NATE
Being in the Grounds again is more difficult than Nate had actually expected. The more time he spends here, the more morose he grows, with nothing to take the dark tangle of emotions out on. Perhaps it's the place, perhaps it's the season, it's impossible to say, but Nate needs to spend a day hiding, a day mourning. He doesn't want to be alone though, his own mind the worst kind of company.
Obviously, the VlamVloed is the best place to loiter in. He's staying in the bar anyway, the secret rooms below it a home away from home away from home. And with a few knives and a small selection of wood before him, the chances of him being interrupted seem minimal, though the ill intentions his everything might allude to are proven wrong as he begins to pick away at the wood, some rough, whorling shape beginning to take form.
For a while, it seems as if his plan is working, and no sooner does that thought enter his head than his hand slips, sending the blade he'd been reaching for scattering to the ground. With a heavy sigh, he set his half-formed project on the table and rises, all but struggling against the weight on his shoulders.
Obviously, the VlamVloed is the best place to loiter in. He's staying in the bar anyway, the secret rooms below it a home away from home away from home. And with a few knives and a small selection of wood before him, the chances of him being interrupted seem minimal, though the ill intentions his everything might allude to are proven wrong as he begins to pick away at the wood, some rough, whorling shape beginning to take form.
For a while, it seems as if his plan is working, and no sooner does that thought enter his head than his hand slips, sending the blade he'd been reaching for scattering to the ground. With a heavy sigh, he set his half-formed project on the table and rises, all but struggling against the weight on his shoulders.
Like a bullet through a flock of doves
To wage this war against your faith in me
To wage this war against your faith in me
