Dec 29, 2013
Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock...
If only an anxious glance could silence that bothersome clock out in the main foray; it keeps count so loudly that Jack swears it echoes in his chest. A tentative rub proves that the rhythm hammered out there finds its origin not in the timepiece's unrelenting march but from the frantic beating of his own heart. The young noble gives the door a petulant scowl before he flits over to the window, thinking that perhaps the view of the grounds might calm his nerves even in the slightest.
Did I not have an appointment this afternoon? I do not think this empty parlor a favorable omen... Am I to be doubly ill-received by Lord Baskerville?
Such thoughts do little to settle his churning gut.