After another fifteen minutes of trying and failing to drown his thoughts in a glass of strong beer, Pierre let out a growl of frustration and pushed back his chair, getting up to leave the tavern. It was both fortunate and unfortunate how much alcohol it took to get him drunk; he could usually trust himself with a glass or so without worrying about having to stagger home in stupor, but on the other hand it took a lot of effort and appetite to wash away his worries for a night. Stepping out into the rain (it is raining, right?) he pulled his hat lower over his head and shoved his hands into his pockets, walking as fast as he could to keep as dry as possible.
Revolutionary War Roleplay! [CLOSED]
(oh cool, thanks)
The rain must have gotten heavier, the way it pounded deafeningly all around Pierre.
He tipped his head back as if to glare at the overcast sky. Lightning flashed in the distance, accompanied by a deafening roll of thunder, but he paid it no mind, glancing sideways towards the busy road.
All of a sudden, pain ripped through his body. He arched his back, frozen, unable to move except for the unearthly scream that tore from his throat. Everything seemed to slow down, the burst of blinding white light surrounding him, his legs buckling, his body collapsing onto the ground. But one thing remained constant. The pain. The unearthly pain.
Pierre heard a faint scream beyond himself, and that was it. And darkness.
Pierre didn't know how long he drifted through unconsciousness, it seemed to him like hours condensed into a single second, but after an indefinite amount of time, he began to stir.
"Ohhh," a female voice quietly breathed with relief. Her pale face was just a mixed blur to him.
Pierre blinked rapidly, his reflexes setting in before he had a chance to remember where he was and what was happening. He sat bolt upright– or tried to– pressing a hand to his pounding head with a strangled sound of pain.
"No, no no no.." She pushed him back down, pressed a cold rag back onto his forehead. "Don't try to move, you're absolutely covered in burns.."
The whole room swayed, bringing around a bout of dizziness. He didn't argue when the woman pushed him back, his whole body burning. "Where– where am I?" His words came out tangled and sloppy.
"Safe." She answered. "Go back to sleep, sir. You need rest," her blurry face turned away for a moment, and when she came back she spread a salve of aloe across his skin, bringing some blissful relief.
Pierre managed to shake his head through the thick fog, sighing in relief when something cool began to spread over his irritated skin. "Wh-What happened? Who are you?"
"Edonine." She answered. "You were struck by lightning, I saw the whole thing.." She held a soft twinge of an English accent.
One thing cut through his confused delirium. Her accent. She was English. Immediately, he rubbed at his eyes, finally succeeding in focusing his sight to get a good look at her. "I was what??"
"Struck by lightning," she repeated. Edonine had a sunkissed freckled face, high cheekbones, tiny white sunbleached speckles flecked here and there. Her eyes were chartreuse, seemingly light for her skin color– they must've matched more evenly before outdoor labor. Her dusty bronze hair was pulled back, draped over her blue-grey house dress.
Pierre blinked up at her, having a hard time focusing on her words through the pounding headache and burning of his muscles. "O-Oh. I was– oh. How long– How long ago?"
"Almost… Three days now," she murmured.
"What?!" Pierre sat up once more, sorely regretting it. The whole room spun before his eyes, and his arms threatened to buckle beneath him. "Three– but– I'm in the army, ma'am, I–" It pained him to call her, an Englishwoman, 'ma'am', but his subconscious reasoned with him that she may not be on their side.
She simply pushed him back down. "Your health comes first. I made a tonic of fruit, it will help replenish your reserves.." She picked up a silver cup.
The woman was surprisingly strong, or maybe it was just that he was unusually weakened. "The war comes first," Pierre replied firmly, but his voice wavered slightly as his headache spiked.
She scoffed softly. "Men are insufferable, even when they're near dead," she rested the rag over his eyes to try and make him rest.
Pierre's reflexes were sluggish by now, but he still managed to catch her wrist and pull it away from his eyes so that he could remove the rag. "Wait– I want to know more. What has happened since I was out? Also, am I going to die? What are my symptoms? When can I leave?"
"Shut up!" Edonine snapped. "If you rest I will tell you."
Pierre flinched back, relenting and leaning back against the pillows. "Fine– fine, I'm resting. Will you tell me now?"
"When you wake up." Edonine replied curtly, wiping her hands on a towel.
A a a a a)
(hi sorry, had to practise a bit of piano)
Pierre sighed in frustration, closing his eyes. Somehow, shutting his mind off from the rest of the world seemed to amplify the pain racking his body, so he forced them open, no matter how heavy they were.
O WO DUDE I WISH I KNEW PIANO )
Behind the wet rag she couldn't see if he was asleep. Edonine hovered near for some time, and in a few minutes, departed his side.
(oof thanks, and it's not that hard to learn the basics. Very fun, too)
Pierre heard footsteps, presumably Edonine's, getting quieter and quieter, so he assumed she'd left the room and stripped the rag away from his eyes. There was no possibility of sleep now, not with the pain or his anticipation to get out.
He was in a quaint bedroom, a large window letting in spills of sunlight. The walls were painted a cracked canary yellow. Other than the bed and the bedside table, the only other furniture was an antique white dresser decorated with dried gourds and feathers.