shootyourshot: (➵ on the dark horizon)
king baby ([personal profile] shootyourshot) wrote in [community profile] sleepytimejunction2021-07-14 06:54 pm

➵ SOULS & ECHOES



The fall of snow is so gentle despite how dangerously cold it is outside. It isn't quite a blizzard, but it is like a blanket of white falling down, muffling the sound and beautifully quiet. There shouldn't be anything out here new or unusual, as there has not been for ages.

Yet, on this evening, there is a light in the distance that Sylvain will see. A dim lantern, hanging in the middle of the snow, like it'd always been there. It is more than staked into the earth, as if somehow it'd grown out like a plant and made its life there.

Half-buried in the snow is the lithe form of a man with pale hair. A ragged hood is covering his head, his arms and legs armored -- yet the rest of him is wearing clothing that was once, perhaps, elegant yet has been worn away. By use or age, it's difficult to say.

Clutched in one hand is a wickedly curved blade, and in the other a pistol. Not that Sylvain would have seen one before.
sonofagautier: (dumb buppy)

[personal profile] sonofagautier 2021-08-08 06:35 am (UTC)(link)
Sylvain snorts, something like amusement turning up the corners of his mouth. He'd really hate to see where else this lost fellow has had to stay. Not that he has much room to speak, given where he's actively chosen to make his home these days, and Irithyll is still one of the nicer places left in the world.

"Don't thank me yet. At least let me make sure the ghosts and centipedes don't come visit you in the night." Sylvain unhooks a set of heavy keys from his belt, and approaches the door descending into the lower level. He makes sure it's locked well, and then drags a heavy table over for good measure. He turns it over to blockade it, pauses for a moment, and then grabs a few chairs to shore it up for good measure.

"That ought to do. They're not particularly smart or strong, so just ignore the skittering. They'll get bored eventually."

Sylvain leans his chin into his hand, trying to think of what else he's meant to do as a host. It's been an age... warm hearth, locked doors, there's a few old straw mats to sleep on too.

"Hm, do you eat?"