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08-08-2012, 03:29 PM
R I C C I A R D O
The Sandman. As Ricciardo halted suddenly, stirring up the dry ground and sending bits of soil and herbage flying into the air, he realised there was nothing there. It was strange, he could have sworn there was something there, he even thought that he had spotted a figure in the same place. But as he had got right to the place: nothing. It angered him further to think that he could be losing his mind. Someone as intelligent as the burly flame-kissed brute would obviously feel venomous at the idea. He put it down to simply being lonely and paranoid in a world that was so new to him. He smelt a familiar scent of a creature, yet could not place it to a name or a face. Yet, while he pondered and thought hard at who it was, he was answered. The sorrel pelt was unmistakable - d'Artagnan. As he caught the facial expression on his crown, it was friendly yet there was a catch to the tone of his voice. Ricciardo thought of it as mocking or amusement at what he had most certainly witnessed; the Sandman had been chasing air. As d'Art came closer, the flame-kissed beast took a step backward with a thud of daggers, his ears pinned back in rage. Today was certainly a bad day for his temperament and it was not really very wise to test how far he could be pushed. He guessed this is what Mauja and Ulrik had meant by having fire. The talk of madness and intelligence threatened to push his vexed manner even further downhill, but he steadied himself and replied in a gruff tone, "In my case: intelligence. Madness is for the weak." I wonder how far you can test my theory... he thought blindly. Ricciardo was pissed off, he did not need the Doctor to justify any reason to go blazing guns. "What are you doing, d'Artagnan? No kin today?" He immediately thought back to the day that they had exchanged words for the first time, and remembered the little dame that obviously shared his blood. They seemed such a tight pack then, yet today it was only the bloody brute... alone. |
