Location: The Manor, room twelve. Date: 17|07|21. Closed: @lauraxvardhamana.
Saint, for the most part, had remained quiet. An allusive soul, craving for peace to balance the chaos and destruction that clings to his life. And although it’s foolish to think he may not deserve this, the bad things that are born from a life lead in criminality, he also can’t deny the unshakeable narrative that his maman’s departure etches into his chest. More so, in the comparison of what he’d felt when it was his sister who was taken, snatched in the night and stolen along with his meticulously guarded warehouse, its noticeably less painful. Shockingly, in someways, and in truths he’d dared to speak, not even to himself, Gabrielle’s sudden vacancy doesn’t choke him, but almost, it allowed him to breath. As if the heel digging on his throat had at long last removed it’s pressure, and there were no longer this need to perform, or be perfect, in the hope that the hoops he jumps through would reward him with the praise of an uninterested god.
Although, it’s not to say he’d wished her gone. He doesn’t, not really, and if his Horseman’s survival depended on his bated breath, then Saint would adapt to survive at the lower frequency. Permit deities to feast on his passions in order to keep War alive, in order to keep War strong. She’d linger on his mind then, cling to his conscience and the reflection he see’s in the mirror. It’s odd, really, how he’d never noticed the similarities in his features to Gabrielle’s until she’s gone. The same shaped lips, the same sharp and narrow gaze that even in it’s resting state had seemingly been searching for suspicions. She’s with him still, even now, embedded into him, buried like a rose thorn that skin traps and encases by healing over then singing in pain. But now, as the sky fades from blue to black, night crawling in and capturing the British countryside in a star-filled night that the city in all it’s light pollution could never quite offer, Saint only wishes to sleep.
He’s yet to go to his allocated room, carrying a gym bag full of his clothes in one hand, he turns the door handle with the other, and enters. Still empty, he thinks, green gaze looking at a vacant bed as he sets his belongings onto his preferred mattress, (the one located closest to the exit). With the hood of his hoodie pulled up, he sits down, his back pressed against the wall and focus now centred on a book that splays open in his palm. Only for his attention to draw upward as the door swings open, and his room mate to finally announce themselves, with long dark hair, and a pair of shoes that Saint can’t help but find hauntingly familiar. A frown sits on his face, puzzled, and waiting patiently for the other to turn around and offer any greater hints of their identity.