Isaac isn't back long. The morning finds him dozing by the fire, teapot in arms; still wearing sleep and yesterday's shirtsleeves when Felix knocks.
(He is Felix. There are privileges one forfeits for a cock in the mouth — others, that fear need assert. Certain servants arrive unannounced only to poor ends. A second location, a story that is mostly holes; it's a brief conversation. He's Felix.
So no one dies.)
Stairs creak. Rain drums the boards, and several flights up he's still dripping on the floor. Isaac stoops close, turns damp hands to her chin. The bag over his shoulder will see to most usual emergencies, but if that was all, they'd be ashore; and more than one eye in her head. Merci.
"Oh, don't speak," Cannot be the first or last time that Gwenaëlle Baudin been asked to shut up, "You'll make that worse. Chalk and board,"
To Guilfoyle. Doubtless, there's something else to write with in this enormous fucking desk, but he'd sooner she not dump an inkwell on them both. Once supplied,
"Tell me what's happened," She's long enough in the Infirmary to have some idea, fond enough it may distract. "And what you've taken. I'm going to look at you,"
Tipping her less swollen cheek. Strange will have seen to the routine questions, if she were dribbling fluid or blazing fever, there'd be no clawing him from her side. Still, he mislikes the cling of mystery about this, dreamlike under grey sky. As though at any moment now, he'll spy the edges of maze.
no subject
(He is Felix. There are privileges one forfeits for a cock in the mouth — others, that fear need assert. Certain servants arrive unannounced only to poor ends. A second location, a story that is mostly holes; it's a brief conversation. He's Felix.
So no one dies.)
Stairs creak. Rain drums the boards, and several flights up he's still dripping on the floor. Isaac stoops close, turns damp hands to her chin. The bag over his shoulder will see to most usual emergencies, but if that was all, they'd be ashore; and more than one eye in her head. Merci.
"Oh, don't speak," Cannot be the first or last time that Gwenaëlle Baudin been asked to shut up, "You'll make that worse. Chalk and board,"
To Guilfoyle. Doubtless, there's something else to write with in this enormous fucking desk, but he'd sooner she not dump an inkwell on them both. Once supplied,
"Tell me what's happened," She's long enough in the Infirmary to have some idea, fond enough it may distract. "And what you've taken. I'm going to look at you,"
Tipping her less swollen cheek. Strange will have seen to the routine questions, if she were dribbling fluid or blazing fever, there'd be no clawing him from her side. Still, he mislikes the cling of mystery about this, dreamlike under grey sky. As though at any moment now, he'll spy the edges of maze.