07-09-2018, 12:01 AM
(This post was last modified: 07-09-2018, 01:47 PM by NABULIONE S.C..)
[align=center][div style="width: 51%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -1px; font-family: georgia;"]Exactly fifteen years ago on this date, Nabulione - no, Cav, he has friends here that tend to toss his mouthful of a name aside - was shipped away from home to seek better things. He remembers this date because occasionally maman will write him, tell him to send her little French trinkets to remind of her of her little soldier, tell him to come home one day with a fortune, with a reason to take his eldest brother's wasted squirreled-away inheritance. Sometimes she will send him raging paragraphs demanding why he let her be rid of him, so early, so young and afraid, so far away from the family. Sometimes he casts these letters into the fire. Other times, he holds her handwriting close and weeps.
Today, fifteen years after the day he boarded a ship for a school that would cast him aside for better men, he drinks. From a flask tucked in the breast pocket of his greatcoat, rather than visiting the local pub, but he drinks no less. It is a grim celebration of losses and gains, and when he settles upon a bench to await the spreading warmth to reach his fingertips he thinks his one-man party to be fitting. He was born in a foreign land to a family that was rich among the poor, but still mere peasants among the mainlanders - eight siblings, a priest-bound firstborn and a gambler of a father later, his mother set her sights on the second born and prayed he'd make her proud. With what little they could scrape together she paid his tuition and sent him off with little else to look forward to.
And thus here Nabulione Cavarelli seated himself, metal flask dangling from his fingertips, career faltering at his middling age. He'd done well for himself, he thought, considering the splintered Blackfall members invading their homestead, the mutants and strangers. At least he'd avoided entangling himself with that bunch for the time being. A hum leaves his lips, something only half-contented; there was a chance, perhaps, that sitting idly in public would warrant the attention of some of their current Blackfall occupants, but he didn't see a reason to pick a fight when there was little but recent politics to squabble over. They had not pillaged he city, did little damage but arrive at the gates and stage a small-scale attack, so his feelings towards the whole fiasco were edging on neutral at best.
Today, fifteen years after the day he boarded a ship for a school that would cast him aside for better men, he drinks. From a flask tucked in the breast pocket of his greatcoat, rather than visiting the local pub, but he drinks no less. It is a grim celebration of losses and gains, and when he settles upon a bench to await the spreading warmth to reach his fingertips he thinks his one-man party to be fitting. He was born in a foreign land to a family that was rich among the poor, but still mere peasants among the mainlanders - eight siblings, a priest-bound firstborn and a gambler of a father later, his mother set her sights on the second born and prayed he'd make her proud. With what little they could scrape together she paid his tuition and sent him off with little else to look forward to.
And thus here Nabulione Cavarelli seated himself, metal flask dangling from his fingertips, career faltering at his middling age. He'd done well for himself, he thought, considering the splintered Blackfall members invading their homestead, the mutants and strangers. At least he'd avoided entangling himself with that bunch for the time being. A hum leaves his lips, something only half-contented; there was a chance, perhaps, that sitting idly in public would warrant the attention of some of their current Blackfall occupants, but he didn't see a reason to pick a fight when there was little but recent politics to squabble over. They had not pillaged he city, did little damage but arrive at the gates and stage a small-scale attack, so his feelings towards the whole fiasco were edging on neutral at best.
[align=center][font=verdana][size=8pt][b]they're calling at me,
[i]"come & find your kind"
[i]"come & find your kind"
