Member
Quest Abandoner
Vampiretwilight
Archazen
Vidar the Quiet
angelsgrief
Noctis
OwO
Sir Lurksalot
Alfhedil
Breathtaking. Arcade had arrived in Loudon early in the morning, and spent all the time that he could walking its paths before the scheduled meeting. There was something uniquely charming about this little town caught between past and future that Paris lacked. He loved the city. He loved the people and he loved the changing times and all the new possibilities that they brought. Yet, much of his upbringing was in the fields and forests outside the city. The light filtering in through the trees, gently dappling the forest floor in a golden hue. The gently flowing streams that ran stones so smooth you'd struggle to find silks more pleasant to run your fingers across. And away from the forests, the fields of green grass and the proud, rocky hills that dotted the verdant landscape. Many of his paintings were an attempt to capture the mystique and grandeur of the natural world. By Arcade's reckoning, he failed every time. Such was the beauty of the world, and such was the inadequacy of his paintbrush to capture it.
Here, in Loudon, he felt connected to both man and nature in a profound way. So in a word: breathtaking.
Many memories within the city and without also came to mind as he walked the cobbles and climbed the hills of this charming town. Seeping like black oil into the recesses of his mind and spreading from those buried places in slow, oozing dribbles. So much shouting. So much confusion. So much pain. Try as he might, and try Arcade did, he could never fully excise those foul-minded remembrances when they reared their heads. Better to accept the washes of guilt and grief without resistance, and be glad when they passed.
As Arcade smiled with only a trace of grimness up at the sun as it rose to prominence in the sky, he reflected on the irony of finding pain and solace in the exact same things.
The meeting with the executor had gone well enough. Arcade was gracious and polite, but had to hide a trace of disappointment at the news that not only were none of the individuals gathered relatives of his, but that indeed he had no surviving relatives in Loudon. Six-thousand francs went a ways towards settling that disappointment, however. The business was thriving, but the extra currency would buy security for the grandchildren his mother was already making remarks about wanting. It wasn't… a prospect that displeased Arcade, but neither had he given the subject much thought. His own family as it currently stood had quite the broken history, and only freshly on the path to something that resembled healing. Could he bring a wife and children into his world without continuing what seemed to be a generational tradition of failure as both husband and father? He thought so, but neither was he entirely sure.
When offered the cognac, he hesitated before politely accepting, though he took only the faintest of sips from his glass. If his father were alive today, he would hide him for having even that much.
The individuals gathered were an eclectic bunch, including the rather flamboyant Monsieur Herbachet himself. The other inheritors themselves were quite striking figures in their own rights: an American that spoke with a noticeably aureate diction, and excellent command over the French language aside; an Englishman, a tinkerer apparently, with a fluency in French that Arcade would have lauded as impressive if not for the woman to speak directly before him; and an impressively dressed woman that Arcade assumed by her dress and sour attitude had possibly suffered a recent loss. M. Herbachet seemed to recognize this apparently pious woman, despite suggesting everyone gathered at present had no surviving relatives within Loudon.
The picture painted itself, really, although there was a hostility, or perhaps a coldness between the two, that puzzled Arcade.
When it came time for him to make his own introductions, he found that compared to the others assembled, he felt rather ordinary. He also felt suddenly self-conscious of the saber at his hip, and briefly wondered at the irony that he should have such a thing on his person while his brush stayed behind in Paris. Perhaps he was cutting an image of himself that wasn’t entirely truthful to his core.
Not long after, the meeting ended without issue, and Arcade departed for Old Cemetery Road and his lodgings at the Crescent Hotel.
Lying upon his bed at the close of day, he held the ruby ring gifted to him between thumb and forefinger, admiring the way its facets caught and refracted the light from the gaslamp that flickered upon his bedside table. It was a strong red, deep and full, and looked pleasing upon his finger when he briefly tried it on in the privacy of his chambers. The thought of wearing something like it in view of others embarrassed him a little. It’s not that his clothing was particularly cheap or drab, but a jeweled ring was still a level of finery he was ill-accustomed to. Perhaps his opinion on the subject would change with time, but for now, as the rumbling of the train departing the station nearby shook him from his admiration and reverie, he wrapped it up carefully in a handkerchief and placed it upon the end table.
Soon after, the light in the lamp flickered no more, and Arcade fell into sleep.
It was only a few hours past that point that an unearthly glow washed across his room, stirring him bleary eyed from sleep. As he fumbled for the lamp, the scent of putrescence filled the air, emanating from what was moments ago a sweetly smelling bouquet of flowers. Stifling a gag, his eyes watering, he began to dress himself hurriedly. Trousers. Shirt. Vest. Saber? Hm, fine. He would feel himself a poor son otherwise. Saber. Boots. Coat. Grimacing deeply, he snagged the cloth-wrapped ring off the nightstand and thrust it into a pocket before pushing out of the room. Good God, what a foul odor. Not wanting to subject the rest of the hotel to his misfortune, and unsure of where he should even dispose of the offending flowers, he elected to leave the vase behind along with the rest of his belongings for now.
He would take a short walk about town to clear his head, then return to lodge a request for a new room with the proprietor if the smell persisted on his return.
The air immediately outside his room was a significant improvement, but the crisp, cool air of the nighttime here in Loudon was even better. With a small sigh of relief, Arcade stepped out into the gloom.
