One-handed and unhurried, he places the photographs on top of the map. Gaze lingering on each in turn. He then folds the map around them, mindful of the weathered paper, running his thumb along the creases.
“I guess that's what you'll be doing,” William murmurs—almost serene, his hands continuing their work. He secures the folded map under his free arm and turns to face the other man. Again that moment of scrutiny, although this time it's the photographs he keeps in mind. Estimating years, accounting for wear and tear.
William rocks back on his feet. There's a still second, a moment hollowed out from time. The lamplight flickering, the other man's features given the eerie cast of a landscape during a lightning storm. He can smell him: faintly, inexplicably medicinal.
William lunges forward and bashes the lamp into the other man's head. Throws it to the ground after.
He draws his gun as the light dies and fires into the dark.
He hasn't exactly gone soft in the past few month, but there's been
a decided lack of bar brawls on the Bare. He wasn't expecting this
buttoned-up fellow to grab his lamp and hit him over the damn head. The
sudden darkness is startling, and the following gun-shot deafening. He's
sure he'll hit him, sure he'll at least lose an uncomfortable amount of
blood--
As he's scrabbling up to go after him in one more attempt to save his
belongings from whoever this madman really is, he can feel that he's not
actually bleeding. It hurts, but it's like he's taken a hammer to him
instead of a gun. "Get-- back-- here!"
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“We know each other?” It's conversational.
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“Mister...?”
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"None-of-your-business."
He definitely has the air of a man who will punch you in the nose.
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William lunges forward and bashes the lamp into the other man's head. Throws it to the ground after.
He draws his gun as the light dies and fires into the dark.
no subject
He hasn't exactly gone soft in the past few month, but there's been a decided lack of bar brawls on the Bare. He wasn't expecting this buttoned-up fellow to grab his lamp and hit him over the damn head. The sudden darkness is startling, and the following gun-shot deafening. He's sure he'll hit him, sure he'll at least lose an uncomfortable amount of blood--
As he's scrabbling up to go after him in one more attempt to save his belongings from whoever this madman really is, he can feel that he's not actually bleeding. It hurts, but it's like he's taken a hammer to him instead of a gun. "Get-- back-- here!"
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After that, he's gone.