Donald couldn't sleep. He lied there huddled with the other loyalist criminals next to a sewer outlet with the nice campfire going on. Of course the label of loyalist criminal is a bit of an overexaggeration as he was never quite a loyalist himself, he was merely a thug who didn't like the deathlings more than the others do. And somehow, despite the warmth of the dancing flame beside him, he couldn't close his eyes. The burly man got up and looked out the pipe, the white frozen waters before him and further on partially hidden behind the blanket of snowfall lies the other side of the archipelago. The howling wind outside could make any man tremble to the temperature. It was obvious, he and his little group were watching over this smuggling entrance, it wasn't a special occasion, but that meeting the old man set up somehow instilled a sense of responsibility within him. And so he stood, appreciating the winter scenery simply because it was nicer than what was behind him. He didn't know how long it was until something finally happened.
The sound of light footsteps accompanied by a strong presence of a person showed up behind him, and Donald quickly swirled himself around to confront whatever was treading suspiciously lightly towards him, his unpolished Dragenthaler giving a soft orange gleam as it pointed menacingly into the darkness.
"Who goes 'ere!" He exclaimed, the contrast between his voice and the howling winter was enough to wake his other comrades who scrambled to their feet and held their own weapons - cheap and affordable, unlike the heavily customized gears that are favored among the other gangsters and cultists. Countless images ran through their collective heads of the possibility of what the owner of the noise could be, a sneaky sanguine targetting them for an easy meal? A lonely thief who just wants to get through without being caught by the others? A spy for the Queen's Guards? They have to know.
"Show yerself!" Donald spoke up again, and indeed the footsteps continued. Eventually bringing its owner into the glow of the campfire and triggering a relieved sigh from the entire group. It was nothing or evil intention, nor was it any stranger.
"Grh, f***ing spirits, ye almost gave us a heart attack ye old crook" Donald grunted, now seeing that the person before them was none other than Mr. Ford. They dropped their guard and went back to huddling around their campfire, now joined by the unexpected guest. Mr. Ford didn't say anything as he warmed himself by the fire, and the lack of proper winterized clothing would explain it, his signature black coat could only go so far after all.
"So...how's it going old man, yanno, with th' plans?" Another thug tried to lift the awkward silence by shooting the question, illiciting a steamy sigh from the guest before he answered.
"We're working things out. It takes time, but we're going there" The one eyed man said, panning his singular gaze around the group. He looked even smaller in the cold as if it actually shrinked him. And that was all that was said, they sat together and time passed before the same thug piped up again.
"Yanno...Ford, I'unno how but...how'd you came to be?"
"...What do you mean?"
"Yanno, bein' all black n' trusty like, how? Everyone knows you and ya ain't even trying"
"Oh, I have no idea actually. I'm just who I am and suddenly everyone knows my name" he shrugged, retorting afterwards.
"How did YOU know my name, for starters"
"I...I'unno, I guess I just do?" The lowlife shrugged in turn.
"See that's what I mean" The old man nodded at him, chuckling. Then silence fell again, it was obvious none of them were a good conversation starter. And after a while Mr. Ford got up and walked to the mouth of the pipe, facing the cold winter wind and he employed a thoughtful thousand yard stare.
"You know how funny it is? We're no more than a flight of staircase away from them, and still we spend time sitting by the fire, as they spend the time going on with their lives. We're so close, yet we're worlds apart. You understand what I'm saying?" The old man took a glance back, and was met with a collectively dumbfounded look, none of them getting any of his philosophical bs. And he sighed, fine. He walked back and sat down by the fire, the cold almost paralyzing his face. He sat there for a while longer, and in the moment the others took their attention off him, he was gone. The same sound of light footsteps heading off into the darkness.
The sound of light footsteps accompanied by a strong presence of a person showed up behind him, and Donald quickly swirled himself around to confront whatever was treading suspiciously lightly towards him, his unpolished Dragenthaler giving a soft orange gleam as it pointed menacingly into the darkness.
"Who goes 'ere!" He exclaimed, the contrast between his voice and the howling winter was enough to wake his other comrades who scrambled to their feet and held their own weapons - cheap and affordable, unlike the heavily customized gears that are favored among the other gangsters and cultists. Countless images ran through their collective heads of the possibility of what the owner of the noise could be, a sneaky sanguine targetting them for an easy meal? A lonely thief who just wants to get through without being caught by the others? A spy for the Queen's Guards? They have to know.
"Show yerself!" Donald spoke up again, and indeed the footsteps continued. Eventually bringing its owner into the glow of the campfire and triggering a relieved sigh from the entire group. It was nothing or evil intention, nor was it any stranger.
"Grh, f***ing spirits, ye almost gave us a heart attack ye old crook" Donald grunted, now seeing that the person before them was none other than Mr. Ford. They dropped their guard and went back to huddling around their campfire, now joined by the unexpected guest. Mr. Ford didn't say anything as he warmed himself by the fire, and the lack of proper winterized clothing would explain it, his signature black coat could only go so far after all.
"So...how's it going old man, yanno, with th' plans?" Another thug tried to lift the awkward silence by shooting the question, illiciting a steamy sigh from the guest before he answered.
"We're working things out. It takes time, but we're going there" The one eyed man said, panning his singular gaze around the group. He looked even smaller in the cold as if it actually shrinked him. And that was all that was said, they sat together and time passed before the same thug piped up again.
"Yanno...Ford, I'unno how but...how'd you came to be?"
"...What do you mean?"
"Yanno, bein' all black n' trusty like, how? Everyone knows you and ya ain't even trying"
"Oh, I have no idea actually. I'm just who I am and suddenly everyone knows my name" he shrugged, retorting afterwards.
"How did YOU know my name, for starters"
"I...I'unno, I guess I just do?" The lowlife shrugged in turn.
"See that's what I mean" The old man nodded at him, chuckling. Then silence fell again, it was obvious none of them were a good conversation starter. And after a while Mr. Ford got up and walked to the mouth of the pipe, facing the cold winter wind and he employed a thoughtful thousand yard stare.
"You know how funny it is? We're no more than a flight of staircase away from them, and still we spend time sitting by the fire, as they spend the time going on with their lives. We're so close, yet we're worlds apart. You understand what I'm saying?" The old man took a glance back, and was met with a collectively dumbfounded look, none of them getting any of his philosophical bs. And he sighed, fine. He walked back and sat down by the fire, the cold almost paralyzing his face. He sat there for a while longer, and in the moment the others took their attention off him, he was gone. The same sound of light footsteps heading off into the darkness.
