Post by Eurydice on Jan 10, 2009 2:37:04 GMT -5
((A little vignette for Hound))
Cold rain struck lightly but persistently against Hound’s helmet, sounding a percussive metallic chorus around his ears as he watched Kiri pull her hood close over her face and retreat indoors. It was not the foul weather that she needed to be worried about.
With an unhappy noise somewhere between a sigh and a grunt, Hound turned away, gliding in and out of the shadows. If Stark earnestly turned his sights on someone, the finely enchanted robes would do little to keep him away. Hound simply hoped that the girl would heed his warning and keep her distance as best she could. Stark’s eye might not fall on her again. And if Hound didn’t have to keep an eye on Kiri, it would mean all the more attention that he could keep on Stark’s machinations as his plans inexorably advanced towards an uncertain completion.
Hound chuckled humorlessly, trying to remember the exact moment wherein he’d realized the danger that lay in Stark, and beyond that, the first moment when he’d realized that he desperately wanted to get out of whatever it was that he had joined, a sensation that had increased exponentially with every job that Stark had him do, with every minute of every passing day.
Hound wanted out.
But if Stark went on unchecked, there would be no one getting out of it. Hound was the only one who could keep an eye on him, the only one who could put in motion a means of stopping him, and if he did not, he would not escape the eventual bloodbath.
Anyway, it wasn’t like Stark was about to let him leave his service. Not after all he’d heard.
So he did what he had to do. He stayed. He watched. And he waited.
Unbidden, his thoughts drifted back to the retreating figure of the elf girl and, not for the first time, the image of her face and the imprint of her psyche seemed to blend with that of another young girl, another innocent caught in the midst of a conflict that she should have been spared. Hound closed his eyes, preemptively swallowing the painful cloud of memories that swept over him. He didn’t know why he connected the two of them, Kiri and Lanna; both were victims of circumstances beyond their own control, both had lost much, and both had come to trust him, more than he felt he could ever deserve.
Hound didn’t usually actively seek out connections in the world when he wasn’t being paid to do so; if he had tried to do so, he might have supposed that in protecting Kirjava, he was trying to pick up where he’d left off with Lanna—Lanna with the sandy blonde hair and dimpled chin, Lanna who’d come to call him her father, Lanna who’d barely lived past her tenth birthday. Hound took a breath, consciously blocking the image of the little girl’s broken body, her scorched bones.
He thought instead of Kiri, looking up at him with worry and sadness and trust, her tiny frame clutching the robes he had given her, her wide, frightened eyes on him.
Letting the image steady him, Hound took another breath and wove through the streets of the city. He had no idea what the next few weeks would hold for him, what Stark would demand of him before he finally had to say no; he had no idea how far this madness would expand.
But by the gods, or whoever happened to be watching, he would keep one girl safe. If nothing else, he could do that.
Cold rain struck lightly but persistently against Hound’s helmet, sounding a percussive metallic chorus around his ears as he watched Kiri pull her hood close over her face and retreat indoors. It was not the foul weather that she needed to be worried about.
With an unhappy noise somewhere between a sigh and a grunt, Hound turned away, gliding in and out of the shadows. If Stark earnestly turned his sights on someone, the finely enchanted robes would do little to keep him away. Hound simply hoped that the girl would heed his warning and keep her distance as best she could. Stark’s eye might not fall on her again. And if Hound didn’t have to keep an eye on Kiri, it would mean all the more attention that he could keep on Stark’s machinations as his plans inexorably advanced towards an uncertain completion.
Hound chuckled humorlessly, trying to remember the exact moment wherein he’d realized the danger that lay in Stark, and beyond that, the first moment when he’d realized that he desperately wanted to get out of whatever it was that he had joined, a sensation that had increased exponentially with every job that Stark had him do, with every minute of every passing day.
Hound wanted out.
But if Stark went on unchecked, there would be no one getting out of it. Hound was the only one who could keep an eye on him, the only one who could put in motion a means of stopping him, and if he did not, he would not escape the eventual bloodbath.
Anyway, it wasn’t like Stark was about to let him leave his service. Not after all he’d heard.
So he did what he had to do. He stayed. He watched. And he waited.
Unbidden, his thoughts drifted back to the retreating figure of the elf girl and, not for the first time, the image of her face and the imprint of her psyche seemed to blend with that of another young girl, another innocent caught in the midst of a conflict that she should have been spared. Hound closed his eyes, preemptively swallowing the painful cloud of memories that swept over him. He didn’t know why he connected the two of them, Kiri and Lanna; both were victims of circumstances beyond their own control, both had lost much, and both had come to trust him, more than he felt he could ever deserve.
Hound didn’t usually actively seek out connections in the world when he wasn’t being paid to do so; if he had tried to do so, he might have supposed that in protecting Kirjava, he was trying to pick up where he’d left off with Lanna—Lanna with the sandy blonde hair and dimpled chin, Lanna who’d come to call him her father, Lanna who’d barely lived past her tenth birthday. Hound took a breath, consciously blocking the image of the little girl’s broken body, her scorched bones.
He thought instead of Kiri, looking up at him with worry and sadness and trust, her tiny frame clutching the robes he had given her, her wide, frightened eyes on him.
Letting the image steady him, Hound took another breath and wove through the streets of the city. He had no idea what the next few weeks would hold for him, what Stark would demand of him before he finally had to say no; he had no idea how far this madness would expand.
But by the gods, or whoever happened to be watching, he would keep one girl safe. If nothing else, he could do that.