[ Beyond an occasional quiet comment through the proceeding of the first day of what seems as if it's going to be a days long debate, Charles saves the bulk of his concern for Arthur's condition. He can see the obvious: the red eyes, the heavy bruising. But he worries, even silently, that the state of those injuries is worse than they look--he'd witnessed them, saw the worst of the blood mingling with the heavy, relentless rain. (And with a tight feeling in his chest, he knows the cold and the wet hadn't helped anyone).
He saves it for a particular moment: when the conversation starts to flag and the lack of sleep after heavy fighting and various injury starts to push past the wall of adrenaline collectively holding the exhaustion off. He doesn't notice at first, as incensed and concerned and wrapped up in this frustrating argument as he is, but eventually, he notices that Arthur has broken off from the dwindling group.
Charles spares a glance back at the fauns, concerned with the turn in conversation and how much of that becomes moot if one (or all) disappear in the night when there's no one around to notice or decline. But his own exhaustion begs, and he has to trust--for the first time--that the gods really are watching. One man can only do so much, and they're all battered and bruised in various states. The fauns included, who seem to be nodding off in kind.
He too breaks off from the remainder of the small group, but instead of heading for his own insula, he turns and crosses into the building that faces his own. Semi-familiar stairs creak under slow steps as he drags himself up to the third floor. He's never been so regretful for the loss of elevators in his recent memory. But he finally crosses that final stair, and without further hesitation, knocks on Arthur's door. ]
/routinely abuses your inbox; IG 05/29, end of day
He saves it for a particular moment: when the conversation starts to flag and the lack of sleep after heavy fighting and various injury starts to push past the wall of adrenaline collectively holding the exhaustion off. He doesn't notice at first, as incensed and concerned and wrapped up in this frustrating argument as he is, but eventually, he notices that Arthur has broken off from the dwindling group.
Charles spares a glance back at the fauns, concerned with the turn in conversation and how much of that becomes moot if one (or all) disappear in the night when there's no one around to notice or decline. But his own exhaustion begs, and he has to trust--for the first time--that the gods really are watching. One man can only do so much, and they're all battered and bruised in various states. The fauns included, who seem to be nodding off in kind.
He too breaks off from the remainder of the small group, but instead of heading for his own insula, he turns and crosses into the building that faces his own. Semi-familiar stairs creak under slow steps as he drags himself up to the third floor. He's never been so regretful for the loss of elevators in his recent memory. But he finally crosses that final stair, and without further hesitation, knocks on Arthur's door. ]
Anyone home?