Margrave Posted April 25, 2010 Report Share Posted April 25, 2010 (edited) *France, the Chateu Du Pompador* It was quiet in the Chateu, a chilly night in a most European climate. Within one of the private studies stood a straight-backed figure, flipping through the pages of a book, eventually settling into a chair. Leafing through, he settled on T.S Elliot's "The Wasteland", and began to read. After all, one couldn't call oneself a Poet if one didn't have an appreciation for the art. But alas, it was not to be; merely moments after he started to devour the words, he recieved a page from the Lady. Adjusting his silver mask, he stood, laying the book softly upon the table next to him; it was a first edition after all, and he had a love of such classics. Moving through the shadows of the Chateu like a ghost, he dismissed thoughts of art as he approached the solid oak doors of the Lady's study. Suprised to find it slightly ajar, he entered in, senses heightened...he had not lived as long as he had by forgetting to be cautious. His hand had just moved to his side-arm when he felt arms encircling his torso. Forcing himself not to twist and (attempt) to break his "attackers" neck, he turned slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, allowing the stiff formality to flow out of him. Here, at least, with her, he was safe. And so was she. "You know I don't like suprises, mes ami...but it's nothing important. I didn't think you wanted to brief me until tommorow, but if the word is that good, I can deny sleep a few hours longer...it's not like I sleep much anyway." Edited April 25, 2010 by Margrave Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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