Post by Leeroy Atherton on Feb 15, 2010 4:32:48 GMT
Country: Burnham-on-Sea, the West Country, England
Current Time: 11:27
Current Weather: Sunny with a hint of cloud, and with a light breeze. The mercury hovers around four degrees Celsius.
She was not so badly battered that she couldn't stand at a door, or call for one of the other door supervisors if need be. They had no right to demand she stay home after she could stand again - that something would happen to Leeroy, and she would kill herself that time. Monty shouldn't have had that party at the inn; the troublemakers always skulked around when midnight came...couldn't he have known that? Had the man not been in business long enough to expect such a reaction? Why was everyone telling Leeroy she had been the foolish one, when events beyond her control had transpired in the first place? If it hadn't been for her, that Irish lad who had been there would have probably been killed by that raging Lieutenant.
Lieutenant Moritz Erichsen, he had called himself. Leeroy would never forget that name, or that face, or that rage in his eyes when she taunted him. It was the last thing she remembered before a flurry of pain, blood and splinters, and then nothing. The doctor had said she was lucky to not have been killed by the attack, and that the young altar boy had found her, lying in a puddle of her own blood and the Lieutenant nowhere in sight. Last she had heard, the army had found him wandering around, his bloody hands and the voices of witnesses at the party condemning him to whatever court-marshal they had in store.
The hiss of the running tap was silenced as Leeroy gently turned the handle. Her eyes wandered to the side of the house, revealed by the large window in front of her, where the bushy hedgerow her neighbours sustained blocked most of her view. She could see the roof and chimney of the couple beside her, and on occasion, the barking of their dog and the sounds of their children, but the leafy barrier did its job well. At the bottom, a line of wildflowers had been planted by the old owners, growing wild and tangly and full of weeds, despite Leeroy's best efforts. It would be a sight not missed by the Romanichal, who hoped that Monty could have the house on his property ready before the winter came. It was already nearing the end of September, and the winds over the Bristol were freezing that time of year! Leeroy might have been used to the cold, but waking up cold was not always a pleasant thing!
She lifted from the sink a plate to stack on the counter, dripping water and suds as it emerged from the water. She nearly dropped it, though, when a loud, almost furious banging came from her door. Her head abruptly turned, a slight bout of dizziness accompanying the movement, and Leeroy blinked slowly. The staff at the Traveller never knocked that way, unless something was terribly wrong....
Instinct kicked in, partial concussion or not. The plate was where it supposed to be in seconds, just as Leeroy was in the lounge and at the front foyer's entryway in the same amount of time. Halting, she balanced on one foot, feeling for the sheath on one leg that held her last resort - a sharp military knife, once thought to be a mere hunting knife. A matching one was in the sheath on the other leg, and if something required desperate measures, then Leeroy was more than able to do a fair amount of damage. It didn't matter to her that she was concussed, and that she should have been lying down whenever she felt dizzy - it was her duty. Just as a soldier defended Mother Britain, and all the territories she held in her power, it was her duty to defend her comrades and co-workers at the Traveller's Place Inn.
"Who bizt there?" Leeroy called out, putting her leg down. Her whole body was tensed, her hazel-brownish eyes focused intently on the door, as if she were staring down her next adversary. She was too used to such situations at the Traveller, and ever since being kidnapped and beaten to a pulp seven weeks prior, she had felt a little more on edge than usual....
Current Time: 11:27
Current Weather: Sunny with a hint of cloud, and with a light breeze. The mercury hovers around four degrees Celsius.
~ | O | ~ ~ | O | ~
She was not so badly battered that she couldn't stand at a door, or call for one of the other door supervisors if need be. They had no right to demand she stay home after she could stand again - that something would happen to Leeroy, and she would kill herself that time. Monty shouldn't have had that party at the inn; the troublemakers always skulked around when midnight came...couldn't he have known that? Had the man not been in business long enough to expect such a reaction? Why was everyone telling Leeroy she had been the foolish one, when events beyond her control had transpired in the first place? If it hadn't been for her, that Irish lad who had been there would have probably been killed by that raging Lieutenant.
Lieutenant Moritz Erichsen, he had called himself. Leeroy would never forget that name, or that face, or that rage in his eyes when she taunted him. It was the last thing she remembered before a flurry of pain, blood and splinters, and then nothing. The doctor had said she was lucky to not have been killed by the attack, and that the young altar boy had found her, lying in a puddle of her own blood and the Lieutenant nowhere in sight. Last she had heard, the army had found him wandering around, his bloody hands and the voices of witnesses at the party condemning him to whatever court-marshal they had in store.
The hiss of the running tap was silenced as Leeroy gently turned the handle. Her eyes wandered to the side of the house, revealed by the large window in front of her, where the bushy hedgerow her neighbours sustained blocked most of her view. She could see the roof and chimney of the couple beside her, and on occasion, the barking of their dog and the sounds of their children, but the leafy barrier did its job well. At the bottom, a line of wildflowers had been planted by the old owners, growing wild and tangly and full of weeds, despite Leeroy's best efforts. It would be a sight not missed by the Romanichal, who hoped that Monty could have the house on his property ready before the winter came. It was already nearing the end of September, and the winds over the Bristol were freezing that time of year! Leeroy might have been used to the cold, but waking up cold was not always a pleasant thing!
She lifted from the sink a plate to stack on the counter, dripping water and suds as it emerged from the water. She nearly dropped it, though, when a loud, almost furious banging came from her door. Her head abruptly turned, a slight bout of dizziness accompanying the movement, and Leeroy blinked slowly. The staff at the Traveller never knocked that way, unless something was terribly wrong....
Instinct kicked in, partial concussion or not. The plate was where it supposed to be in seconds, just as Leeroy was in the lounge and at the front foyer's entryway in the same amount of time. Halting, she balanced on one foot, feeling for the sheath on one leg that held her last resort - a sharp military knife, once thought to be a mere hunting knife. A matching one was in the sheath on the other leg, and if something required desperate measures, then Leeroy was more than able to do a fair amount of damage. It didn't matter to her that she was concussed, and that she should have been lying down whenever she felt dizzy - it was her duty. Just as a soldier defended Mother Britain, and all the territories she held in her power, it was her duty to defend her comrades and co-workers at the Traveller's Place Inn.
"Who bizt there?" Leeroy called out, putting her leg down. Her whole body was tensed, her hazel-brownish eyes focused intently on the door, as if she were staring down her next adversary. She was too used to such situations at the Traveller, and ever since being kidnapped and beaten to a pulp seven weeks prior, she had felt a little more on edge than usual....