybe, and let her have the bed. He should thank her for saving him twice over.
“I wouldn’t chase you. If you want to leave tonight.” Why hadn’t she already? Maker, he was making a mess of this. Tiberius raised his head to look at her, trying to clock her reaction.
@Lyric Oatshield
“Yes, I think burning them all would be for the best.” All the rest of his things were still packed, on the roof of the carriage. Perhaps one of the men of the house could be persuaded to give up a shirt? … Once she was done with the basin and rags, he dropped the spell keeping pressure on the wound. The scales fizzled away into smoke and the wound began to bleed sluggishly again.
If he couldn’t trust Lyric, well. In all likelihood he was about to die. Tiberius gripped the bolt by the end and forced it through his flesh, an involuntary whimper escaping through gritted teeth. It fell to the floor with a heavy thump. Hunched and sweating, he watched her go about the rest of her work, glazed and distant. His thoughts were sluggish in a way that would have usually alarmed him.
This situation didn’t make sense. He’d been fairly certain that they kind of hated each other yesterday and through at least part of this morning. Tiberius leaned toward her as she got up, afraid she was leaving.
No, she was only carrying a few things away. He struggled to peel out of his clothes, balling up coat and vest and the sad remains of his trousers. He should – sleep elsewhere, the floor maybe, and let her have the bed. He should thank her for saving him twice over.
“I wouldn’t chase you. If you want to leave tonight.” Why hadn’t she already? Maker, he was making a mess of this. Tiberius raised his head to look at her, trying to clock her reaction.
@Lyric Oatshield
06-08-2024, 08:02 PM
