tristan
There was a moment of peculiar confusion at the woman’s words. ’Fall off your beanstalk?’ Tristan didn’t understand and he was certain that his blank-faced expression gave that away. Be it from the fall he was still recovering from or the ache of the wound in his side, it took him almost embarrassingly long to realize that it was a lighthearted joke directed at his height, and a grin mixed of lethargy and pain crossed his lips. “You know, miss, maybe I did.” It wasn’t as if he could really remember what happened to him, and he found that the redheaded woman’s assumption was just as likely as his own.
It took a bit of care and maneuvering, but soon enough Tristan was out of the garden and situated in a chair inside of the small cottage, admiring the interior of the unassuming building with a quick glance. The smell of herbs and concoctions were thick in the air, but it wasn’t overwhelming. He caught sight of the small trinkets and items lying about; the mortar and pestle, the dried herbs, and other necessities for living seemingly in the middle of nowhere. It all looked well lived in, but lonely, and the brunette found himself wondering if the woman lived alone.
He let her go and fetch whatever it was that she needed, and when she returned and offered him a bottle of amber colored liquid, the man arched a brow up at her. “Whiskey?” He questioned, but the answer came soon enough. To ‘help take the edge off’, huh? “Alright, then.” Deft fingers undid the stopper and he lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a hearty swig. The amber liquid burned going down and he coughed once, but then took another quick swallow and set the bottle down upon the table. “Thank you.”
Knowing that she would need to reach the injury unhindered, Tristan cautiously removed his shirt. It took a bit of care and assistance from the redheaded woman, whose name he still didn’t know, but soon enough he was sitting bare-chested in the middle of a kind stranger’s kitchen. If he had been a different man, perhaps he would have been a bit sheepish, but there was nothing ulterior about what was going on here. The blood oozing from the slice in his side could attest for that.
Keeping his hands elsewhere and letting her do whatever she needed to do, Tristan grit his teeth but spoke in an attempt to distract himself from the inevitable pain. “I don’t believe I caught your name, miss? I’m Tristan. I figure I should at least give my name when I accidentally ruined your flowers. This, ah… This is a nice little home you have. Do you live here alone?”
It took a bit of care and maneuvering, but soon enough Tristan was out of the garden and situated in a chair inside of the small cottage, admiring the interior of the unassuming building with a quick glance. The smell of herbs and concoctions were thick in the air, but it wasn’t overwhelming. He caught sight of the small trinkets and items lying about; the mortar and pestle, the dried herbs, and other necessities for living seemingly in the middle of nowhere. It all looked well lived in, but lonely, and the brunette found himself wondering if the woman lived alone.
He let her go and fetch whatever it was that she needed, and when she returned and offered him a bottle of amber colored liquid, the man arched a brow up at her. “Whiskey?” He questioned, but the answer came soon enough. To ‘help take the edge off’, huh? “Alright, then.” Deft fingers undid the stopper and he lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a hearty swig. The amber liquid burned going down and he coughed once, but then took another quick swallow and set the bottle down upon the table. “Thank you.”
Knowing that she would need to reach the injury unhindered, Tristan cautiously removed his shirt. It took a bit of care and assistance from the redheaded woman, whose name he still didn’t know, but soon enough he was sitting bare-chested in the middle of a kind stranger’s kitchen. If he had been a different man, perhaps he would have been a bit sheepish, but there was nothing ulterior about what was going on here. The blood oozing from the slice in his side could attest for that.
Keeping his hands elsewhere and letting her do whatever she needed to do, Tristan grit his teeth but spoke in an attempt to distract himself from the inevitable pain. “I don’t believe I caught your name, miss? I’m Tristan. I figure I should at least give my name when I accidentally ruined your flowers. This, ah… This is a nice little home you have. Do you live here alone?”
