he wrings his hands, a nervous motion as his nose is set and Reynauld titters about shade magic. the magic conversation would come later, he’s sure, when he isn’t picking bits of skin from between his teeth.
Tardif was dangerous and aggressive and he needed to be dealt with. he needed an outlet, something to get that aggressive energy in the place Regulus needed it.
“ I’ll send him out tomorrow. we’ve a farmer complaining about brigands stealing his livestock. shifting Bishop out for Tardif won’t cause too many problems and he’ll be out of our hair for a number of days at least. ”
and in the mean time, he can figure out the issue of what to do with him and the folks who he was sending home.
“ I trust Walter in the tavern. the man has a heavy crossbow the likes of which I’ve seen nowhere else, and he doesn’t tolerate trouble…but you’re right, both of you are right. ”
he sighs, rubs a bit of black from his face once more, and pulls a disgusted expression.
“ I’m going to be tasting this for days. ”
“Aye, I know- We can take care of it if he harms anyone else,” he nods at Dismas. It’s a fair assessment, “I worry if we do not have him. He, with William, are the best trackers we have. If he is set to go on an expedition, that will be a relief on all parties. Perhaps he can find why I keep seeing so many strays at the border.”
He takes the bandages and shakes his head, peeling the sleeve away from Regulus’s arm to see the damage. It’s not bleeding, but Light is it decorated like he’d been thrown through the window instead. He’s thankful for Dismas’s coat again, this time for protecting him from the full brunt of those blows.
He sighs, prodding at his arm and shaking his head, “I cannot heal this today, I am sorry.- I apologize for having you get the bandages too, mais. Keep it on us, Dismas. Mayhaps we’ll need it.”
Regulus wipes the blood and bits of skin from his mouth. He took more than a chunk out of his opponent. Since the beginning, he’s been behaving strange, but this is beyond it. It was terrifying on the road, and it is equally terrifying here that he had developed… odd abilities.
“Regulus- you-” he started, and then forgot the words, backing up to give space, “That magic looks like…”
No, not quite like that. He murmurs to himself, snapping his fingers.
“Nay. Something is… odd, Regulus. You are using magic without even speaking. Forgive my worry, but you have no book beside you and t’is reminiscent of the cult’s witchery. Are you… alright?”
We can take care of it. Dismas almost scoffs. Almost. It’s not an empty offer. He still remembers how Reynauld was while they watched the match. He’d never seen him that... wrathful.
He winces as Regulus’s arm is revealed. It looks ugly, and he can almost feel a sympathetic throb in his own forearm. He’s lucky the brute hadn’t landed too many on him in their own scuffle. God, he’d probably have put a hole in Dismas’s ribs.
A low sigh. There’s so much danger here. He’d like to at least keep his heir safe.
Reynauld’s saying something about the cult magic. Dismas listens, tries too, but he knows he’s missing context. No book..? Significant, apparently. And he knows the witches too well. Darker magics, then. He folds his arms and looks between Reynauld and Regulus.
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