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@bulwarkofpain | x.
“My god...what have we gotten ourselves into?”
Maybe it was the seemingly endless waves of fish folk that ambushed them at every turn, or the overwhelming stench of rotten fish that would stick to his clothes for days to come, but whatever it was, Reginald could no longer stand. He needed to leave this place, and the sooner he left the better.
“We...should turn around. I can no longer stomach such a place.”
@bulwarkofpain
Reynauld nearly snorts in mock derision. Instead of letting go, he moves forward once more to properly embrace the man around the chest. It’s easier to be close to someone after you’ve taken them to the whip, laid their sins bare. “Glad to hear it. I’ll perform the service any time. As is the work of a man of the Light.”
The gesture takes him by surprise, slightly gaping, but not refusing the touch. After all, it was a long time since they saw eachother, it was just common thing that Reynauld would want to salute properly. So he just imitates the knight, putting an arm around his shoulders, and giving him a slight bump to his cheek with his closed fist.
“Aah, Reynauld, you’re still a man of service I see. Doing so much for others, found no new entertainments yet?” Hopefully the first joke he tried to make after a long time wouldn’t be offensive to the sacred man. “At least the Light should be giving you in return.”
@bulwarkofpain | continued from [ x ]
“Hhh... I’m... doing just fine.” he sputters, breath ragged. Even now Stafford manages to be bitterly sarcastic; but the pain is much, and his vision blurry and swirling. Of Reynauld, the jester can make out a confused shape at most.
“Hahh hahha. Hilarious. I, out all --- out all people...! Am bleeding out. L-laughable.” God, everything hurts.
@bulwarkofpain
@bulwarkofpain
“… Aye.” Truthfully, he’s also worried. Reynauld knows what this sort of solitude does to a man. He doesn’t speak of himself much, or express joy. It might sound foolish, but a man that doesn’t emote is a man that is withering. Even himself, who is stone-faced in battle and relentlessly vigil, is sure to spend time with his like-minded and duty-bound.
Regardless, Reynauld follows, steel sabatons sinking through the rotted soil towards the cathedral. It looms overhead like the Light itself, always watching. A moment of silence before he speaks again. “You’re free to speak your heart to me, good man. I’ve an ear for men’s words. We haven’t spoken much, and I’d like to change that.”
As he feels the man of faith follow his steps, he turns his head to see him approach, but he continues his path in the same walking speed. He’s silent: there will be enough time to talk inside the sacred building.
However, at the second the soldier’s voice echoes inside the helmet, he stops abruptly, and looks at the abbey before them both. as if a thought blocked his way. He hadn’t heard kind words of worry in a long while, but how concerned could a man whose name didn’t even know be.
“...What was your name again?” He probably sounded rude. He didn’t really know that would do, though. He then kept walking, putting his sword over his shoulder, gesturing to the man to follow him. “Come on, there will be time to repent and confess inside.”
@bulwarkofpain
The touch comes as a surprise to him, and it’s a strange feeling after wearing armor twenty-three hours out of the day. The individual pieces lay upon cloth in front of the smith’s abode, for a massive hole is burned through his breastplate. Even his breeches lay in tatters. So, unlike his usual self, Reynauld stands in smallclothes. He refuses to leave his armor’s side. “Good eve, Verral. Something the matter?”
“Don’t mind me. Just making sure you are in good condition...” Verral stopped touching to put his hands on his hips, looking at the hole in the armour.
“Worried that whatever thing caused that might have burnt your heart in place. But besides your... unusual clothing appearance, you seem like holding strong and well. Am I correct?”
Well, it wasn’t a surprise to him, he seemed to follow his training and exercises. He felt proud for the man.
"Just wanted a drink, did you?" - bulwarkofpain
There’s a theatrical shrug.
"Hmm. Perhaps.”
Reynauld lifts the Jester by his armpits, like a dangly jingle cat. - bulwarkofpain
It’s not like he can oppose the gesture in any way, so he simply stands still and stares at the knight, body limp.
“Thanks. I want to die.” he then spits.
