quillpleasant wrote: ↑Aug 30, 2023 5:12 am
Wandering the Streets
"I hope she doesn't take it too badly," muses Lia as she steps back from the phone booth. She glances over at Sandels questioningly.
"So the duel is going to be soon? Where are you having it?" The thought of it makes a pit in her stomach, but it would do no good to bring that up.
Morty wrote: ↑Aug 30, 2023 9:18 pm
[Intersection Precinct]
Muttering unpleasant speculation about Sandels' personal habits, Michalson goes to look for Bunny. Who may or may not be nearby.
[Wandering the Streets]
"Where are we having it?", Sandels repeats. He glances up to the sky, hands stuffed in his pockets.
"Now that you mention, I don't think I ever specified that part. I told the detective to meet me at Trog's, but since things are as they are, we don't need to take that detour. I can walk right up to his doorstep if I want to. Feh. I'll sleep on it. It's not that important." He waves dismissively and goes to look for a place to spend the night in.
Meanwhile, at the
intersection precint, Michalson finds Bunny where he left her. She's too small to break out by force, but not small enough to squeeze past loose floorboards or the like. She's just been pacing around in circles and spent time reading whatever books or articles Michalson might've left within her reach.
---
[Later - Day of the Duel]
Sandels finds his rest under a pentice before a small pub squeezed between larger buildings. The spot is there for patrons to leave their horses or such, but once they see what kind of a horse the bandaged man brought with him, they opt to not disturb his sleep.
When the first light of day hits the rooftops, he gets up on cue, as if he'd never slept at all, even though the rays of light are yet to dispel shadows around him. He steps close to the edge of the pentice and holds his hand just outside, palm upwards, as if checking for rain. When no drops falls on his hand, he steps in the open and looks up at sky.
"Mist Danir", he speaks to the air, shading his eyes with his hand,
"Lord of the wind. Friend of beasts and travelers. I don't know about you, but I think, today would be a great day for some light drizzle. Would you be so kind and grant that for a Reaper? Glory to your name, to your herd, and to your inn. Truly."
He lets his hand down and stuffs it in his pocket, then starts walking towards Arkham street. The metal horse turns its head to follow him, snorts some sulfurous air from its nostril, then moves to walk after him. If Lia is still asleep, neither does a thing to go wake her up, not that they would care to alert her even if she's awake.
Elsewhere, Senshi Hoshiki is finishing his morning workout. He woke up well before dawn, if you could call what he did sleeping. Maybe meditation would be a better word. He's in the misty garden of his manor, standing in three-battles stance, eyes closed, engaged in breathing exercise and isometric strength training. He draws in the last breaths of the routine and stands straight, then expels the air from his lungs. The mist seems to be blown away with his breath, making way for pale morning light. He then goes and washes himself with a bucket of cold water, before getting dressed and fetching his swords, tying them at his waist.
When he gets out of the front door of his mansion, he finds the metal warhorse and its master already waiting for him across the street.
"You're early", the swordsman calls out, resting one hand on the hilts of his swords,
"I have to say I didn't expect you to be. I was prepared to hunt you down like the rat you are."
The bandaged man spreads his arms and shrugs, taking a few steps closer. There isn't much traffic coming or going, so he has no qualms loitering in the middle of the road.
"What can I say? I'm full of surprises."
The swordsman sizes his opponent and narrows his eyes.
"Where is your armor?"
The bandaged man shrugs again, putting his hands back in his pocket.
"I left it in the care of another. Doesn't matter. It was broken beyond usefulness anyway."
The swordsman continues glaring, his fingers rapping the hilts.
"Are you going to fight like that?"
The bandaged man looks down at himself, at the dirty grey overcoat and barely fitting trousers he stole from a dead bum, before looking back at the swordsman.
"Sure. Why not?"
The swordsman stops his rapping and stands silent for a moment.
"... you're unarmed."
The bandaged man huffs and cracks his neck.
"We both know that's irrelevant. Unless, you want to give me a handicap?"
