Jaime Avharin
Jan 13, 2014 12:15:45 GMT -5
Post by bielebog on Jan 13, 2014 12:15:45 GMT -5
He woke with a start. It was early morning and he was not alone in his bed: there was a vague outline of a pale back, sleep-frazzled black hair twisted in all directions. Normally he would find the sight alluring, perhaps sidle back up against the girl, fall back asleep or even encourage a second round... but things had been different. No matter how many women he took to bed – he wasn't above a casual fling, Creator knows – they all seemed to become the same girl. First, their many faces became interchangeable, then completely amorphous, salient features resurfacing now and then. Eventually, they all became her, with their bright eyes and pert lips, and that was not anything he wanted to deal with anymore. “The next time I fall in love,” he had vowed, deep into his cups, surrounded by his black-coated compatriots, “it will be with someone who loves me back.” But if that was his hand, eventually, then it was a long way away. She had even ruined his... ah, shall we say, extracurricular activities.
Casting a lingering glance toward the naked black-haired girl, whose features had started to shift and become someone else, he groggily swung himself out of bed and rooted around the room for his clothes. He had a dull headache, but he was accustomed to that. Maybe, he reflected solemnly, they weren't becoming her; it was an unfortunate after-effect of the drink. That must be it. Soon he was dressed in his smallclothes, then he tentatively donned the black coat of his station, pinning on the silver sword pin almost as an after-thought. This, he chastised himself, was his purpose – this is what he should be focusing on. With a final backward glance at the girl, whose name was something like Lelei or Lenei, he twisted around and departed.
Casting a lingering glance toward the naked black-haired girl, whose features had started to shift and become someone else, he groggily swung himself out of bed and rooted around the room for his clothes. He had a dull headache, but he was accustomed to that. Maybe, he reflected solemnly, they weren't becoming her; it was an unfortunate after-effect of the drink. That must be it. Soon he was dressed in his smallclothes, then he tentatively donned the black coat of his station, pinning on the silver sword pin almost as an after-thought. This, he chastised himself, was his purpose – this is what he should be focusing on. With a final backward glance at the girl, whose name was something like Lelei or Lenei, he twisted around and departed.