---I CAN’T HELP BUT THINK OF YOU
Indie Jasper and Walter Beck from Fable 3
@toprotectandscrve / toprotectandscrve.tumblr.com
Indie Jasper and Walter Beck from Fable 3
The apparition of Sir Walter Beck visibly sat with as much weight as he had when alive, except without it. He did not bob up and down, his essence did not surge nor wane, but its transparent nature explained his ghostly existence, as comfortable as his corporeal one had once been in the very same chair.
"I hadn't always had a happy life— some bad breaks, and bad choices— but I was lucky. It wasn't a life of 'almosts and could-haves'... and two of the best things in my life were the person at the very beginning and the person at the very end. That's a pretty good thing to be able to say, I think."
What was it that kept him there? He had no idea. He felt at peace, and yet, something wasn't allowing him to go on... Oh well. What time did he have to lose?
When Niamh bumped into Jasper, she let out a startled noise. She hadn't been paying any attention, lost in her own thoughts and trying to ignore the stares and whispers as she passed by people in the hall. She knew she looked a mess, in her rumpled nightgown with messy curls and the gigantic bruise covering her nose.
Seeing Jasper made some of the tension leave her shoulders. She knew he wouldn't think Walter had hit her on purpose. He'd understand. "It does hurt a lot," she admitted, even though she'd told Walter it didn't hurt that much. "Luckily, it isn't broken, just very bruised and swollen."
She frowned, then. "Walter hurt his shoulder. He's still in the infirmary getting some rest. I'm on my way to get him some fresh clothes and to change into some myself."
Now that she wasn't around Walter, it was clear that she was on the verge of breaking down out of worry. Her eyes had heavy dark circles and her brow was furrowed. "Would you walk with me?"
He was just about to offer to go and fetch those things for her, as a lesser servant should have, he thought to himself, but he felt compelled to agree to go along with her. "Yes, of course," he said, already fast by her side. It would give them some time alone; surely she needed someone to talk to that was separate from the incident, and, somewhat ironically, privacy could be hard to come by in the castle.
"How is Sir Walter faring?" he probed, uncertain if the Lady wouldn't prefer to talk about herself for now, in her current state. Once they were alone, all bricks could fall— but he would feel terrible if her embarrassment became multiplied by her body failing to keep her very warranted emotions quiet.
"Well, that depends. Is this you saying 'please', dear Walter?" Another mischievous giggle slips past the little bastard's lips. Even if common sense tells him that it's a horrible idea, Isaac just can't help but poke the metaphorical bear in front of him. He's willing to risk a little bodily harm to alleviate his boredom.
"Please? Por favor? S’il vous? Bitte?"
Walter crosses his arms. The defensive posture makes his stature appear even more formidable than it already is, amplified by his clear displeasure and sheer amount of height he has over the other man. 'Poke the bear' indeed.
This football of a man seems to want to be kicked... and no one would blame Walter for doing it, either, he knows. But, contrary to his greater reputation, Walter isn't one to threaten physical violence— at least not right away. After a moment of deliberation, his posture relaxes.
"Forget it. I should know better than to give you too much credit. I'll just go and ask— oh, what's his name? Izzy? Tell him that you couldn't piece it."
Questioning Sentence Starters // Still Accepting @toprotectandscrve asked: "You know who's behind this, don't you?" -Walter
Isaac giggles. It's a small, but shrill sound that almost always suggests misbehavior on the doctor's part. Of course he knows who's behind this, he's Isaac fucking Doyle.
But, outright stating it would be too easy. Why would he do that when he can wring just a little bit more fun out of this? So, he simply shrugs his shoulders.
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Maybe it was easy as pie to figure out. Maybe I'm still stumped. Maybe I'll tell you the truth, if you make it worth my while."
Well this was just marvelous: now Walter has two mysteries to deal with, and he isn't even sure if either are worth the effort. Just what was it that made some people like this?
He simply stares at the little man for a moment, hands on his hips and entire expression reading of exasperated incredulity. Then it changed to exhausted annoyance. "...I don't suppose your blasted riddle is something as simple as saying 'please,' is it?"
Niamh had been worried that perhaps she'd said the wrong thing. When she saw his posture relax, though, relief filled her. She hadn't wanted to argue with him. Not after such a stressful night for the both of them.
She let go of his hand so he could hold his tea, shifting in her chair to get more comfortable. She picked up her own mug of tea as well, sipping it slowly. His words made her smile (which hurt, just a little, considering how swollen her nose was).
"I love you too, my darling."
She glanced at the window to take note of the hour, then looked back at Walter. "Why don't I run to our rooms and get you some fresh clothes? I'll change into something while I'm there. The doctor will probably be in soon to check your shoulder."
"That's probably a good idea, thank you." A bit of washing up would certainly be in order, too, after his shoulder was seen to. He certainly wasn't looking forward to hearing the prognosis with the way that it ached.
It would do Walter some good to be alone for a moment, as well, to focus his thoughts on himself instead of his effect on Niamh. He didn't yet understand what this episode meant for him— whether it had come out of nowhere and existed as a fluke, or if the darkness been creeping back into his mind while he'd been distracted by love and work. I should try journaling again, he thought to himself as he nigh finished off the pot of tea. I'm just so busy...
Meanwhile, having just heard about the morning commotion, Jasper was making his own way to the infirmary. With a keen ear for gossip, but a discerning mind for the truth, he had a rather good guess on what had actually transpired, far different than the average ill-meaning flibbertigibbet would spread. (After all, having previously been with Sir Walter for many years himself, he did know a thing or two of his nighttime tendencies.) He didn't know what kind words he could administer with any effect, but he aimed to try; certainly the couple could use them.
It was with the preoccupation of finding said words that, rounding a corner, he bumped right into Niamh making her own way though the castle's halls. "Oh dear, excuse me— Lady Niamh!" He says her name with delight, but can't help the twist of sympathy in his face when he sees the state of hers. "I just heard about last night— Are you all right? That looks terribly painful."
An indie roleplay blog for one Doctor Isaac Doyle, a fandomless crime-based OC. Isaac is a (mostly) reformed criminal mastermind, now working as an investigative consultant. He's the smartest man on Earth, but with the impulse control and emotional regulation of an ill-behaved chihuahua. Written by Jay. He/Him. 27. 10+ years of experience.
Who doesn't like a bit of blood!? Let's get those muses bleeding!
For the worried
For the bloodied
❛ i love you more than i hate everyone else. ❜
"...Thank you," he said hesitantly, misunderstanding the sentiment from a Holmes's perspective. "How... romantic."
Clary Chapel at the cemetery in Hřensko, a village in Děčín District, Czech Republic.
feel free to adjust pronouns / names as needed ! quotes taken from random sources or otome games. i claim no ownership whatsoever.
“Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling”
—Oscar Wilde
The author has indicated this post may contain content that may not be suitable for all audiences.
She fell quiet and listened to him, still holding on to his hand. She realized that trying to placate him would just make him more frustrated, that in her doing that, she wasn't letting him just feel what he was feeling. She didn't want him to feel that his emotions were unimportant. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze when his voice cracked.
For a moment, she let it all sink in. "I forgive you," she said, then. She gave him a soft smile. She lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
A servant bustled in with a tray of mint tea and toast, moving to set it on the side table beside Walter's bedside. She hesitated a moment, noticing Niamh's face, but she didn't say anything about it. "Did you need anything else, Lady Niamh?"
"Oh, no, that's perfect, thank you."
The lady nodded, then went off, a bit in a hurry, but that was normal. The castle was always busy in the morning.
Niamh turned her attention back to Walter. "Do you want to try and sit up to have some tea? Mint should keep your stomach settled."
Bloody hell, why was she so good to him? What had he done to deserve such a being as her? His entire body had been prepped for resistance, for some disagreement to ensue and have him push away from her— and yet she did everything perfectly, and with such a calmness and serenity that the simple phrase of her forgiveness took the wind right out of his anxiety's sails.
The kiss to his forehead sent a ripple down his body that dispelled the tension he'd been harboring. His hand relaxed around hers. His chest relinquished another big breath. Sometimes, it really was that simple.
Adoration filed his eyes while the sudden release made his posture sluggish, but still he sat up as directed so he could drink as she wanted him to. He nodded, blew on the cup, and sipped. Tea that she had made for him to help settle his stomach, of all things... How could he doubt the importance of his place in her life?
"Thank you... And thank you for taking care of me. I probably would have hurt myself far worse had you not been there. I love you, Niamh. Thank you—thank you for loving me."
Forty Random Questions // Still Accepting @toprotectandscrve asked: ❛ can you tell me more about your adventures? ❜ - Jasper
While Silas himself would not label the myriad of twists and turns that filled his days as 'adventures', he is not so jaded that he doesn't understand another's point of view. He takes a drink from his cup of tea for a moment and savors it as he thinks of just how to answer the question. For the briefest of moments, he's reminded of the nights the Ashford children would ask for stories before bed.
"Well," Silas smiles wistfully, memories flooded back to him in a wave of mournful nostalgia. "A few years ago, on a night not unlike this, mu hunting party had found themselves deep within the mines of Phandelver. Miles below the surface, naught but torches to keep us from the inky blackness of a subterranean night. It was unsettling, but not truly shaking. Not until the torches, and the light with them, were snuffed out."
Jasper adored stories. His head was full of them- both his own and a vast collection from the many great people whom he's met in his long life. (Sometimes he wondered if he should compile some sort of anthology of them all, but they are not his to tell, and he would not remember them with the same passion with which they were actually experienced.) Needless to say, Silas could keep him engaged all through the night if he felt like indulging for that long.
His eyes shined with interest. "What were you hunting?" For a moment, he recalled Sir Walter's deep fear of underground spaces and the dark. He never was able to hear the full story of the origin of that part of him; bits and pieces, yes, from others, but it was not like the old knight to share such vulnerable times with him. Jasper now wishes that he would have more often.
"Good heavens! For how long were you down there?"