callada: (ahora empiezo a retratar)
Donquixote Rosinante ([personal profile] callada) wrote in [personal profile] scarsolderthanyou 2020-02-03 02:48 am (UTC)

((Switching to prose because I think we both prefer it?))

It's one cold day in the depth of winter here in Beacon, so while a hefty part of Rosinante still wants to withdraw and just not be found by anyone for the next entire lifetime after how he acted, he's instead making himself busy in order to keep warm. And maybe to think about something that isn't that particular brand of personal horror.

So at the moment, he's over at the north end of the square, just past the church, working on converting some of the recently-felled trees into barricades. The spirits will attack again, or if they don't then the people will turn on each other. The raucous marching band will come trooping along through town, and people far from a building will need something to hide behind. He's dead silent as he chops wood, having muted himself so as not to make a bunch of obnoxious noise so close to the main part of town, but the light catches his movements and glints off his axe plenty well.

He pauses to catch his breath as he finishes splitting off a long board, then looks over at the sound of footsteps and thumps a hand to his chest, mouthing the word calm as he does so.

"Stone. Hey."

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