DECLAN
Well, this was different. Dark shoes, worn and meant for work, stepped across the sun-bleached cliffs of Aumakua. He moved along with a little more caution, a little less ease than usual. If it was all the same, he arrived in a timely fashion. He was mulling over the governor's request for a particular item to be delivered, deciding that it wasn't entirely strange but not very common either. The house was certainly new, though. The wood still gave off that newly-cut aroma, and the potted plants around the front yard still had fresh dirt around them.
Declan paused before the front steps, leaning back on his heels with a huff. This must have been it, right? He tucked the parcel under one of his arms and pulled a soft pack from his black coat's inner pocket. Black, his signature color; no more than a shadow standing before the open land and sea. A soft breeze ruffled his sandy-brown hair and he pulled a cigarette from the pack with his mouth, prodding it out. In swift, habitual movements, it was lit and he was sighing with the intake of nicotine as it satisfied his endless cravings.
His footsteps echoed over the porch. The cigarette still lay comfortably between his chapped lips. Prompt, he knocked against the frame of the door. It was quiet here. If anyone was in, they would surely hear him. When the governor would inevitably answer, he would find the courier standing there, looking anything but dutiful.
At first, Declan would eye him to make sure it was the right person. Didn't take him very long, though; a quick up-down. His head would crane back with raised eyebrows and a crooked shift of his lips around the filter, altogether amused by Sunjata's height. Then, he would grab the smoking cigarette from his mouth and hold out the package in his other hand.
"For the Gov'ner," he said, voice clouded by the smoke that left his lungs. He'd remain silent to let the other man examine the box, protected by a thick, sheet-like material sized just right to fit the finely-crafted wood. Within, if Sunjata was eager to tear into it, he would find the specific crossbow, held in place by a soft material so that it would not jostle around in its case. It would be in perfect condition, as could be expected of Declan.
"Beautiful day we're havin'," the words left him bored and dull. "Care for a smoke?" It was said less like a question, and more like a proposition. Although the difference was subtle, Declan was not the type to stop by and chat. Perhaps that was enough of a cue.
Declan paused before the front steps, leaning back on his heels with a huff. This must have been it, right? He tucked the parcel under one of his arms and pulled a soft pack from his black coat's inner pocket. Black, his signature color; no more than a shadow standing before the open land and sea. A soft breeze ruffled his sandy-brown hair and he pulled a cigarette from the pack with his mouth, prodding it out. In swift, habitual movements, it was lit and he was sighing with the intake of nicotine as it satisfied his endless cravings.
His footsteps echoed over the porch. The cigarette still lay comfortably between his chapped lips. Prompt, he knocked against the frame of the door. It was quiet here. If anyone was in, they would surely hear him. When the governor would inevitably answer, he would find the courier standing there, looking anything but dutiful.
At first, Declan would eye him to make sure it was the right person. Didn't take him very long, though; a quick up-down. His head would crane back with raised eyebrows and a crooked shift of his lips around the filter, altogether amused by Sunjata's height. Then, he would grab the smoking cigarette from his mouth and hold out the package in his other hand.
"For the Gov'ner," he said, voice clouded by the smoke that left his lungs. He'd remain silent to let the other man examine the box, protected by a thick, sheet-like material sized just right to fit the finely-crafted wood. Within, if Sunjata was eager to tear into it, he would find the specific crossbow, held in place by a soft material so that it would not jostle around in its case. It would be in perfect condition, as could be expected of Declan.
"Beautiful day we're havin'," the words left him bored and dull. "Care for a smoke?" It was said less like a question, and more like a proposition. Although the difference was subtle, Declan was not the type to stop by and chat. Perhaps that was enough of a cue.
everything I do is wrong
but, by Gods, I do it right
but, by Gods, I do it right
