07-23-2021, 08:56 PM
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Each step was coordinated with precision, as if William had planned each step far in advance. And that much had been true; these dreaded steps back up towards the lodge had been anticipated since William returned from the mission alone. It had been a task undertaken in secret by the Stirling family, a feat to assassinate a slimy individual, blocking a plethora of opportunities for the Stirling’s enterprise to rise from the ashes. When people stood in Edmund’s way, Edmund would ensure that they were dealt with promptly. William and Frederick were usually the pair most willing to get their hands dirty in the name of the family business.
But today, William Stirling returned without his brother by his side. Eyes flitted across the window looking into the lounge where he saw Eddie sitting, warming his hands by the fire. They exchanged glances, William being met with a puzzled furrow of Eddie’s brow at the sight of the lonesome brother. William’s features were neutral as he stepped into the lodge, dropped his belongings near the bottom of the stairs, and proceeded to stroll with slow, concise steps towards where Eddie stood down the hall, frowning towards William. ❝ What happened? ❞ The captain enquired gravely, William sucking in a long breath before he spoke in a calm utterance.
❝ We did what you asked us to do. We shot him in the head and killed him. You never told us that he’d have company, though. ❞
❝ No, where’s Fred? ❞ Edmund probed more sternly, William gritting his teeth rigidly as his eyes darted across his cousin’s features. ❝ I couldn’t go back for him. ❞ He was vague, frozen in one spot. It was difficult to tell whether it was stoicism or plain apathy, but William’s face was unmoving, emotionless. Unharmed bar the bust lip that had since crusted over with dried specks of blood. ❝ I don’t know what happened. It was a fucking bloodbath you sent us into. ❞ But not once which had been unwelcomed by either of the brothers.
Death was an art, just as Frederick’s had been. It would not romanticize the finality of death, but portray the raw power that death held over most people. Art was infinite, as was death. And Frederick had found his glory in death, having ended his life in a hail of bullets. He died with the satisfaction that his death would mean something. He had murdered Leandro Aguillard, a notable aristocrat in society, where his death would trigger upheaval and the opportunity for the Irishmen to dig their claws into the once monopolized industry.
❝ Your brother’s dead? ❞ Eddie asked, face twitching slightly as he stared firmly across towards William. William had come to accept the outcome on his long journey back to the lodge. His brother was dead it seemed. He hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to check for himself, but Freddie never left that house that day. ❝ Yes. ❞ William was monotonous, jaw tight as the cousins looked between one another.
Eddie said nothing for a couple of seconds, as if to process the news of his cousin’s death, before he took a small step back. ❝ A’right. ❞ Eddie uttered, voice strained before nodding his head and looking away. ❝ We’ll make an announcement in due course. ❞ Eddie then turned to walk into the living room, leaving William to stand in silence in the hallway, turning his head to the side to look at the framed paintings of the crisp white snow in the mountains. The vacancy would linger in his life. He had lost his brother. His closest friend. Eyes scanned the art carefully, face twitching as he felt a knotted sensation coiling within.
Was this what grief was supposed to feel like? No sadness or denial, but a calm acceptance of the current emptiness in his life? There was no point in wishing that his brother had never died because he was dead and no pleading would change that very fact. He wanted to feel forlorn, as if his heart could no longer beat in the same way without the company of the brother who was often like a big, loud growth on his side. William twisted his head, soon following Edmund into the living room. Eyes scanned over his cousin’s face as he sat on the sofa, hands clasped together as the tiniest of grimaces sat on his features.
Slowly, William mimicked Edmund’s subtle signs of grief. His lip twitched, brows knitting together in a look of sheer bewilderment. William soon slid down onto a nearby armchair, kicking his shoes up onto the ottoman as he lowered his gaze as Edmund had. He knew that he had to feel grief somehow, or at least guilt for not perceiving the grief that he should have felt. But there was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
William would bring about the fondest of memories with his brother, memories that they could never recreate again, in an attempt to bring about a sliver of emotion. No more baseball games or mischief as they’d goad each other relentlessly. No more closeness in acknowledging that someone would always be on his side. Freddie was selfish for letting himself die before William, and William felt somewhat annoyed that he would no longer have someone who’d so stupidly do anything that William would have asked of him.
That day, he wouldn’t feel grief, but he’d mimic it because grief was the normal reaction following a shocking death, right? And William wasn’t normal, so to speak. Most days, he felt barely human. ❝ What do you want to do? A funeral for him? ❞ Eddie questioned, William lifting his head as he increasingly blinked as to evoke the façade of morose tears. ❝ I’m sure he’d love that. ❞ William responded with his usual snark, then falling back against the back of the chair as he stared up at the ceiling. How long were things supposed to be this way for?
// tldr; will returns to flintlock to announce that fred has died. ofc no need to try match the word count, sorry for the ramble! feel free to have your character overhear any part of the conversation hehe
Each step was coordinated with precision, as if William had planned each step far in advance. And that much had been true; these dreaded steps back up towards the lodge had been anticipated since William returned from the mission alone. It had been a task undertaken in secret by the Stirling family, a feat to assassinate a slimy individual, blocking a plethora of opportunities for the Stirling’s enterprise to rise from the ashes. When people stood in Edmund’s way, Edmund would ensure that they were dealt with promptly. William and Frederick were usually the pair most willing to get their hands dirty in the name of the family business.
But today, William Stirling returned without his brother by his side. Eyes flitted across the window looking into the lounge where he saw Eddie sitting, warming his hands by the fire. They exchanged glances, William being met with a puzzled furrow of Eddie’s brow at the sight of the lonesome brother. William’s features were neutral as he stepped into the lodge, dropped his belongings near the bottom of the stairs, and proceeded to stroll with slow, concise steps towards where Eddie stood down the hall, frowning towards William. ❝ What happened? ❞ The captain enquired gravely, William sucking in a long breath before he spoke in a calm utterance.
❝ We did what you asked us to do. We shot him in the head and killed him. You never told us that he’d have company, though. ❞
❝ No, where’s Fred? ❞ Edmund probed more sternly, William gritting his teeth rigidly as his eyes darted across his cousin’s features. ❝ I couldn’t go back for him. ❞ He was vague, frozen in one spot. It was difficult to tell whether it was stoicism or plain apathy, but William’s face was unmoving, emotionless. Unharmed bar the bust lip that had since crusted over with dried specks of blood. ❝ I don’t know what happened. It was a fucking bloodbath you sent us into. ❞ But not once which had been unwelcomed by either of the brothers.
Death was an art, just as Frederick’s had been. It would not romanticize the finality of death, but portray the raw power that death held over most people. Art was infinite, as was death. And Frederick had found his glory in death, having ended his life in a hail of bullets. He died with the satisfaction that his death would mean something. He had murdered Leandro Aguillard, a notable aristocrat in society, where his death would trigger upheaval and the opportunity for the Irishmen to dig their claws into the once monopolized industry.
❝ Your brother’s dead? ❞ Eddie asked, face twitching slightly as he stared firmly across towards William. William had come to accept the outcome on his long journey back to the lodge. His brother was dead it seemed. He hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to check for himself, but Freddie never left that house that day. ❝ Yes. ❞ William was monotonous, jaw tight as the cousins looked between one another.
Eddie said nothing for a couple of seconds, as if to process the news of his cousin’s death, before he took a small step back. ❝ A’right. ❞ Eddie uttered, voice strained before nodding his head and looking away. ❝ We’ll make an announcement in due course. ❞ Eddie then turned to walk into the living room, leaving William to stand in silence in the hallway, turning his head to the side to look at the framed paintings of the crisp white snow in the mountains. The vacancy would linger in his life. He had lost his brother. His closest friend. Eyes scanned the art carefully, face twitching as he felt a knotted sensation coiling within.
Was this what grief was supposed to feel like? No sadness or denial, but a calm acceptance of the current emptiness in his life? There was no point in wishing that his brother had never died because he was dead and no pleading would change that very fact. He wanted to feel forlorn, as if his heart could no longer beat in the same way without the company of the brother who was often like a big, loud growth on his side. William twisted his head, soon following Edmund into the living room. Eyes scanned over his cousin’s face as he sat on the sofa, hands clasped together as the tiniest of grimaces sat on his features.
Slowly, William mimicked Edmund’s subtle signs of grief. His lip twitched, brows knitting together in a look of sheer bewilderment. William soon slid down onto a nearby armchair, kicking his shoes up onto the ottoman as he lowered his gaze as Edmund had. He knew that he had to feel grief somehow, or at least guilt for not perceiving the grief that he should have felt. But there was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
William would bring about the fondest of memories with his brother, memories that they could never recreate again, in an attempt to bring about a sliver of emotion. No more baseball games or mischief as they’d goad each other relentlessly. No more closeness in acknowledging that someone would always be on his side. Freddie was selfish for letting himself die before William, and William felt somewhat annoyed that he would no longer have someone who’d so stupidly do anything that William would have asked of him.
That day, he wouldn’t feel grief, but he’d mimic it because grief was the normal reaction following a shocking death, right? And William wasn’t normal, so to speak. Most days, he felt barely human. ❝ What do you want to do? A funeral for him? ❞ Eddie questioned, William lifting his head as he increasingly blinked as to evoke the façade of morose tears. ❝ I’m sure he’d love that. ❞ William responded with his usual snark, then falling back against the back of the chair as he stared up at the ceiling. How long were things supposed to be this way for?
// tldr; will returns to flintlock to announce that fred has died. ofc no need to try match the word count, sorry for the ramble! feel free to have your character overhear any part of the conversation hehe
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TAKE A HUMAN HEART , ADD SOME VANITY , AUTHENTICITY
[sup]AND PUT THEM ALL TOGETHER . DO WHATEVER TO YOUR BROKEN MACHINE .[/sup]