i fell in love with a war
This time, Casimir doesn’t flinch or blink as the questions are turned onto him. Though they ring closer to genuine curiosity, perhaps edging even on concern as they come from Thorn, they’re the same flavor as the dozens of similar ones he fields off every day from other interested patrons. Thorn perhaps was the most insistent in trying to solve the mystery of the House of Midnight taciturn, ever-present bartender, but he certainly wasn’t the only one.
He lifts one broad shoulder in a shrug, rehearsed and precise, a sign which should have been mocking in this context but comes out perhaps a little sharper than he meant. There’s a little room in the back, a space that maybe one was a particularly generous pantry but now was a cozy hiding-hole with a bed, some shelves, and several sets of near-identical dark clothing. When it was quite clear he had no where else to go, nor more necessities than just the minimum, Sunjata had permitted him to stay there, like a ghost haunting the place of their death. No one gets invited back there — for anything — and Casimir typically circles the block a few times before turning in for the night. There’s nothing that reeks of hedonistic pleasure in his life; just the quiet mundanity of days passing by. Of staying behind, of running away, of peering behind a pane of thick glass.
There’s a reason he’s seen as a fixture here.
He allows the silence to paint whatever picture Thorn wishes to see, face impassive, eyes flat and ungiving. There’s no sly tip of the cards, no flash from the dealer telling Thorn how to play this game, and if the handsome courtesan continues to search for cracks in Casimir’s gaze, he won’t find any. As usual. Perhaps more if Thorn tries to exhume this grave.
There could be a sly word here, a biting comment, something along the lines of how everyone had more of a life than Thorn did. Instead, as the shrug settles his shoulder back down, he allows the corner of his mouth to curve up into just the smallest of mischievous smiles. It says, you’ll never know. It feels closer to familiar territory, but Casimir knows Thorn’s words come from this place of true curiosity, intentional vulnerability, that threatened Casimir this whole conversation.
But, if there’s anything Casimir is good at, it’s staying silent. He meets Thorn’s eyes and dares him to try again.
He lifts one broad shoulder in a shrug, rehearsed and precise, a sign which should have been mocking in this context but comes out perhaps a little sharper than he meant. There’s a little room in the back, a space that maybe one was a particularly generous pantry but now was a cozy hiding-hole with a bed, some shelves, and several sets of near-identical dark clothing. When it was quite clear he had no where else to go, nor more necessities than just the minimum, Sunjata had permitted him to stay there, like a ghost haunting the place of their death. No one gets invited back there — for anything — and Casimir typically circles the block a few times before turning in for the night. There’s nothing that reeks of hedonistic pleasure in his life; just the quiet mundanity of days passing by. Of staying behind, of running away, of peering behind a pane of thick glass.
There’s a reason he’s seen as a fixture here.
He allows the silence to paint whatever picture Thorn wishes to see, face impassive, eyes flat and ungiving. There’s no sly tip of the cards, no flash from the dealer telling Thorn how to play this game, and if the handsome courtesan continues to search for cracks in Casimir’s gaze, he won’t find any. As usual. Perhaps more if Thorn tries to exhume this grave.
There could be a sly word here, a biting comment, something along the lines of how everyone had more of a life than Thorn did. Instead, as the shrug settles his shoulder back down, he allows the corner of his mouth to curve up into just the smallest of mischievous smiles. It says, you’ll never know. It feels closer to familiar territory, but Casimir knows Thorn’s words come from this place of true curiosity, intentional vulnerability, that threatened Casimir this whole conversation.
But, if there’s anything Casimir is good at, it’s staying silent. He meets Thorn’s eyes and dares him to try again.
Casimir
and nobody told me it ended
