[spoiler]<o1. Oath>
Antoine only worked at two speeds: Fast and furious. Maybe in another life, he'd have amounted to more than a dog of the catholic church, but it wasn't something he dwelt on. Actually, if one were to ask the fellow what his opinions were on his current circumstances, he would likely have chuckled and waved it off. He was made for this job, born and raised to carry a love of the divine so intense, he scared off every prospect of a family and future outside the clergy. He was married to Mary and Jesus and the sweet hymns of Sunday mass. There was no way to take that away from him, and he didn't need to make a vow for it to be true. It just was as it was, and no one bothered to question him further.
He did know how to cut loose though. Regardless why he may have been headed to bumfuck Massachusetts, he didn't come donning clerical gear. Instead he was comfortably dressed in a shirt and jeans, with a peacoat and scarf, and a worn pair of loafers. The Templar didn't stand out much amongst the other individuals exiting the train with him, save for the fact there were few dark toned people this far north. No one bothered to tell him how WASP-y New England was once you left the major cities, so the sheer amount of white was almost comedic. Of course, it wasn't other people staring at him, but the other way around; shamelessly taking in the busy figures as they traveled, assessing them while everyone moved collectively.
About an hour later, Antoine had a rental car, and a few vague descriptions of his destination. Another hour, and he was skirting the forested back roads, squinting through the dark to find his turn. It wouldn't be until later, nearly 11pm, that the Templar squeaked into the parking lot of his new home. The light outside the motel flickered ominously like a dying flame, and the lack of cars occupying the open front end indicated they didn't get many visitors this time of year. He figured that was the best way to lay low though; crashing in a dive on the far side of town. The guy at the front desk was missing three of his front teeth, and sucked at what he had left when he asked if Antoine had a preference of rooms.
"One with a working shower." He replied in jest, but immediately regretted his decision when the manager scowled and grabbed a key. 202. Once their exchange was over, Antoine made haste to head to his new digs, though was met with the usual disappointment he felt when staying in motels. A stale interior with odd pastel wallpaper decorated in zigzag fashion was only trumped by the fact the bed had no frame. So in essence, Antoine was committed to sleeping on a mattress on the floor for an undetermined amount of time. His dark eyes rolled only once at the initial showing, but he eventually got over it and collapsed onto the bed with a small sigh. Everything was starting to catch up with him, and if he didn't crash soon, he's hit that awkward hump when he would continue to be tired, but be unable to drift off.
"Too much to think about." Directed at no one, it was likely heard by no one. Only God would keep him company as he slipped into a deep slumber, inevitably snoring loud enough to wake other guests (if there had been any).
[/spoiler]
Antoine only worked at two speeds: Fast and furious. Maybe in another life, he'd have amounted to more than a dog of the catholic church, but it wasn't something he dwelt on. Actually, if one were to ask the fellow what his opinions were on his current circumstances, he would likely have chuckled and waved it off. He was made for this job, born and raised to carry a love of the divine so intense, he scared off every prospect of a family and future outside the clergy. He was married to Mary and Jesus and the sweet hymns of Sunday mass. There was no way to take that away from him, and he didn't need to make a vow for it to be true. It just was as it was, and no one bothered to question him further.
He did know how to cut loose though. Regardless why he may have been headed to bumfuck Massachusetts, he didn't come donning clerical gear. Instead he was comfortably dressed in a shirt and jeans, with a peacoat and scarf, and a worn pair of loafers. The Templar didn't stand out much amongst the other individuals exiting the train with him, save for the fact there were few dark toned people this far north. No one bothered to tell him how WASP-y New England was once you left the major cities, so the sheer amount of white was almost comedic. Of course, it wasn't other people staring at him, but the other way around; shamelessly taking in the busy figures as they traveled, assessing them while everyone moved collectively.
About an hour later, Antoine had a rental car, and a few vague descriptions of his destination. Another hour, and he was skirting the forested back roads, squinting through the dark to find his turn. It wouldn't be until later, nearly 11pm, that the Templar squeaked into the parking lot of his new home. The light outside the motel flickered ominously like a dying flame, and the lack of cars occupying the open front end indicated they didn't get many visitors this time of year. He figured that was the best way to lay low though; crashing in a dive on the far side of town. The guy at the front desk was missing three of his front teeth, and sucked at what he had left when he asked if Antoine had a preference of rooms.
"One with a working shower." He replied in jest, but immediately regretted his decision when the manager scowled and grabbed a key. 202. Once their exchange was over, Antoine made haste to head to his new digs, though was met with the usual disappointment he felt when staying in motels. A stale interior with odd pastel wallpaper decorated in zigzag fashion was only trumped by the fact the bed had no frame. So in essence, Antoine was committed to sleeping on a mattress on the floor for an undetermined amount of time. His dark eyes rolled only once at the initial showing, but he eventually got over it and collapsed onto the bed with a small sigh. Everything was starting to catch up with him, and if he didn't crash soon, he's hit that awkward hump when he would continue to be tired, but be unable to drift off.
"Too much to think about." Directed at no one, it was likely heard by no one. Only God would keep him company as he slipped into a deep slumber, inevitably snoring loud enough to wake other guests (if there had been any).
[/spoiler]
BDRP Admin. Writer. Villain. Personal Blog.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.