WHO: Laurentius & You WHAT: Catch-all for fantasy April (pre-Antiva) WHEN: You guessed it. Fantasy April. WHERE: Kirkwall, the Gallows NOTES: Prompts in comments.
He'd brought two coats with him when they'd fled Vyrantium—the good one, which is the blackest and therefore most expensive thing he owns even if one were to disregard all its trimmings; and this one, which is both slightly green and cut in a fashion so flagrantly Northern that it's a wonder he hasn't been pitched into the dungeon just for walking out of the guest quarters loaned to him and his equally Northern wife.
In the watery sunlight, he paints a strange picture there on the Gallows' main ferry slip. He is very dark and very brooding, and is looking with such singular intensity across the harbor toward Kirkwall that it's slightly unbelievable the ferry hasn't simply been summoned instantly back to him.
And yet the moment another member of Riftwatch joins him on the slip, his attention promptly pivots.
Yseult has grown accustomed to the deference—or at least disinterest—most members of Riftwatch by now afford her. The question, abrupt and direct from a dark and brooding stranger, takes her off-guard. Eyebrows rise a notch or so, and one makes it two.
Deference, if it was ever a habit—and most of Laurentius Vesperus' one-time colleagues would likely deny it if their opinions were solicited—, seems not to have made the cut when packing. The trunk had been modestly sized, and mostly filled with books and papers and various sheafs of hurriedly copied pages. So if he marks the degree(s) of her eyebrows' elevation, it does very little to deter him.
"In Kirkwall. I assume you have business there."
There's no Riftwatch pin on his lapel or the breast of that murky green coat or anywhere else where one might be expected (although it's hardly as if everyone in the Gallows makes wearing them the habit that they should). A visitor likely, albeit a bizarre one.
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GALLOWS FERRY SLIP.
In the watery sunlight, he paints a strange picture there on the Gallows' main ferry slip. He is very dark and very brooding, and is looking with such singular intensity across the harbor toward Kirkwall that it's slightly unbelievable the ferry hasn't simply been summoned instantly back to him.
And yet the moment another member of Riftwatch joins him on the slip, his attention promptly pivots.
"Where are you going?"
no subject
"Excuse me?"
no subject
"In Kirkwall. I assume you have business there."
There's no Riftwatch pin on his lapel or the breast of that murky green coat or anywhere else where one might be expected (although it's hardly as if everyone in the Gallows makes wearing them the habit that they should). A visitor likely, albeit a bizarre one.