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northclifflogs2022-08-08 07:49 pm
gravioramanent) wrote in northclifflogs2022-08-08 07:49 pm
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[CLOSED] Bad thoughts give me bad dreams and my bad dreams make me get up and walk...
WHO: Vlad and Adhemar
WHAT: Two grown men demonstrating they're capable of a civilized conversation (in the presence of witnesses)
WHEN: Late at night, a few days after everyone discovered it's actually 1315
WHERE: The big thoroughfare between the infirmary and the chapel
The past few days have been exceptionally trying for Volodymyr and have completely derailed anything he planned to get done this week. From dawn til dusk he's had to focus on getting the infirmary into a workable state as quickly as possible. Together with Finian, he's attended to endless sweeping, cleaning, dusting, doing inventories of remaining supplies and equipment, and putting in work orders at Marlowe's to attend to broken windows and the like.
This, and the logistics of spending a fortune sending (eventually) for supplies from Cliffside and Fairport, have largely kept his mind and hands productively occupied. But every night, after sundown, not even exhaustion can prevent the good doctor from stepping outside to brood against the infirmary wall. Every night, he smokes down a couple cigarettes while staring at the chapel across the road with a darkly preoccupied expression. And if, by chance, Adhemar has left the vicarage during any of this nocturnal surveillance, every night Volodymyr will stub out his cigarette and casually return inside before he has a chance to get far, as if he hadn't seen him at all.
But finally, one night, should Volodymyr find himself within eye-sight of the vicar, instead of retreating indoors, he will light up another smoke and watch the man with eyes blazing and defiant.
WHAT: Two grown men demonstrating they're capable of a civilized conversation (in the presence of witnesses)
WHEN: Late at night, a few days after everyone discovered it's actually 1315
WHERE: The big thoroughfare between the infirmary and the chapel
The past few days have been exceptionally trying for Volodymyr and have completely derailed anything he planned to get done this week. From dawn til dusk he's had to focus on getting the infirmary into a workable state as quickly as possible. Together with Finian, he's attended to endless sweeping, cleaning, dusting, doing inventories of remaining supplies and equipment, and putting in work orders at Marlowe's to attend to broken windows and the like.
This, and the logistics of spending a fortune sending (eventually) for supplies from Cliffside and Fairport, have largely kept his mind and hands productively occupied. But every night, after sundown, not even exhaustion can prevent the good doctor from stepping outside to brood against the infirmary wall. Every night, he smokes down a couple cigarettes while staring at the chapel across the road with a darkly preoccupied expression. And if, by chance, Adhemar has left the vicarage during any of this nocturnal surveillance, every night Volodymyr will stub out his cigarette and casually return inside before he has a chance to get far, as if he hadn't seen him at all.
But finally, one night, should Volodymyr find himself within eye-sight of the vicar, instead of retreating indoors, he will light up another smoke and watch the man with eyes blazing and defiant.
no subject
He steps out of the chapel that evening with every intention of simply crossing the grounds towards his private quarters, but pauses when he spots Volodymyr lurking outside the infirmary. With smoke rising up from the end of that cigarette and fire in his eyes, he might be able to trick a dragon into viewing him as its kin. Adhemar looks back at him in neutral silence, deliberating privately, and then comes to a decision.
Hands tucked into the pockets of his cassock, he walks towards the infirmary--and, consequently, towards Volodymyr. Then, once he's within a reasonable distance, he withdraws a familiar-looking knife and extends it out towards him, hilt first.
He smiles thinly. "Yours, I believe."
no subject
"Yours, I believe."
Initially, Volodymyr stares at the knife. In silence, he takes a long drag, and does not bother to turn his head when he exhales.
"So it voult seem," he replies coldly, accepting it, but keeping it to hand. Because he doesn't currently have a sheathe for it on his person. Obviously. No other reason. "How peculiar. I vonder how it got someplace it should not haff been." His words are as pointed as the blade returned to his possession.