StormWolf
Elder Member
Roland MacCann
Roland had never been one to strike women or children, but the petulance of the young Valantin sorely tempted him into turning a new leaf. Suggestions, he said.
I suggest you make yourself useful before I put a window in your head, Roland thought, nearly saying it aloud, but he bit his tongue. His back twitched and tensed into a knotted bundle, old wounds creaking in silent discontentment. Worse still, was the mortar was not as pliant as Roland would have thought or liked, and the grating of the steel on pitted brick was only the fifth-most aggravating thing in the room.
From below came a demure plea of pardon, and Roland merely glanced down with an arching of his eyebrows at pallid skin and sallow cheeks before Roman ducked under the lip of the mantle. An odd duck, to be sure, but no more or less odd than the rest.
Then the hacking started.
Brow furrowing, Roland leaned to peer at Roman’s apparent fit, and nearly leapt out of his skin when the spitting of sparks lead to flame. His eyes goggled wide for a moment as he tensed against a sudden flash of panic, knuckles bleaching white in the knuckle-duster grip of his knife.
“Jesus,” he spat his meager blasphemy and shoved himself away from the mantle with a forced, practiced calm. Slipping the knife back into his boot sheath, Roland surveyed the other side of the room, spying the pair of chisels they’d apparently unearthed.
What arcane euro-trash parlor game were they tangled in?
“Pardon,” he said tightly, crossing the room in steady strides and paused in his traversal of the room to stop by the lout – Devin, if memory served. “I’m requisitioning this for the war effort,” he said lowly, gesturing to the flute of champagne. Not pausing for acquiescence or consent on the matter, Roland snatched it and kept moving. He didn’t much care if the stem snapped off.
Roland’s vest had hidden the patch of sweat that was growing between his shoulder blades, but it wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t hide his discomfort, especially with a Torch being so close.
He needed fresh air. He needed a drink. As tempting as the champagne was, it was destined for a greater purpose. Approaching the vase without a word, he poured the half-glass into the dirt.