GreyZone
Senior Member
The freezing wind cut like a knife on the back of Edward Williams's neck, causing his shoulders to shrink up and protect the skin there as he barreled forward on the street. He was a creature who typically moved with grace, but nothing drove him to haste like the freezing weather and cause to be outside in London. He hated large crowds, he hated the stench, the trash collecting every place he looked. It should have spoken volumes that his anger drove him out of the house - it was a monumental event indeed that drove Edward Williams from his house.
Arranged marriage. An archaic idea that he had never given a second thought was a ball and chain holding him back as he hurtled toward the nearest bar no one would recognize him in. It was funny how quickly one agrees to marry someone when an entire inheritance is threatened. He shouldn't complain, really, as having his father give him a wife on a silver platter was certainly easier than going to the bother of finding one himself. Girls drove him crazy, with their giggles and flying curls, hiding their ankles as if he would explode on the mere sight of them. Whenever he caved and visited the "fancy ladies," he always requested the silent ones, mute, preferably.
As soon as he ducked to fit his long, lean frame through the door, his hat was removed from its perch on his handsome dark head. The heat of so many bodies packed onto benches, the smell of good ale and sweat, and the sounds of laughter all assaulted him at once. This was usually a nightmare, but for some reason, he cracked a small smile. Most of the people were working men escaping their twelve children and exhausted wives, immigrants who yelled at each other in broken English.
It was exactly what his father hated; therefore, he liked it.
Edward lowered his body on one of the bar stools, pleasantly surprised when he found that one of the legs was shorter than the other. He never would be allowed to fidget on it and make it rock at home; therefore, he did it. "What do you recommend?" He asked the bar tender, trying not to dwell on the fat man beside him who was yelling in some angry Slavic tongue. At least it was better than the yelling at home, reminders of all what had to be done to salave his family's life.
Arranged marriage. An archaic idea that he had never given a second thought was a ball and chain holding him back as he hurtled toward the nearest bar no one would recognize him in. It was funny how quickly one agrees to marry someone when an entire inheritance is threatened. He shouldn't complain, really, as having his father give him a wife on a silver platter was certainly easier than going to the bother of finding one himself. Girls drove him crazy, with their giggles and flying curls, hiding their ankles as if he would explode on the mere sight of them. Whenever he caved and visited the "fancy ladies," he always requested the silent ones, mute, preferably.
As soon as he ducked to fit his long, lean frame through the door, his hat was removed from its perch on his handsome dark head. The heat of so many bodies packed onto benches, the smell of good ale and sweat, and the sounds of laughter all assaulted him at once. This was usually a nightmare, but for some reason, he cracked a small smile. Most of the people were working men escaping their twelve children and exhausted wives, immigrants who yelled at each other in broken English.
It was exactly what his father hated; therefore, he liked it.
Edward lowered his body on one of the bar stools, pleasantly surprised when he found that one of the legs was shorter than the other. He never would be allowed to fidget on it and make it rock at home; therefore, he did it. "What do you recommend?" He asked the bar tender, trying not to dwell on the fat man beside him who was yelling in some angry Slavic tongue. At least it was better than the yelling at home, reminders of all what had to be done to salave his family's life.
