[m] perfection will not come

Strelein von Rosnete · 09-02-2012, 07:12 PM

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He stared at the meat in the man's hand, wondering if this person had ever known how to properly interact with others. In a small way, the awkward manner about him brought some light into his heart but it was far too little far too late to do much good other than to pull a tired smile onto the redheaded man's lips. Strel looked down at the meat offered him and he took it with carefully stilled hands. He knew what kind of image he presented, disheveled and unkempt. Straightening slightly, the tailor he looked at the meat and nodded a rather grateful thanks at him. "Sometimes," he said simply, his once smooth tenor voice more husky and rough. There was the last remains of a musical lilt to it, from when he used to amuse himself thus. "Please, come in."

He turned around, leaving the door open and stuffing the meat into his face. He chewed hard, enjoying the taste of the raw blood slipping down his throat. He pulled back the dark curtains, letting the light stream in. The painted walls lit up, and the man reveled in the sight of his beloved gift from Mati. Without a word to Trent, he touched the wall where the false Halifax was lit up with the lights of a bygone era. Fingers trailed down the wall, touching the memories. "I have lived here for so long. I have lost friends and lost loves. Few enemies, and busy hands." Now, there was simply nothing left to mourn except his own soul. "Have you come to take pity on the fallen Dauphin?" he said gently, not faulting the other if it was the case. Strelein turned about to face the man, his features tired and his hand gesturing to the bed piled with furs.

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