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`` V A G A B O N D * b l u e s;, tag: Nick

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Dean Samuel Fletcher	Posted: Dec 15 2008, 01:37 AM QUOTE
stray dog s i c k Group: Castle Staff (Admin) Posts: 98 Member No.: 2 Joined: 4-June 08	MR. SANDMAN'S SHOWING HIS BEAM WHEN HE WALKS INTO THE ROOM the walls lean into listen surf out blank waves, click back and forth like old headlights, sniffing bottled you again! ----------------- Fletcher had never really been a fan of the garden. Not since he had fallen from one of the roofs and into the rose pit. It had been incidental, of course, but at the chore of one of those damned tricking crows. The dark creatures were planning the day of his demise, that he was sure of, and in kind, he would not relent his stalking of them until each one of the batards fell beneath the powerful crunch of his jaws. Out of self-awareness, he glanced skyward, sharp eyes taking in what was given. Clouds. A mirrored sea of blue. Yet not dark, M'd shapes that could only be described as vile avions. Good. He adjusted the shirt fitting his torso, tugging it from his slightly. It rested just a tad too tight on his pectorials and clenched against his stomach like a second skin, but it was excusable seeing as it was not his size. It was meant for someone smaller, but that smaller person had paid adieu already and left for their time, leaving their gifts from the present they reaped in pay. And so, naturally, Fletcher would come to obtain these offerings and adorn them, despite their size or nature. This shirt was black, with black, shiny spheres, flat and sewed into the shirt keeping it together. It was peculiar, and he was sure it was called something akin to a dress, but he paid no heed to the title of it. So long as he could wear it and get away with it, he was sated. His jeans hung on his hips, this concealed by the length of the shirt, and his shoulders carried the weight of a jacket, that he supposed matched and went with the attire. He carried it like he would a woman in distress, over his shoulder and steady. His hair was wind-woken, and dreadful or not, Nick would have to deal with it. For Nick was whom he was waiting for, by the elegent pond of their castle's garden. He sniffed, a casual motion in the silence he was left to, and then took an experimental scenting. Nick was close, but he didn't know where. The wind was awkward and fetched toward, blowing too many directions at once. It was a burden and a distraction, and he simply wouldn't bothe with it. He lifted a hand to scratch his forehead, and then just as quick as it had rose, let it fall. Things never lingered long with him. The wind gave a great howl, and he lifted his head slightly at it's shril cry. He let it float through his ears, taking in the distorted message of nothing, and shook out his head much like a dog would. He was a stray, it told him. Nonsense. His home had been Cashel long before he knew it, back when it found him, and since then no one had cradled him to their bosom more so than Ella had. Edward and Ella both remained in the wake of the castle, prowling it in spirit, and if he concentrated, he could still smell the sweet pine of Ella's hair and the strange quirk of Edward's skin. Oh, how he missed the couple. Had he been there pet? Perhaps. But he had been loyal to them. Hell, he still was by remaining her, with their descents. And he'd have it no other way. He jerked his head suddenly, turning to the entrance to the garden. Ah. There he was. Coming to him at last for their morning walk.
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