person_off
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"What?" He whispered back, smiling.
"We're married," she mumbled against his neck.
"Mm.." He chuckled, "We are."
"And I'm pregnant."
Revolutionary War Roleplay! [CLOSED]
The man wiped his nose with a colorless hand. "They're coming for us, right?" He asked morbidly.
Louis nodded a second time. “Oui.”
He nodded sluggishly. "I gotta son… At home. Name's Elias.."
At this, the big man began to stir. “A son? How old?”
"What?" He whispered back, smiling.
"We're married," she mumbled against his neck.
"Mm.." He chuckled, "We are."
"And I'm pregnant."
John's face softened at the reminder. "Yes.."
The man wiped his nose with a colorless hand. "They're coming for us, right?" He asked morbidly.
Louis nodded a second time. “Oui.”
He nodded sluggishly. "I gotta son… At home. Name's Elias.."
At this, the big man began to stir. “A son? How old?”
"Two," the father croaked.
"I'm sorry…" he murmured, eyes cast downwards. "I hope you see him and your wife again.."
He looked forward. "My wife could care less for me,"
Oh. Louis fell silent again, shifting positions.
He let himself lean against the side of the cart, "I know every time I leave she frolicks off to my brother's house. Just to get a piece of him 'cos he's a captain." He muttered. "My poor son.."
"But she must have some attachment to you.. she is not heartless, is she?" It was the most he'd spoken at once since Cruz had died.
The man looked sideways. "Our marriage was arranged. I loved her more than anything," he scratched his scruffy chin, "But I realized quickly it was one-sided."
(Ohh, can we do Bailey and his boi before Cruz?)
(oh yeah definitely
maybe a step forward in their budding relationship [lol])
"I'm sorry…" he murmured, wishing he could say more. "Do you still love her?"
;) )
"Always will." He whispered heartbrokenly.
(eyy)
Louis bit his lip, not knowing what to say. As it often had when not occupied by Cruz, his mind drifted to his own lover..
Skip?)
(yup
Who's starting? When and where?)
I can start
We can start on xmas??)
(ooh sure)
Bailey stood at the window, watching the snow fall with a cup of black coffee in his hands. Living in a camp without the pleasures of sweetner made the man develop a liking for straight black coffee.
George, who was flipping through a worn novel in his arm chair, glanced up, a peaceful smile adorning his face.
"I hate snow." Bailey murmured after a long while of staring outside, and sipped his beverage.
"Really?" The bartender sounded mildly surprised. "Why?"
He meandered over and sat down. "When you've been a soldier and spent months in the bitter cold, then you'd hate it too," Bailey replied curtly, blowing blond hair off his brow.
"Of course." After a moment of silence, he spoke up again, not one to be discouraged. "I think it's poetic."
Bailey gave him a look of confusion. Being the man of logistics that he was, poetry had never been his particular strong suit or a feature to his intelligence. Poetry and symbolism baffled him.
George gave a slight smile. "Not a fan of poetry?"
"Never been one for it," Bailey looked into the opaque brown of his coffee. "Numbers appeal more to me,"
"I'm the opposite," he admitted. "Just like you have a preference for coffee, and I, one for tea.
Bailey looked back at his host. "Appalling contrast." He pushed his hair back again.
George's lips pulled down into a playful pout. "Aw."
"What?" The ex soldier replied, one eyebrow weighted more than the other. An expression that seemed very common on his vaguely freckled face.