Post by blessie on Apr 27, 2009 21:08:45 GMT 1
Boredom, complete and paralytic boredom seemed to stifle the air, swarming and heaving the very essence of Nottingham until the whole populous seemed to be drowning in it. The food shortage was waging heavy on those she gently ambled past, one could always tell; the faces of those so far below her were drawn, starved and discontent. It was almost painful to watch them and Blessie felt a wince etch her features as she passed a particularly sorrow filled couple who in turn kept their famished faces absently downturned. Wrapping her shawl farther over her scantily clad shoulders she gently trotted down a side street, fingers flirting with the hem of her pouch as she went.
There was a biting spring breeze hanging against the air and she felt herself shrug the flimsy material farther across her body. She had not slept well since arriving, the blissful English weather had so fervently faded and even her previous joy at the delights of the flesh that seemed to inhabit Nottingham had waned. Dropping the velveteen purse back to the side she let her forehead fall away to her palm, fingers pinching the pliable flesh of her nose as she eyed her surroundings. Dusk was drawing in, enveloping the great city in a heady mist tinted with midnight blue, it would in any other circumstance be beautiful if she had not been so chilled to the bone.
Throwing herself through the nearest open door she found herself somewhat blinded by the stifling heat and oppression of the room. A few barely acknowledged, disgruntled murmurs were aimed at her as she cautiously squinted her eyes in an attempt to find a viable source of light. The room was dingy, no illumination and it seemed the only source of light was coming from a waning set of candles dotted about the place. It was a tavern, she knew that but by the looks of it, hardly a fine establishment. The Tavern Wenches themselves seemed more like girls than women and even then they had barely enough cloth to cover them as to call it clothes. She winced lightly as one young woman who could have been no more than fifteen flung herself over an aging and more than inebriated noble, bile rising in her throat.
It was hardly like she hazarded her virtue yet she’d never sell it and especially not that young and to somebody of such a demeanour. Biting back the wave of nausea that snarled and contorted within her chest she absently slipped past swaying knights and guards, falling with a heavy heart into a vacated cubby. Allowing her head to fall away into the palm of her hands she let a sigh worm through her lips. She was exhausted and she felt her lithe shoulders jerk with the forced effort to take a measured breath, which in itself was becoming difficult. Tiredness was setting in, smarting her mind as her eyes fluttered shut in her palm and the din around her fell away into the dark.
There was a biting spring breeze hanging against the air and she felt herself shrug the flimsy material farther across her body. She had not slept well since arriving, the blissful English weather had so fervently faded and even her previous joy at the delights of the flesh that seemed to inhabit Nottingham had waned. Dropping the velveteen purse back to the side she let her forehead fall away to her palm, fingers pinching the pliable flesh of her nose as she eyed her surroundings. Dusk was drawing in, enveloping the great city in a heady mist tinted with midnight blue, it would in any other circumstance be beautiful if she had not been so chilled to the bone.
Throwing herself through the nearest open door she found herself somewhat blinded by the stifling heat and oppression of the room. A few barely acknowledged, disgruntled murmurs were aimed at her as she cautiously squinted her eyes in an attempt to find a viable source of light. The room was dingy, no illumination and it seemed the only source of light was coming from a waning set of candles dotted about the place. It was a tavern, she knew that but by the looks of it, hardly a fine establishment. The Tavern Wenches themselves seemed more like girls than women and even then they had barely enough cloth to cover them as to call it clothes. She winced lightly as one young woman who could have been no more than fifteen flung herself over an aging and more than inebriated noble, bile rising in her throat.
It was hardly like she hazarded her virtue yet she’d never sell it and especially not that young and to somebody of such a demeanour. Biting back the wave of nausea that snarled and contorted within her chest she absently slipped past swaying knights and guards, falling with a heavy heart into a vacated cubby. Allowing her head to fall away into the palm of her hands she let a sigh worm through her lips. She was exhausted and she felt her lithe shoulders jerk with the forced effort to take a measured breath, which in itself was becoming difficult. Tiredness was setting in, smarting her mind as her eyes fluttered shut in her palm and the din around her fell away into the dark.