Post by Deleted on Dec 6, 2013 18:37:26 GMT -6
It had been like vanquishing a nightmare, retiring from that room where a fallen cadaver and shards of smashed glass were left behind in his wake. His exit did not go unannounced and he hadn't any place set in mind to go next, but he was not to turn in that direction again. While a nightmare did not show hope of ceasing at just that moment, it was more like he had been released from an invisible force holding him down, a darker shadow than the rest of the Manor entailed. Still he felt no pride for having 'proven his strength' to the Inhabitants, but as was his intention, he did leave that room alive.
The smashing of that wine bottle had not done the trick to quell Francis's fuming. His appearance came off as brooding, unable to properly reflect upon what turn of emotions he had undergone during that event. If anyone were to cross his path, they wouldn't have any idea about it - and he could tell already he won't be too keen on explaining. There was nothing left in his path on which to take out his aggression, unless he would decide in the near future to throw another fit of breaking objects. But he refrained, if only on the notion that he did not want any extraneous attention seeking him out.
After what felt like ages of walking, seeing as time and direction were not where his mind was interested, he came upon a door that he couldn't recall having opened before. There was little hesitation or thought of precaution before he grabbed the knob and pushed it open, leaving the door ajar in front of him so that he could first scope the room from where he stands. No ominous music drawled here, it seemed, and the room was more pleasantly lit than the others. In the short time that the man's portrait had gone unnoticed, this looked a more perfect place to rest than where he was last told to do so. Francis couldn't imagine himself finding real relaxation at this point, though he didn't see any reason to turn away. He needed to stop somewhere.
The door was left open as he strolled into the room, slowing to stand at its center. The intimidation he would usually feel upon entering one of these rooms had since declined, as has his desire to seek company. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and old walls, dust collecting on the tops of tables seats of each chair. That was enough indication that this room had long since been abandoned. He could imagine the amount of people that would have gathered here when the Manor was more active, could hear the low hum of voices talking amongst themselves, see the wisps of smoke dancing lazily above their heads. They probably weren't ever prompted to kill the other person that they were in the room with.
Seeing that portrait on the the wall gave him a start, and the vivid images in his mind vanished as if having ran from the presence of the man on the wall. He inched closer to get a better view of it, eyebrows pinching together in a look that could only be judgmental. Who was this, the man who once ran the Manor or something? Some millionaire so caught up in himself that he had to have his portrait erected for all to awe at? (As if Francis would have done differently.) He looked too... modern to be one of the place's earliest inhabitants, so perhaps he was a well-known icon of Alfred's. Either way, Francis did not feel like standing here long enough to have a staring contest with him.
If his mind were thinking correctly, he probably would have been wary about turning his back on the eerie portrait. Having done so anyway, he then went on to stand in front of the fireplace, staring down into its less menacing appearance. Warmth was not what he was seeking (not that he knew what exactly he was seeking - perhaps just to leave this place like everyone else), but he couldn't help himself being drawn to this source of light. He dropped back to sit on the sofa provided, weight heavy as he sank back against the cushion. He reached with one hand to pull his hat off and rest it aside, whereas his other hand didn't want to let go of his rapier just yet. He held onto it with idle determination, thoughtless as he pointed its tip out toward those crackling flames. Red still showed on the blade from where the firelight reflected.
He hadn't given up on finding a way out just yet, but he would take this short visit to try and wind himself down.
The smashing of that wine bottle had not done the trick to quell Francis's fuming. His appearance came off as brooding, unable to properly reflect upon what turn of emotions he had undergone during that event. If anyone were to cross his path, they wouldn't have any idea about it - and he could tell already he won't be too keen on explaining. There was nothing left in his path on which to take out his aggression, unless he would decide in the near future to throw another fit of breaking objects. But he refrained, if only on the notion that he did not want any extraneous attention seeking him out.
After what felt like ages of walking, seeing as time and direction were not where his mind was interested, he came upon a door that he couldn't recall having opened before. There was little hesitation or thought of precaution before he grabbed the knob and pushed it open, leaving the door ajar in front of him so that he could first scope the room from where he stands. No ominous music drawled here, it seemed, and the room was more pleasantly lit than the others. In the short time that the man's portrait had gone unnoticed, this looked a more perfect place to rest than where he was last told to do so. Francis couldn't imagine himself finding real relaxation at this point, though he didn't see any reason to turn away. He needed to stop somewhere.
The door was left open as he strolled into the room, slowing to stand at its center. The intimidation he would usually feel upon entering one of these rooms had since declined, as has his desire to seek company. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and old walls, dust collecting on the tops of tables seats of each chair. That was enough indication that this room had long since been abandoned. He could imagine the amount of people that would have gathered here when the Manor was more active, could hear the low hum of voices talking amongst themselves, see the wisps of smoke dancing lazily above their heads. They probably weren't ever prompted to kill the other person that they were in the room with.
Seeing that portrait on the the wall gave him a start, and the vivid images in his mind vanished as if having ran from the presence of the man on the wall. He inched closer to get a better view of it, eyebrows pinching together in a look that could only be judgmental. Who was this, the man who once ran the Manor or something? Some millionaire so caught up in himself that he had to have his portrait erected for all to awe at? (As if Francis would have done differently.) He looked too... modern to be one of the place's earliest inhabitants, so perhaps he was a well-known icon of Alfred's. Either way, Francis did not feel like standing here long enough to have a staring contest with him.
If his mind were thinking correctly, he probably would have been wary about turning his back on the eerie portrait. Having done so anyway, he then went on to stand in front of the fireplace, staring down into its less menacing appearance. Warmth was not what he was seeking (not that he knew what exactly he was seeking - perhaps just to leave this place like everyone else), but he couldn't help himself being drawn to this source of light. He dropped back to sit on the sofa provided, weight heavy as he sank back against the cushion. He reached with one hand to pull his hat off and rest it aside, whereas his other hand didn't want to let go of his rapier just yet. He held onto it with idle determination, thoughtless as he pointed its tip out toward those crackling flames. Red still showed on the blade from where the firelight reflected.
He hadn't given up on finding a way out just yet, but he would take this short visit to try and wind himself down.