Re: All or Nothing

[Rendaz "Flammy"]

Tomorrow evening. It was quite the wait, but Rendaz would rather see someone who was awake, attentive and ready to work, rather than... whatever this man was meant to be. They both knew he was in no state for a dignified conversation, he was content to let him just be on his way.

"Sleep well," he grunted, before simply shoving the door shut. Great, another variable in the mix. He'd cope. For now, things seemed (dare he even conceive it) optimistic. It'd work out in his favour, and if it didn't, so help him he'd make it. But for now, he resumed doing what he usually did these days - tinkering with mechanics and mulling over the unforeseeable future.

[Richard Wallace]

The moment he was past the door threshold, he stopped, looking around carefully as he pocketed the keys. There was, thankfully, nobody in sight. Good. He would not let anybody see him, not yet.

"Thank you." He wasn't going to sleep, of course, but was a nice thing to hear, regardless - even muttered in such a way. With a sigh, Richard turned into a bat again and flew up to make his way to his old room, fluttering near the ceiling to minimize the chances of being spotted. He could choose any other room that did not carry a load of memories with it, but that particular room also had a bottle of whisky or two stashed underneath the closet. If nobody had found them, that is.

They better not.

As he flapped his wings along the familiar corridors, his mind went into a dull, thoughtless state, the one he'd been in through the long days and nights of travelling. It came easy by now. Once he had reached the door, he paused to listen for any movement. Hearing none, he transformed again and opened the door.

Ah, this room... It looked both familiar and strange, friendly and hostile. It had none of his things, just the furniture that he had briefly borrowed of the castle. Quietly, he closed the door behind him and walked along them. The armchair, the cabinets. The bed. The rocking chair... There was nobody in the room, it was dark and quiet. No spies, no assassins, no thieves. He shuddered a bit, then walked to the window and ripped the curtains open. Moonlight poured in, its bright silver burning his eyes almost as much as the real thing. He blinked, took off his backpack and set it down on the bed, then stood staring at it for a moment. Right. He was here. The journey was over. Restless, he turned away and began to pace around in the puddle of silver light, for some reason hesitant to leave it and step into the shadow. He was tired of shadows. He was tired of light, as well. His steps slowed. He was tired of walking too, why was he walking, he didn't have to walk anymore. He was here.

Slowly, his legs began to fold, and in the light of the moon Richard knelt down, hid his face in his palms and sobbed in silence.