Thread: Odette (Montresor & sweet.nothings)

The Marquee de Montferrand was more than just a practiced shot. Though having never served on the battlefield, the young Lord had stared down the lethal end of a gun barrel on more than one occasion. His streak of killing had brought a shameful shadow over the respected art of pistol dueling, but there were now few who would wish to defend such honors against his aim. It was a legal show designed to settle disputes as a last resort, but Rogier had turned into sport through his acts cucking towards other nobles. The insult of taking another man's wife to bed brought out the beast in his foes, and he turned it against them by waiting until they wasted their one shot on impassioned aim. Widow-making had become its own kind of hunt, but long gone were any men left alive to challenge him. Antoine had been the first in some time, though his attack proved Rogier was not so diligent with a sword. Now he was said to gun down a fox, but this one stood bolder than he was expecting. The nun was resolute in not showing him the fear he craved, nor even anger. It puzzled him a moment as he cocked the flintlock mechanism. Her words did not plead for her salvation but for his soul, and as she offered him forgiveness the boy squinted. He thought little of her 'help', nothing more than the nonesense of a woman who had wasted her life in chastity, but he would come to think on them. The gun raised as he closed one eye and found his target down the end of the muzzle-loader. Her fair features did not betray her fear. Odette seemed almost at peace to him as he stood at 12 yards, the common distance between duelists. She was no challenger, of course just a victim. His aim targeted upon the apple for just a moment before it lowered to her heart. A shame her body would go to waste, he thought. The hammer came down and with it was a crash of thunder. Gone in an instant. Rogier's left hand was tight in a fist behind his back while he slowy pointed the smoking gun upward. As the white haze cleared from the field and drifted over the lack, his aim showed true. So rigidly held by her iron restraints, the body of the nun offered little from the shot than a minor jerk which had seen the apple fall from her head and tumble to her feet. The rest of her stayed bolted to the tree. Rogier approached calmly as he stowed the pistol away, closing in on his bullseye to observe his kill. Certainly it was cruel, but compared to what he could have done to such a guest this was a mercy in his eyes. He plucked the apple from the ground and gave it a gentle brush against his blue coat before biting into it. A finger traced over the wound in her chest a perfect hole through her habit the diameter of a pinky. Blood did not show well against the black, but at least she was already dressed for her box. He took pride in his shooting, but the arrogence of his features was lost in the wake of her breath. Odette was breathing, albeit roughly through clenched teeth. The woman wasn't dead despite the precision in his shot. What?! The boy gasped. The poor sister was in no position to speak, holding on barely to what little life she had at the end of a thread. All she had felt was a punch between her breast and the sudden pain in her torso. Get my surgeon! He spat angrily at his guards who took off with haste while the young man quickly unbolted the irons around her throat and wrists. The woman tumbled forward into his grasp, and as he studied this miracle his fingers fumbled over the wet hole in her back. A clean exit wound. A stripe of red painted the white bark, revealing showing that there was no question in that his strike had landed. - - - - - I cannot tell if there will be further complications at this time, my Lord, but she shoes no illness beyond the loss of blood she has suffered. I would simply prescribe rest, assuming you wish her to strengthen. The delicate old physician offered Rogier his verdict the day after his little show of target practice, but the young Marquee was dismissive with a hand. His verdict on how to handle the situation was up in the air, but it wasn't at the center of his thoughts at the time. How did she survive? He stared into the wine of his chalice, the sanguine tint reminding him so much of the blood which had been spilled across his poplar. Only a quarter of his steak had been downed before he decided to dab off his lip and retire from a meal he could not quite stomach. Noel fidgeted. Experienced as he was, there was only so much he could glean from the situation without dissecting sister Odette but his Lord never liked to be left without concrete answers. Part of him feared the woman might be put down and autopsied just for the sake of satisfying his curiosity. We cannot know for certain, but if I had to make a simple guess... The shot passed through her rib, slipped between her lungs, passed her heart, and missed her spine. Though the grouping of such organs make such... Impossible, he scowled. Unlikely ... the surgeon attempted to answer but Rogier was already off, marching through the halls of his chateau to confront the recovering woman. Odette had survived, but this remarkable feat was perhaps more a curse than a blessing, for at once before she had fallen victim to Rogier's curisoity but now she possessed the hell of his interest. She rested now in a luxurious bedroom in pillows and sheets of silk. It was a grand chamber with a view of the chateau's couryard which spilled light over finery of white and gold Rogier's bedchamber. Though he had not been there to see the surgeon unveil her, the woman had been left in nothing more than a linen shift which covered the bandages that crossed her bosom. Her ruined habit had been left over a nearby dresser. He crossed the threshold slowly, pausing as the door shut behind him. The look he gave to the resting woman betrayed that he had words, questions, demands something. Nothing came out, just a quizzical stare that softened before he slowly crossed the room towards the window. He stare out into the couryard was brief before he reached out to pull the window closed locked. The birds were singing and their song mocked him. How much would you forgive, Odette? He finally spoke as his eyes met her in the reflection of the glass.