An Old Man's Quest: Part 3

Marcus Biscay · 10-12-2010, 05:32 PM

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I'm so sorry this took so long. I received your message, and will also reply to it. I wish that school would go away and I could get marked for Souls! Dream world, I know :-\

"England. Little island to the Northwest of Italy. Quite a fun place, when the times are right." said Marcus. He reflected on the time he spent in Chiswick during his childhood. Those were good times, indeed. Times when things were clear, when things went off seamlessly, and when Marcus was in training. Having been taught from a young age the ways of the world, a young Marcus could see what others couldn't: the truth. Where some saw a glorious alpha male, leading the way in the English war against the northern invasions, Marcus could see the self-righteous coward of a man that he really was. Marcus saw the man who had never set foot on a battlefield, and yet boasted as if he had won single-handedly. He had kept this talent throughout his entire life. But now, in these lands -- the lands of dreams -- the old man's talent would sit on a shelf. The people here were so open and honest. Of course they had their secrets (who did not?), but none of them were phony in any way. Marcus found this especially remarkable in Ghita, when he met her. She knew what she could and could not do, and though she hid it well, Marcus knew, and he understood. The same quality was present in Savina. She seemed to not pass judgment too quickly. She seemed to... No. It was too early to draw assumptions. "A seat would suit me fine. My legs tire from walking."

The old man's legs may have been aged, but they were not broken. He didn't want to show his strength too soon. Perhaps in Savina knew fully what Marcus was capable of, she may misunderstand. He walked with Savina to the sitting space, and paused, waiting for a seating plan. "Here?" he asked, pleasantly. His old mind hated being so slow with his invasion, but it was necessary. Remembering the old times as the Musketeer, Marcus chuckled to himself. On one occasion, he was tasked to find a criminal in London. With no leads, no secondary objectives, and nothing to help him, he would have to start from the floor up, and find the man he was looking for. His first goal was to ask around near parliament, but as his search began later at night, he could not find anybody in the block's streets. Instead, he rang the doorbell on a home, waited for an answer, rushed past the woman who opened the door, flung down his things, and sat in a chair. This was the Musketeer's favourite method of interrogation: surprise. He questioned the woman, who brought down a man, who sat in the living room, answered some questions, and got shot. As it turned out, the first house Marcus had come to had housed his fugitive. Blind bloody luck. Marcus shook his head slightly, and regarded Savina once more.

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