Thread: Odette (Montresor & sweet.nothings)

Rogier savored the peachy aroma that flared his nostrils, holding the wine glass to his nose as if it were a bouquet of flowers before finally sipping the sweet white elixer a delightful vintage of moscato. Rogier always had a taste for the sweeter wines, and the sampling from his favorite vineyard had not disappointed. The mere scent of it took him somewhere warm and peaceful, like the smell of his mother's perfume. C'est magnifique, Antoine! The heir congradulated with gentleman's volume before plucking up the bottle to pour another glass. Your family has truly out done themselves. I'll be quite happy to visit your vineyards... Especially given how lonely sweet Richenza is. The only reply that dared return to Rogier was the muffled sound of a desperate boy the half-sob half-scream that naturally accompanied a human having their shoulder joints slowly pulled from their sockets. Strappado tended to illicet such a response, though despite the rudeness of his guest, Rogier mainted his politeness about the whole thing. It is my suggestion as your friend, Antoine, that you look upon the brighter side of things. That beautiful bride of yours put up quite a struggle. Certainly that should could for something, no? I would expect that it is better than her wanting my touch. His gloved digit circle the rim of his wine glass as he observed the show from his seat, listening to the way bones popped lightly, stretched out behind the young man's arms as Rogier made music out of merciless cruelty. Another sob was wrenched out of Antoine like water squeezed from a cloth. Like tightening a the string of a mandolin, the curiosity was when the threat would snap, or in this case when the boy's arms would be dislocated. The assistant to Rogier's side was equally eager to figure out, slowly pulling the rope which hung poor Antoine by his wrists, slowly drawing his limbs back inch by inch. There are all kinds of celibacy, Antoine. Though your sweet fruit was forced to yield to me, she did not betray you. You should have sought solace in that fact before you let rage blind your vision. But here we are nonetheless. He took another sip of the fine wine, reclining his head as he closed his eyes. He hummed the notes of a symphony he had attended, the damn viol cords having become stuck in his head. To his little medication came a disturbance, the tap tap tap of footsteps rushing down the spiral steps of the keep. It ended with a sudden knock upon the heavy wooden door of the dungeon. Rogier did not turn to look from his seat, merely pinching his brow as a guardsman slid the peephole of the door and confirmed his assumption. My Lord, your steward. Rogier sighed, waving his hand toward the torturer. Let the boy down. Antoine fell like a tone of bricks, creating a sad fleshy smack into the unforgiving ground as his Master rose from his seat and poured the rest of his wine over the ragged captive's head. A toast to newly weds. He turned, opening the heavy door to let in the steward. My Lord... There is a woman waiting in the courtyard. A sister of the abbey. She requests an audience. The abbey? They are aware of the last cleric who attempted to offer me poor counsel... She was not told to leave. Err... She was, my Lord, but she has not moved. She has remained in the courtyard since dawn... praying, I believe. Rogier lofted a brow at the thought. Praying . This abbess had at least gained his curiosity, as there were few even amoung the clergy who would dare approach Chateau de Montferrand. Bring her to me, then. I'll be in the garden. The command was followed efficiently as to the Master's order. Not long after was the nun recieved by the castle guard who escorted her inside. None of the estate guardsmen were local villagers, nor were they even french men, but rather Tuscan mercenaries. They guided the woman around the oppulant chateau, a place which exuded beauty and warmth that betrayed stories of evil. Missing servant girls, peasents, and even a friar. To the villagers of Montferrand, the Montresor home was more like a sinister lair which hid a vicious dragon. The sister herself found her way around the back of the estate, led up to a garden which rested upon a scenic view in front of a valley lake. The heir sat there, soaking up the sun as he observed the view. The small table beside him held another glass of wine along with a wheellock pistol, though there was no seat for his new guest. You desire something... he offered dryly, sparing only a glance towards the woman. He had to restrain himself from making a double-take upon the maiden upon realizing that she was no crone.