The rain beats heavily on Finch's back, plastering his dark hair to his pale face, but he strolls through the narrow rows of the port like it's a nice stroll on a summer's day. The recent unyielding, unending downpour of the sluggish start to Flowerbirth has made Rae's Fingers a desolately uninhabitable place to linger, the stone walls slick and floor unforgiving. The etched markings on the wall had slid under his fingers but led him true, wading through an inch of dark, murky water, towards Jack's promised cache, the rusted lock somehow even more rusted and stagnant and difficult than the last. When Finch coaxed it open -- because of course he had, though his fingers were shaking from the cold -- it was, as promised, totally empty and devoid of maps, coin, or any other treasure.
It was a soundly miserable process, one which lead him to think this was just an elaborate punishment Jack set up for him rather than any real quest to gather information.
Rain drips down the hollows of his cheek, dancing down the line of his jagged scar before linking on his jaw. He could be hurrying somewhere, back to his little hole in the wall to get dried off, but what's the point? He's only going to get wet again. Under him, his feet splash soundlessly through puddles, the excess of water squelching miserably into already-soaked socks and settling in between his toes. Lithe, scarred, and slightly-scraped fingers rub the water out of his eyes as he sighs, wondering if he was cursed from birth or just an unlucky bastard.
It's not a life he would wish upon anyone. Though, this last foray was so miserable, it would be enough to scare off any aspiring thief with grand dreams about the life. With that, he snorts out a little laugh under his breath, thinking of those two troublemaking twins. He can imagine their shouting voices echoing down the Fingers, complaining about the damp and slipperiness, but having a grand time of it anyway.
He hopes those two have come to their senses, but they probably haven't.
It was a soundly miserable process, one which lead him to think this was just an elaborate punishment Jack set up for him rather than any real quest to gather information.
Rain drips down the hollows of his cheek, dancing down the line of his jagged scar before linking on his jaw. He could be hurrying somewhere, back to his little hole in the wall to get dried off, but what's the point? He's only going to get wet again. Under him, his feet splash soundlessly through puddles, the excess of water squelching miserably into already-soaked socks and settling in between his toes. Lithe, scarred, and slightly-scraped fingers rub the water out of his eyes as he sighs, wondering if he was cursed from birth or just an unlucky bastard.
It's not a life he would wish upon anyone. Though, this last foray was so miserable, it would be enough to scare off any aspiring thief with grand dreams about the life. With that, he snorts out a little laugh under his breath, thinking of those two troublemaking twins. He can imagine their shouting voices echoing down the Fingers, complaining about the damp and slipperiness, but having a grand time of it anyway.
He hopes those two have come to their senses, but they probably haven't.
