Eleanore
You see a young woman in her late teens or early twenties. Her body is slender, almost painfully so, her height just below average, and her movements almost cat-like. Her long, slightly wavy brown hair, full of golden-red highlights, hangs loosely down her back. Her vibrant green eyes shine brightly and her small lips are usually curved in an impish smile.
She wears a faded and worn dark green dress which fits her well. The dress, made of a velvety material, falls to just above her knees and emphasises her slender body and bright green eyes. Finally, upon her left wrist is a single silver bracelet while upon her feet are a pair of well-used black docs.
--==--==--Sundance, in Normal Clothes--==--==--
A tall man of about 6'2, perhaps 6'3 stands before you, ice-blue eyes regarding you in return with the expression of casual distrust. Indeed, it is as though that because he does not know you, he is somehow distrustful of you. But, in this day and age, it is simple survival not to trust the wrong people.
His general build is thin, something easily seen. Indeed, he possesses not the extremely broad shoulders, nor the massive muscular build one might expect of someone his height. Instead, he appears lean, quick, and wiry, possessing a natural agility, dexterity, and quickness of movement. His movements, from what you can see of them, are deft, yet graceful as though each and every movement was carefully planned and thought out.
Most of the time, the bulk of what he wears is covered by a long trenchcoat that hangs down to the middle of his long legs. A light tan in color, it does nothing to attract attention to him, appearing normal in the extreme, if one might call it that. Interestingly, he most often has his hands inside of his jacket, resting upon his belt. This is something that one may perhaps consider odd, for most would place their hands in their pockets. Careful observation would show why, with the slight glint of metal upon his hips. And, if one looks closely at the narrow partition where his hands enter his coat, one would see the brass shapes of bullets upon his belt, which would reveal itself as a western-style leather gunbelt. This proves the man is armed, but with what exactly is a good question.
Not only does his gunbelt give the 'western' air, but the whole figure has a 'western' look to him, from the powder blue shirt just barely visible beneath his coat, to the tough, denim pants he wears. Below these, the unmistakable brown leather of hand-tooled common's boots are visible, done in the 19th century style. Upon his head, he wears a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, black in color. Beneath it, sandy colored hair pokes out. Slightly long, it is, reaching to the back of his neck. His face is handsome, though you may notice he sports an almost permanent five o' clock shadow.
Carrying:
Gallowglass Arms - Lobby
A comfortable lobby greets your eyes. The tiled floor, while worn in spots, is still glossy and pleasing to the eye. Several over-stuffed setees line the walls on either side of the front door. Small tables next to them hold beautifully painted vases. Opposite the front door is a marble counter behind which a clerk is busy going over accounts and sorting mail into the pigeon holes on the wall behind him. A key rack, hanging below the pigeon holes, contains several keys. Wall sconces, containing unlit candles, adorn the walls along with pictures of the world as it used to be. The room is bathed with the light from several inset ceiling fixtures, the brightest of which is above a standing suit of armor. The general feeling in this room is one of peace, totally at odds with the world outside the doors. An archway leads to a hallway and an elegant circular staircase slowly winds its way down to the floor below.
The door from the hallway to the lobby opens with a vicious slam, disgorging the figure of a man who appears to have stepped out of an old 'Rambo' movie. His trenchcoat is open, blown back by the wind created by his entry. Around his waist, he wears a belt that is studded with brass colored .45 bullets. The weapon itself is visible on his hip, as well. In his right hand, he carries the deadly shape of an assault rifle. A bandolier of cartridges for something attached to that is worn across his chest as well, from his hip to his shoulder. He glares at Higgins, his ice-blue eyes seeming to bore straight into him. "Ah wahn't tah speahk tah Elehnare.." he says. "Ah'n ah wahn't tah see 'er nahw.." He knows he'll have to calm down to speak to a lady, but this lackey isn't someone he needs to calm himself for.
Higgins stares, almost boldly, at the young man but quickly loses his nerve. "Miss Eleanore? Go straight up to Room 201. She's in . . ."
Sundance give Higgins a withering look, before he steps off. He climbs the steps, eyes closing as he attempts to calm himself. He closes his coat as well, so as not to scare the whillies out of Ele.
Sundance goes through the archway.
Sundance has left.
Room 201 - GA
A fairly spacious and well-kept ivory-painted room. To the front of it rest a pair of arm chairs, burgundy in colour, and a mahogany coffee table positioned opposite the two. A double bed, made up with a warm comforter, burgundy in colour, is situated in the midst of the room. To the left of the bed is an oak wardrobe and an antique vanity table. A small oak writing desk and matching chair overlook the street below. Beside the desk is a daybed made up with a fluffy white blanket and soft white pillows. The window, framed by a pair of lace curtains, is open.
(OOC: +Views in effect. +Help view for help.)
Contents:
Sundance comes in from the hallway.
Sundance has arrived.
Eleanore sits happily enough on the double bed in the midst of the room, leaning back against the headboard, nursing a scotch. At her side is a notebook and pen. Her slightly glazed green eyes fly open and a smile lights up her face as Sundance makes his way into the room.
Sundance enters the room quite calmly, despite his snapping at Higgins. He still carries the rifle, although he carries it by the barrel, the stock hitting the ground at his steps almost like a walking stick. Though his outward appearance is calm, his face twitches as he looks at Eleanore, particularly her smile, and it darkens slightly, as though he hates what he has to tell her. He still can't say anything, quite yet.
Eleanore straightens, recognising Sundance as her daughter's boy-friend. "Sundance?" she asks, scotch still in one hand. "What can I do for you? Where's Kalika?" she asks, still smiling.
Sundance takes a breath. He looks at Eleanore, as she asks him where Kalika is. He doesn't say a word, just collapses down into a chair, his rifle landing across his lap. For a moment, his eyes just close. He's not quite able to articulate an answer to this one..
Eleanore gets to her feet in the blink of an eye as Sundance collapses into a chair but, instead of going directly to him, she makes her way to the oak wardrobe, retrieving a bottle of scotch and a glass. She peers back at Sundance silently and, on second thought, puts the glass back heading over to Sundance with just the bottle. She holds it out to him "Here, drink this" she encourages him.
Sundance looks up at Eleanore, immediately appearing slightly relieved. "Oh, ah'm ah glahd tah see you..." he mumbles to the bottle, as he takes it from Eleanore's hands. Tearing the cork from the bottle with just the aid of his hands, he lifts it to his lips. A long, and unhesitant drink is taken from it as though the burn of the alcohol, raw upon his throat, did not exist. His other hand moves the nasty assault rifle from his lap, to the ground, and replaces it with the bottle, which he holds upon his knee. He just LOOKS at Eleanore, still unable to say anything.
Eleanore waits patiently, sitting down in the chair opposite Sundance, smoothing her dress out as she does so. The sight of the assault rifle does not appear to bother her. "Sundance . . . " she says slowly. "How are you?" she asks, trying from a different angle.
Sundance takes a second drink from the bottle, before he looks across at Eleanore. "Ah'm....ahlraht.." he says, shakily. "Ah...." he takes a breath. "It's jus' been a strahnge....week.." he continues, his voice a bit odd, not from the alcohol, but from his sheer, awful state of mind.
Eleanore draws her legs up onto the chair, beneath her, and stretches out before replying "Good . . . good. I'm glad you're alright." She adds, after a slight pause "A strange week? What's . . . happened?"
Sundance takes yet another drink from the bottle. The alcohol hasn't started to faze him yet. "Stahrted with ah faht.." he says, quietly. "Ah wahs sleephin, 'n ah 'eard ah'll 'ell breahkin lahse outsahde.." He takes another drink, peering at the amber in the bottle, before he continues. "Ah fahnd Kahlika ahutsahde gahwin aht it with ah fahrmer friehnd ah mahne. She wahs lahusin, too." Still another drink. "Ah shaht 'im wahnce, 'n then.. t'strahgest thang happened. Ah wahs cussin' im, ah'n tah'ld 'im tah die...'n ah jus' fahlt this' rahush a pahwer 'n he jus'...wihlted." He takes another drink, his lips flowing more freely now. " 'n we ahd sahme trahble with t'crahwd aftherwarhrds, but we gaht ahut ahkay.."
Eleanore listens quietly, idly brushing a hand through her long brown hair, alive with golden-red highlights, "They were fighting in the alley way?" she asks. "Kalika was losing?!" She appears slightly surprised by that but continues to listen. "That must have been your power . . . the opposite of my Bless power. Curse, I think."
Sundance nods, quietly. He takes still another drink from the bottle, starting to relax slightly as the alcohol takes its effect. He looks up to Eleanore. "We were gahnna...fahnd ah...nahw phlace tah lahve.." he says, words now slurred as much by alcohol as by his exhaustion, and subdued rage. "Ah knew ah'd alfh tah be wahth 'er, cahse t'crahwds ahv been cahsin 'er trahble.."
Eleanore sits up, straightening in the chair - looking at Sundance a little more worriedly now, perhaps a little motherly intuition kicking in "I wouldn't want Kalika and you to leave. You are welcome here. The GA is my home and should be your home as well" she declares, boldly. "What about these crowds?" she says, voice a little clipped, even subdued - losing a little of her boldness.
Sundance just looks at Eleanore for a moment, before his eyes close and he slumps slightly in the chair. His closed eyes don't prevent him from taking another drink, however, the bottle a full three quarters gone. "Thav'e been ahn tah Kahli.." he says, quietly. "Fahlawin 'er arahnd. T'naht befhare lahst, she went ahf on 'er ahw while ah wahs asheep." His eyes close. "They gaht her, then. Stahned her, 'n beheaded 'er frahme what ah kin tell.." Eleanore might notice a strange, emotionless tone in his voice as he says this, and his hand grips the bottle so hard that you'd swear it's about to fragment and shatter. "Ah wahsn't there tah do ahnyhang fer 'er....they lahft 'er clahthes, 'n necklahces at mah door.." To show he's serious, his other hand reaches into his pocket to show Eleanore something she's perhaps never seen before: a silver bullet on a platinum chain, stained black with blood.
Eleanore listens quietly, peering into Sundance's eyes intently, hanging on to his every word until he speaks of Kalika's death. She stands but slowly, pacing the bedroom which has served as her home since she first came to Babylon as a street rat. "Beheaded?! She's dead?! Sundance, have you seen her?" She returns to his side as he pulls out the necklace, kneeling before him.
Sundance just nods. He doesn't say anything. Finally, the bottle, without the pressure of most of the fluid within, finally gives way, shattering within his hand, fragments of transparent glass flying everywhere over him. His hand is cut quite badly, along with his forearm. Nonetheless, even as crimson fluid begins to ooze from the gashes and stain his clothes, he doesn't move. Strange. Some react with fury, Sundance reacts with dead silence.
Still kneeling by his side, Eleanore extends a hand, resting it upon Sundance's wounded forearm, but tenderly, even motherly -pushing her own grief aside to concentrate.
Quietly, the wounds in Sundance's arm disappear, although he still doesn't move. In body, anyway. Rather, his head simply bows, his eyes closing as he looks away from Eleanore..
Eleanore stands, Sundance now healed, allowing him to keep the necklace "Sundance" she murmurs quietly. "Kalika will be alright. She's died before and come back . . . you could summon her yourself or find someone to summon her for you."
Sundance shrugs. His hand is still locked around the necklace. "It's nah't that." he says, quietly. "It's tah fahct ah shauld ah been thar with 'er, ah'd ahv been ahble tah do samthin abahut it." The words are delivered quietly. "Ah khnaw she can be sahmned back.."
Eleanore reaches out to pat Sundance's hand, meaning to reassure him "You couldn't watch her all the time. It's not your fault. It was bound to happen eventually."
Sundance shrugs. "Dahs'nt mahke me feel ahny bett'r abaht it" he says, quietly. He sighs. "Look, do yeh mahnd if ah sleep 'ere tahnight? Ah reahlly dahn't wahn't tah get up frahme this chair.."
Eleanore grins slightly, despite the situation "Of course you may" she says softly, reminding herself that the man sleeping over tonight is her daughter's boy-friend and not one of her lovers. "I'll fetch you a blanket" she adds, returning to the oak wardrobe and back to Sundance with a warm comforter. "Here" she murmurs, wandering over to the light switch and switching the light off.
Sundance nods a little. "Jahst ah sec'nd.." he says, shrugging off his trenchoat, and tossing it to the floor with difficulty. His gunbelt joins it a second later. Wow. He's really armed to the teeth. The knife in his boot, he leaves be. He then reaches out for the blanket, quietly. "Thanks.." he mumbles.
Eleanore bestows a gentle kiss upon Sundance's forehead, feeling rather motherly tonight "Are you sure you'll be able to sleep?" she asks, heading away from him and towards her bed, slipping out of her dress once beneath the covers but trying to do so as stealthily as possible. "What's with that rifle anyway?" she asks.
Sundance nods. "Ah'll shleep fahne." he says. "Ah kin' sleep on rahk, when ah wahnt to." He shrugs. "Ah' wahrk fer t'cidatel. It's mah afficial arm, so tah speak. Mah six gun is mah un-afficial arm.."
Eleanore nods, frowning slightly as she tries to decipher Sundance's accent. "If the chair gets too uncomfortable, you can use the daybed" she volunteers. "Oooo . . . a citadel man" she says, laughing slightly. "Well, good night Sundance."
Sundance just nods. Almost like that, he's fallen into a tortured sleep. If not for the alcohol, he probably wouldn't have fallen asleep at all. But, nonetheless, off he goes, his chin upon his chest and his eyes closed.
Box of .45 rounds
Citadel Issue Rifle
5"Buck-Knife
Colt .45
Sundance
Obvious exits:
Out
Log edited by Ele.