Vincent awoke with a jerk, his hair drenched with sweat, his blanket crumpled under him. Only slowly did his mind free itself from the heaviness of sleep and with his heart still hammering in his chest he tried to remember his dream, but to no avail. With a frustrated sigh he shook his head like a dog to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling the forgotten dream had left him with and left his room, noticing on his way out that Tara was already up and about in the kitchen. He smelled coffee, and with a twitch of his lips headed for the bathroom to refresh himself before dressing. Only then did he join her in the small kitchen, watching her clutching her cup and inhaling the steam as if it was a holy ritual.
He didn’t understand it, he had tried coffee once to please her and found the bitter brew little to his liking. It had astounded him how something that smelled so pleasant could taste so foul, but to each their own. He slowly sat down beside her and reached for a piece of bread. “Good morning.” “Good morning”, Tara said, smiling into her cup. “You look as if you hadn’t slept all too well.” Vincent shrugged as he chewed. “I actually slept not too bad, but I had worrisome dreams that I couldn’t remember. No nightmares, but they left me feeling heavy, however, and uncomfortable.”
Tara took a cautious sip of her coffee. “You are thinking too much.” “One can never think enough.” “I think one can.” She set her cup down. “You have been racking your brain for weeks now about the celebrations and all the possibilities of an assassination or whatnot, no wonder your dreams are heavy.” “It is my duty to ‘rack my brain’, as you so disdainfully called it, when it concerns your life and your safety”, Vincent gave back sharply. “I know my place and...” He broke off and tore a small piece off his bread, but made no move to eat it. “And?” Tara looked at him with a cocked head. “Speak your mind, by all means.” Vincent sighed. “Very well. And I wish you would do so as well.” “What do you mean with that, exactly?” Tara swivelled on her chair to look at him, and crossed her arms. “And what does it have to do with the celebration? Surely you don’t’ mean that I should remain absent from the celebration these people hold for me, in my honour and in honour of my deeds?” “Of course not”, Vincent replied and took a deep breath. “A little more concern for your own safety however would...” “Would make your job easier, I do understand. But what am I to do, wave at them from an open window from the Lounge?”
“Of course not.” Vincent dropped his bread. “But a bit more care...” “Vince.” Tara shook her head with a tiny smile. “I know. I know what you mean, but honestly, an assassin could as easily pick me off from some rooftop or another when I’d just be walking down the Strip. I know that there are going to be a lot of people in an almost unmanageable crowd, but an assassin... why would he have to wait for a celebration to kill me?” Vincent folded his hands onto the table before him. “Do you really want to hear an elaboration of all the reasons?”
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timeasmymeasure
Turn Wounds into Wisdom 1c/? (Prologue)
Date: 2014-08-20 08:57 am (UTC)Vincent awoke with a jerk, his hair drenched with sweat, his blanket crumpled under him. Only slowly did his mind free itself from the heaviness of sleep and with his heart still hammering in his chest he tried to remember his dream, but to no avail. With a frustrated sigh he shook his head like a dog to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling the forgotten dream had left him with and left his room, noticing on his way out that Tara was already up and about in the kitchen. He smelled coffee, and with a twitch of his lips headed for the bathroom to refresh himself before dressing. Only then did he join her in the small kitchen, watching her clutching her cup and inhaling the steam as if it was a holy ritual.
He didn’t understand it, he had tried coffee once to please her and found the bitter brew little to his liking. It had astounded him how something that smelled so pleasant could taste so foul, but to each their own. He slowly sat down beside her and reached for a piece of bread.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning”, Tara said, smiling into her cup. “You look as if you hadn’t slept all too well.”
Vincent shrugged as he chewed. “I actually slept not too bad, but I had worrisome dreams that I couldn’t remember. No nightmares, but they left me feeling heavy, however, and uncomfortable.”
Tara took a cautious sip of her coffee. “You are thinking too much.”
“One can never think enough.”
“I think one can.” She set her cup down. “You have been racking your brain for weeks now about the celebrations and all the possibilities of an assassination or whatnot, no wonder your dreams are heavy.”
“It is my duty to ‘rack my brain’, as you so disdainfully called it, when it concerns your life and your safety”, Vincent gave back sharply. “I know my place and...” He broke off and tore a small piece off his bread, but made no move to eat it.
“And?” Tara looked at him with a cocked head. “Speak your mind, by all means.”
Vincent sighed. “Very well. And I wish you would do so as well.”
“What do you mean with that, exactly?” Tara swivelled on her chair to look at him, and crossed her arms. “And what does it have to do with the celebration? Surely you don’t’ mean that I should remain absent from the celebration these people hold for me, in my honour and in honour of my deeds?”
“Of course not”, Vincent replied and took a deep breath. “A little more concern for your own safety however would...”
“Would make your job easier, I do understand. But what am I to do, wave at them from an open window from the Lounge?”
“Of course not.” Vincent dropped his bread. “But a bit more care...”
“Vince.” Tara shook her head with a tiny smile. “I know. I know what you mean, but honestly, an assassin could as easily pick me off from some rooftop or another when I’d just be walking down the Strip. I know that there are going to be a lot of people in an almost unmanageable crowd, but an assassin... why would he have to wait for a celebration to kill me?”
Vincent folded his hands onto the table before him. “Do you really want to hear an elaboration of all the reasons?”