Thread: Odette (Montresor & sweet.nothings)

The Marquee seemed to somewhat relax as the nun settled herself humbly unto the ground as if it were so natural for her. His eyes took attention of the older woman older than him but so much more pretty than the crones which had visited him before. Of course, she saw through the boy that he was and cut through what verbal sparring he had dared of her. The woman was focused upon the heart of the matter. Antoine's soul was at stake, and she seemed a high bidder on its price. Her conjecture to his criticisms bore little interest, but what did strike Rogier was the last bit of her point. What you would consider a worthy offering in stead for this man's release? What indeed. The Marquee's eyes flickered briefly to the elegantly smithed barrel of his pistol and then back towards the maiden. There was contemplation in his eyes, but not pity. I will give you five hundred francs to leave the matter be and return to your abbey. That offer is generous, sister Odette enormously generous compared to what I could do with you. Consider it a donation to the church, or share the money with the winemaker's family. The boy stared her down with considerable challenge to the woman beneath. He was tall and proud and not so open to having demands made of him within his realm. This woman was just a pest, though she continued to intrigue him as the offer proved fruitless. She would not budge, no matter how much he pushed or how much he offered. She should have taken the money. Rogier rang a small brass bell from his hand and with he chimed in a pair of mercenary guards. The two had been observing from a reasonable distance, but now their shadow eclipsed small Odette as they came to the side of their employer. This one is bothering me... He nodded towards the woman rather lazily with all the air of a prince who could not be bothered by a butterfly. Take her to the tree. There was a pause as the two men looked to the little nun, but as Rogier rose to his feet and smoothed out his blue coat, he gave the two a quizzical look. Did I stutter? Grizzled veterans who had become quite used to what their employer was capable of, each man took one of Odette's arms and hauled her on to her feet. Without so much grace they handled her like a prisoner fit for the Bastille, dragging her along the lakeside towards a white-barked plane tree. A pair of iron restraints had been bolted directly into the trunk of the tree. Along its surface were the pock marks, dents, and chips of blasted wood as though having been pounded on more than one occasion by musket fire. Odette was dragged to the business end of a firing range, and to the target she was clasped in irons. Her wrists were stolen by the metal cuffs on either side of the tree while her back pressed against the trunk. An iron neck brace was then clapsed along her throat, keeping her chin up as she was strapped to the bark like an ornemant. The Marquee approached with a belt of ammunition and powder at his size. With casual familiarity he began to pack powder and ball down into the barrel of his favorite firearm just as Odette's eyes were veiled by a white blindfold of linen. Do you believe God is your protector, sister Odette? Your shield? An object found itself carefully balanced atop the maiden's haid while her neck was kept firmly in check an apple. I'm ever so curious to put such a notion to the test. I consider myself an enlightened man, sister Odette, and as an enlightened man I govern reason through experiment. If nothing else, your visit will prove entertaining in that right. We'll leave fate to the hands of God. If I shoot the apple from your head, I will let Antoine leave. If I miss... well, it won't be your problem anymore, now will it?