Adam Monroe (
changehistory) wrote2007-12-18 08:55 pm
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Entry tags:
Open 'verse RP [Open -- Separate threads fine]
He'd come home out of some weird need to find his roots, again. Or something. At the current moment he couldn't remember. Souvenir shops lined the streets he roamed too long ago. The house had burned over three centuries before and even the alleys were swept now. There had been nothing to bury, and no money for more than a mass grave had there been, so there were no markers, nothing to see, nothing to kneel at.
Wandering into the new St. Paul's, built after he left, after the fire that took them, he nonetheless felt something settle. He sat in a pew for hours, trying to remember what it had felt like when he came home, saw this, sat here the first time, a different man. Not Matthew. Not Takezo Kensei. Something else, someone else. A man without country, time, family.
For a time, he'd thought to find it again, but now the dream seemed farther away than it had even when trapped in that cell, and he was cold.
It was well after dusk when he left. He found a pub, a table in a corner, and with a wry smile that cursed all the years in between, he ordered a whiskey and asked the bartender to leave the bottle, working to bury himself in the one thing left that had any familiarity or link to the old.
Wandering into the new St. Paul's, built after he left, after the fire that took them, he nonetheless felt something settle. He sat in a pew for hours, trying to remember what it had felt like when he came home, saw this, sat here the first time, a different man. Not Matthew. Not Takezo Kensei. Something else, someone else. A man without country, time, family.
For a time, he'd thought to find it again, but now the dream seemed farther away than it had even when trapped in that cell, and he was cold.
It was well after dusk when he left. He found a pub, a table in a corner, and with a wry smile that cursed all the years in between, he ordered a whiskey and asked the bartender to leave the bottle, working to bury himself in the one thing left that had any familiarity or link to the old.
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"That we do," she murmured, the fingertips of her free hand trailing down her collar... before popping open the topmost button.
"...no matter how much we're tested, mmm?"
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"We're stronger than our baser urges."
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"I'd like to think so, yes," she murmured, gently withdrawing her finger from his mouth and tracing along his lower lip.
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"I never thought I'd be so grateful for the brief time I spent in Tibet..."
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"Tibet? Where's that? And why's that?"
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She sipped slowly, trying to pace herself, feeling the whiskey warm her insides. "Are you staying here in London long?"
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He hadn't said, before, and now the words sort of tumbled out. "I got married. But she's in the States."
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"I like to think she is. The man...Bob? The man who held me prisoner all those years....the one who's going to die...He's her father."
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