Post by Dane Hart on Oct 11, 2017 23:23:05 GMT -5
Dane didn’t quite feel like himself. Of course, he wasn’t entirely sure who he had been for the past several years, either. At least that was something he had in common with the other residents of the manor. Since Choiseul Manor had become his home, however temporary, he had not made much progress with getting answers. The people he already knew, Vick, Iris, and a few he couldn’t remember names of, all seemed to have tight lips for one reason or another. Most of the rest had already heard about him, specifically what he’d done to the werewolf soldier. Needless to say, he’d not had an easy time getting along.
A man stared up at him out of the gilded full-length mirror. A man with a scowl buried somewhere beneath that darkly colored beard. Just shy of taking a chainsaw and a machete, he’d managed to clean the mass into an almost sophisticated look that tapered to a thin point. His hair was pulled back in its usual ponytail, bangs hanging to the sides of his face, that was normal enough for as far back as he could remember. There was a slight tilt to that other man though, he leaned a bit to the right. It was easy to see he hadn’t recovered entirely yet from his outburst in the city streets.
No, all that he’d gotten used to. Something else was off. Something else was always off. He watched the people coming back into the manor, looking like they were coming back from a war zone. Everyone was armed, everyone kept their wits strapped on tighter than they kept their boots laced, and that was already enough to shove all the blood to some of their heads. It was hard to get used to, even without feeling like the only person in the manor with nothing to do. He woke up, checked in at the clinic, perused the library until another soul showed up there, and then retired to his room to brood the boredom away.
He didn’t have a lot to be depressed about, even given his circumstances. The room he’d been lovingly assigned on the second floor of the manor was every bit as grand as he’d come to expect. The coffered ceilings had detailed texture in each little pocket, and the chandelier that hung in the center of the room was probably worth more than Dane’s entire life. The furniture was all made of some sort of blackwood, one Dane couldn’t identify, which he was sure meant it was expensive and rare. Everything from the matching baseboards to the marble flooring, to the not-quite-soft rug that lay upon it seemed to meet that standard.
At the moment that floor was covered in garments that had come from the gold-embossed armoire in the corner of the room. They were draped across the poster bed, the chaise that sat by the recessed windows on the east side of the building, and anywhere else he could reach. Dane sighed at the mess as he stripped off the crimson henley shirt he wore and dumped it, along with the white v-neck beneath, on the pile nearest him. Exposing itchy fresh bandages over his wounds, self-imposed and otherwise. At least the wardrobe looked nice, because he had found nothing in it to his liking. Everything was… off.
Of course, it was all for the best. Dane had no intentions of going anywhere. It was against the routine he’d established at the manor. It seemed like Magdalene was always off somewhere, attending to something of the utmost importance. He couldn’t bring himself to feel sour about it, she had a big job after all. Still, she was the only person who made an effort with Dane, and the only one he’d really thought about since waking up in that basement. If he loitered around long enough he’d catch her in this hallway or that one, usually followed by a retainer, but she was always en route to the next event.
Just like everyone else at the manor, the lady of the house was always busy with something. Everyone except for Dane. He lay back on the plush mattress, sinking into the beige satin sheets and letting the poofy cocoa comforter engulf him for a while. It was stiflingly warm. He had slept without it, thus left it balled up at the foot of the bed where he now rested. He’d done a fine job of turning the whole room into a mess in his boredom, and he’d come no closer to curing himself.
“You make a fine show of yourself, Dane,” he said to the crystals dangling above him. He could just barely see tiny fractal copies of himself reflected in them. “Loitering about in a mansion, complaining about everything from the crenelations to the company.”
A man stared up at him out of the gilded full-length mirror. A man with a scowl buried somewhere beneath that darkly colored beard. Just shy of taking a chainsaw and a machete, he’d managed to clean the mass into an almost sophisticated look that tapered to a thin point. His hair was pulled back in its usual ponytail, bangs hanging to the sides of his face, that was normal enough for as far back as he could remember. There was a slight tilt to that other man though, he leaned a bit to the right. It was easy to see he hadn’t recovered entirely yet from his outburst in the city streets.
No, all that he’d gotten used to. Something else was off. Something else was always off. He watched the people coming back into the manor, looking like they were coming back from a war zone. Everyone was armed, everyone kept their wits strapped on tighter than they kept their boots laced, and that was already enough to shove all the blood to some of their heads. It was hard to get used to, even without feeling like the only person in the manor with nothing to do. He woke up, checked in at the clinic, perused the library until another soul showed up there, and then retired to his room to brood the boredom away.
He didn’t have a lot to be depressed about, even given his circumstances. The room he’d been lovingly assigned on the second floor of the manor was every bit as grand as he’d come to expect. The coffered ceilings had detailed texture in each little pocket, and the chandelier that hung in the center of the room was probably worth more than Dane’s entire life. The furniture was all made of some sort of blackwood, one Dane couldn’t identify, which he was sure meant it was expensive and rare. Everything from the matching baseboards to the marble flooring, to the not-quite-soft rug that lay upon it seemed to meet that standard.
At the moment that floor was covered in garments that had come from the gold-embossed armoire in the corner of the room. They were draped across the poster bed, the chaise that sat by the recessed windows on the east side of the building, and anywhere else he could reach. Dane sighed at the mess as he stripped off the crimson henley shirt he wore and dumped it, along with the white v-neck beneath, on the pile nearest him. Exposing itchy fresh bandages over his wounds, self-imposed and otherwise. At least the wardrobe looked nice, because he had found nothing in it to his liking. Everything was… off.
Of course, it was all for the best. Dane had no intentions of going anywhere. It was against the routine he’d established at the manor. It seemed like Magdalene was always off somewhere, attending to something of the utmost importance. He couldn’t bring himself to feel sour about it, she had a big job after all. Still, she was the only person who made an effort with Dane, and the only one he’d really thought about since waking up in that basement. If he loitered around long enough he’d catch her in this hallway or that one, usually followed by a retainer, but she was always en route to the next event.
Just like everyone else at the manor, the lady of the house was always busy with something. Everyone except for Dane. He lay back on the plush mattress, sinking into the beige satin sheets and letting the poofy cocoa comforter engulf him for a while. It was stiflingly warm. He had slept without it, thus left it balled up at the foot of the bed where he now rested. He’d done a fine job of turning the whole room into a mess in his boredom, and he’d come no closer to curing himself.
“You make a fine show of yourself, Dane,” he said to the crystals dangling above him. He could just barely see tiny fractal copies of himself reflected in them. “Loitering about in a mansion, complaining about everything from the crenelations to the company.”