i fell in love with a war
Casimir changes the heat of his glare to move from Thorn’s grinning face to that of the betraying, conniving bartender. Casimir never liked the man, always had a hunch he was a conniving backstabbing bastard and this was irrefutable proof his hunches were correct. If looks could kill, Casimir would be the only bartender left at the House of Midnight, starting with the demise of the man who let him off his shift early with a too-knowing grin and an evil glimmer in his eye.
Thorn practically skips through the bar to grab his coat, seemingly rejuvenated with a new energy that does not betray the afternoon of drinking he’s done. The low light catches his sparkling outfit, as it’s no doubt meant to, and the man looks nearly radiant in the evening glimmer and candlelight. His breath catches in his chest, the reality of the situation slamming into him, and Casimir remembers that it’s not too late to run away. He could still book it, staying in the familiar walls of the bar forever like he planned when he ran away to this cursed place. But Thorn looks at him so expectantly, glancing over his shoulder with toothy grin, practically halfway out the door, and Casimir sighs while the trap closes around his leg.
He takes his sweet, languid time leaving the bar, his feet slow as they carry him towards the door. His own coat, a long grey wool thing that slims his broad shoulders into something handsome rather than brutish, sits innocently on the coatrack. Sliding his arms into the sleeves, he wonders if he can fake a heart attack. Or a broken leg. There’s still a way out of this, definitely.
The breach of the door sits in front of him, the line between everything normal and steady, and the wild untamed unknown. He doesn’t look at Thorn as he crosses the threshold, setting his cool eyes firmly in front of him like a hunting dog who just smelled prey. The wind slams into him, chilly and almost frigid in its ferocity, and he flips his collar against it, shoving his shaking hands deep into pockets. His eyes flicker to Thorn by pure coincidence; he’s definitely not checking to see if he’s okay in that thin, sheer outfit of his.
Thorn practically skips through the bar to grab his coat, seemingly rejuvenated with a new energy that does not betray the afternoon of drinking he’s done. The low light catches his sparkling outfit, as it’s no doubt meant to, and the man looks nearly radiant in the evening glimmer and candlelight. His breath catches in his chest, the reality of the situation slamming into him, and Casimir remembers that it’s not too late to run away. He could still book it, staying in the familiar walls of the bar forever like he planned when he ran away to this cursed place. But Thorn looks at him so expectantly, glancing over his shoulder with toothy grin, practically halfway out the door, and Casimir sighs while the trap closes around his leg.
He takes his sweet, languid time leaving the bar, his feet slow as they carry him towards the door. His own coat, a long grey wool thing that slims his broad shoulders into something handsome rather than brutish, sits innocently on the coatrack. Sliding his arms into the sleeves, he wonders if he can fake a heart attack. Or a broken leg. There’s still a way out of this, definitely.
The breach of the door sits in front of him, the line between everything normal and steady, and the wild untamed unknown. He doesn’t look at Thorn as he crosses the threshold, setting his cool eyes firmly in front of him like a hunting dog who just smelled prey. The wind slams into him, chilly and almost frigid in its ferocity, and he flips his collar against it, shoving his shaking hands deep into pockets. His eyes flicker to Thorn by pure coincidence; he’s definitely not checking to see if he’s okay in that thin, sheer outfit of his.
Casimir
and nobody told me it ended
