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[Response to an opening for a Beauty&the Beast RP. Word count: 649]
This would mark the second time tonight that someone had trespassed on the extensive grounds of Fortescue, the second time a villager had wandered so far into the forest that he had actually had to leave the confines of his home to scare whoever it was that had the nerve to try and attack him in his defenseless state.
To be truthful, he hadn't known what the rain might do to his... condition. But he had ventured outside earlier in the night and had few complications when he'd focused hard enough and could actively evaporate the water around him, and he came across an aged man trying in vain to escape the wolves that often lurked in his territory. The old man would stumble into a vision of hellfire and death, and faint at his feet, but the Demon of Fortescue (as he had once been called, and the name still faintly stung) would not murder in cold blood. Instead, he took the helpless body into his castle and down into the depths of the basement, where nothing but spiders and mice remained to crawl around the foundations and he would keep the man behind old, rusted bars until he decided what to do with him.
The Demon, the Beast, the Apparition; the man had many names now, and only faintly remembered his given one. It had been at least ten long years wasting away in his home--now, to be frank, turned a prison. He could never stray too far, for fear the confines of his curse would kill him more quickly than if he stayed in the house like a good boy he wasn't.
Only a few hours had passed, in which he'd fixed himself a rather domestic cup of tea and settled in one of the many living rooms with fireplaces. Staring into the burning logs, he had felt relaxed, but tensed all at once. And now he knew why. Of course little villagers would not travel alone--this one old man must have brought an army here to kill him, the old man must have been bait to prove his existence! He crushed the little porcelain cup in his hands and fairly snarled at the revelation, ignoring the way the hot water seeped into his broken skin and warped the curve of his wrist. But he wouldn't walk straight into their trap. He slithered down to the main entrance and peered through the tattered curtains at just what sort of imbecile would try and launch an attack from the front door--and his eyes, burnished gold, like the money he once prized or a stream of dangerous flame, widened. A boy--well, practically a man, really... yelling for his father? The ruse was rather convincing, he had to admit.
So he huffed, paced around the floor, trying to find a solution. He couldn't very well show himself in front of the blonde little peasant; letting out the secret of his continued existence to more than one person was a risk he was not willing to take. But the other male just kept knocking and yelling and making such a fuss...
He reluctantly went around locking all the other doors and left the one leading down to the basement wide open--a black hole beckoning those who laid eyes on it from the front door to travel down into the depths. And carefully, slowly, he hid behind the door and pulled it open just so... making sure that when the door did open he was gone in a flash, to wait for the peasant to make his way down to find his father, if that was what he was really here for. Should they try anything, he would be there in the shadows of the basement to kill them both... if absolutely necessary. The Demon of Fortescue preferred not to have bloodstains all over the dungeons.
 Felix-Fiasco · Tue Aug 16, 2011 @ 02:57pm · 0 Comments |
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