"Sir?"
The dark-eyed stare was blank, and the clean sunlight filtering through an open window could not lend them the spark of life that they were missing. The face that went with them, an altogether unhealthy shade of white, turned slowly away from the basin of expensive, if dirty, dishes it had been intently concentrated on. Confusion and disorientation flickered across the young man's facial features even as he reached for a towel to dry off his hands; an expression more in the furrowing of his brow than anything.
The man was a couple of inches short of six feet tall, with a slender build that offered no tales of laborious or manly work. Hair as black as an ink blot swept back from his forehead, but it fell around his face in an almost-but-not-quite curly mane that didn't quite brush his shoulders. Dressed in a white dress shirt, cravat tied loosely around his neck and faded black pinstripe vest and pants fitting loosely on his frame, the young man's appearance fell quite a ways away from the apple tree of masculinity.
At the moment, his white sleeves were rolled up past whitewashed arms, from where he had been quietly scrubbing the dishes into the personification of cleanliness. Stray pieces of black hair that had fallen at some point when his head was bowed remained in his eyes until he set aside the damp towel.
Then he quickly dragged his fingers through it, sweeping most of them back into place.
His onyx-eyed gaze focused on another man, this one standing in the entryway to the kitchen. He was stooped slightly with age, and his salt-and-pepper hair was thinning distinctly, contradicting the bristly mustache perched on his upper lip. The elder man was dressed in gaudy clothes befitting of his status as a nobleman and judge. A sketchy frown lurked on his lips, and a sheaf of bound papers was held in his gnarled fingers.
Tap, tap, tap...
The clean white papers beat a steady pattern against the palm of his free hand in an unmistakable gesture of impatience.
"Sometimes I wonder where your mind goes when I'm not around Mr. Dett." This newcomer commented wryly, leaving an awkward silence in the air until the dark-haired man responded.
Which he did with obvious reluctance, stationing himself in front of the Duke (by some relation or another) and dipping his head in a bow.
"Excuse me, my lord." He apologized in a light baritone. "I didn't hear you approach...and my thoughts tend to scatter while I'm cleaning, sir."
"Of course." The aging man waved away most of the sentence that followed the apology. Focused instead on the papers in his hand. Frowned again. "You may tend to the dishes later, Wesley. These papers are bound for a ship that is due to arrive in port today, and it is only proper that they be waiting when the captain debarks."
He all but forced the sheaf of organized papers, each signed with a practiced signature of 'Lucas Guilford', into the taller young man's hands, turning to leave before remembering himself.
"Mr. Dett."
"Sir?"
"The ship's name might prove important on this errand." Another hint at the irritation.
"Yes, sir, it would." The ghostly figure agreed without much inflection.
Guilford sighed. "Look for The Legend and Captain Oliver Rouge when you arrive - ah."
Brow furrowing as if this confrontation was taking far longer than he had intended, the noble reached into his ornate vest and withdrew a small drawstring pouch. The contents clinked together with the unmistakable sound of coin-against-coin. The wispy-haired man placed the velvety purse on top of the papers.
"While you're out, you might as well make use of the occasion." He tapped the satchel for emphasis. "Buy something that will fetch your mind from the clouds, Mr. Dett. And I daresay you will need a meal to tide you over as well; I do not know when the ship will be arriving, so you may have a wait ahead of you."
Wesley Dett dipped his head again, sending several strands of loose black hair tumbling into his face again. "Yes, my lord - thank you."
But the Duke was already striding away, off to some other part of the large estate. Wesley watched his retreating back with fathomless eyes, a completely impartial expression leaving his thoughts to imagination; he shifted the bundle he had been given to one hand and idly brushed back several pieces of untamed hair with the other.
After a minute's grace, the slender figure tucked the pouch of coins inside his own vest and smoothed it flat again. He held the documents in both hands, seemed to mull over his task for a moment, and then turned back towards the basin of dishes.
He passed through the small but definitely-neat kitchen, only pausing to pull on his frayed and washed-out black coat from where it had been hanging on a wooden peg. One shoulder opened the subtle back door that connected the kitchen to the alleyway where garbage was dumped - the cobblestone path was neat and tidy, as only alleyways found in the most elegant of neighborhoods could be.
The tall buildings surrounding Dett threw him into light shadow despite the sharp blue smudge of blue sky overhead - it wasn't much past daybreak, after all.
{{OOC - I dunno! I just.....dunno? If you have questions about the RP, ask me any way you can? PM, MSN (rathofdusis@yahoo.com, yo), AIM (Trufflez kun, ya), or anything else.
Maybe to help a little, the time period is mid-1700s. Wesley is in his earlier twenties (20-22), n'....he's in.....an...English port city?
For now, no magickz or stuff - unless you can haz be talk to me to discuss it. =D Kinda drew from the Pirates series as inspiration, as an example.
-headdesk-
But yes. I've sported the idea for weeks, and it wouldn't get out of my head. So now it's here instead. =D }}
The dark-eyed stare was blank, and the clean sunlight filtering through an open window could not lend them the spark of life that they were missing. The face that went with them, an altogether unhealthy shade of white, turned slowly away from the basin of expensive, if dirty, dishes it had been intently concentrated on. Confusion and disorientation flickered across the young man's facial features even as he reached for a towel to dry off his hands; an expression more in the furrowing of his brow than anything.
The man was a couple of inches short of six feet tall, with a slender build that offered no tales of laborious or manly work. Hair as black as an ink blot swept back from his forehead, but it fell around his face in an almost-but-not-quite curly mane that didn't quite brush his shoulders. Dressed in a white dress shirt, cravat tied loosely around his neck and faded black pinstripe vest and pants fitting loosely on his frame, the young man's appearance fell quite a ways away from the apple tree of masculinity.
At the moment, his white sleeves were rolled up past whitewashed arms, from where he had been quietly scrubbing the dishes into the personification of cleanliness. Stray pieces of black hair that had fallen at some point when his head was bowed remained in his eyes until he set aside the damp towel.
Then he quickly dragged his fingers through it, sweeping most of them back into place.
His onyx-eyed gaze focused on another man, this one standing in the entryway to the kitchen. He was stooped slightly with age, and his salt-and-pepper hair was thinning distinctly, contradicting the bristly mustache perched on his upper lip. The elder man was dressed in gaudy clothes befitting of his status as a nobleman and judge. A sketchy frown lurked on his lips, and a sheaf of bound papers was held in his gnarled fingers.
Tap, tap, tap...
The clean white papers beat a steady pattern against the palm of his free hand in an unmistakable gesture of impatience.
"Sometimes I wonder where your mind goes when I'm not around Mr. Dett." This newcomer commented wryly, leaving an awkward silence in the air until the dark-haired man responded.
Which he did with obvious reluctance, stationing himself in front of the Duke (by some relation or another) and dipping his head in a bow.
"Excuse me, my lord." He apologized in a light baritone. "I didn't hear you approach...and my thoughts tend to scatter while I'm cleaning, sir."
"Of course." The aging man waved away most of the sentence that followed the apology. Focused instead on the papers in his hand. Frowned again. "You may tend to the dishes later, Wesley. These papers are bound for a ship that is due to arrive in port today, and it is only proper that they be waiting when the captain debarks."
He all but forced the sheaf of organized papers, each signed with a practiced signature of 'Lucas Guilford', into the taller young man's hands, turning to leave before remembering himself.
"Mr. Dett."
"Sir?"
"The ship's name might prove important on this errand." Another hint at the irritation.
"Yes, sir, it would." The ghostly figure agreed without much inflection.
Guilford sighed. "Look for The Legend and Captain Oliver Rouge when you arrive - ah."
Brow furrowing as if this confrontation was taking far longer than he had intended, the noble reached into his ornate vest and withdrew a small drawstring pouch. The contents clinked together with the unmistakable sound of coin-against-coin. The wispy-haired man placed the velvety purse on top of the papers.
"While you're out, you might as well make use of the occasion." He tapped the satchel for emphasis. "Buy something that will fetch your mind from the clouds, Mr. Dett. And I daresay you will need a meal to tide you over as well; I do not know when the ship will be arriving, so you may have a wait ahead of you."
Wesley Dett dipped his head again, sending several strands of loose black hair tumbling into his face again. "Yes, my lord - thank you."
But the Duke was already striding away, off to some other part of the large estate. Wesley watched his retreating back with fathomless eyes, a completely impartial expression leaving his thoughts to imagination; he shifted the bundle he had been given to one hand and idly brushed back several pieces of untamed hair with the other.
After a minute's grace, the slender figure tucked the pouch of coins inside his own vest and smoothed it flat again. He held the documents in both hands, seemed to mull over his task for a moment, and then turned back towards the basin of dishes.
He passed through the small but definitely-neat kitchen, only pausing to pull on his frayed and washed-out black coat from where it had been hanging on a wooden peg. One shoulder opened the subtle back door that connected the kitchen to the alleyway where garbage was dumped - the cobblestone path was neat and tidy, as only alleyways found in the most elegant of neighborhoods could be.
The tall buildings surrounding Dett threw him into light shadow despite the sharp blue smudge of blue sky overhead - it wasn't much past daybreak, after all.
{{OOC - I dunno! I just.....dunno? If you have questions about the RP, ask me any way you can? PM, MSN (rathofdusis@yahoo.com, yo), AIM (Trufflez kun, ya), or anything else.
Maybe to help a little, the time period is mid-1700s. Wesley is in his earlier twenties (20-22), n'....he's in.....an...English port city?
For now, no magickz or stuff - unless you can haz be talk to me to discuss it. =D Kinda drew from the Pirates series as inspiration, as an example.
-headdesk-
But yes. I've sported the idea for weeks, and it wouldn't get out of my head. So now it's here instead. =D }}