Out of Character:
Solo, Closed.
Pushing open the door to his flat, William's eyes were locked on the pocketwatch balancing on his hoof. The musty smell of steam that greeted him each time he walked outside was waiting for him, and wrapped around him like an old blanket that you never bother to throw out. Taking a step, he kicked behind him blindly, clipping the edge of the door with his hoof and sending it slamming shut, the rickety wood rattling on the frame even after the door clasp had caught.
2:36
He pushed the golden lid down over the face, shoving the watch down intot he pocket of his fitted vest. He walked with a brisk step, seemingly hurrying to be on time despite leaving for his appointment early.
I say, I've got to get down to Herzog Kresk's office by 3:00. Whatever this is, it certainly sounded important.
Ever since the victory at Gisela, William felt a sense of ease that was lacking before. A trip down the street before meant him stopping every few meters to look over his shoulder for watchful eyes; every meeting with the Herzog made his stomachs rise into his throat with fear. But now, he felt relaxed, enjoying the walk. Feeling the autumn wind run down the corridor that the street made between the buildings. Actually looking around at the scenery, not just walking through it. The same brownish-red of rust stains on the walls, the dull grey of cement and stone had once made him feel a sickness every time he walked through it. Before, every step felt like it was septic, like the very air he breathed that had left a metallic taste in his mouth was just an indicator to tiny bits of metal debris from nearby machiery floating in the air: Every inhale the promise of a slow death by lead poisoning.
Now, the rust and the stone and the cement, even the metallic taste in his mouth felt like home.
Ease wasn't the only thing he felt after Gisela. Word had spread through Ettermire about the event, and everywhere William went, eyes were on him. The same eyes he had shrinked away from before- hundreds of watchers looking to bring him to an end- now watched him in a whole new manner. As he walked down the cobbled street, he saw a group of a few adolescent drow girls, who looked at him before tucking their heads away with coy giggling. Young men scanned over him as if sizing him up before giving an acknowledging nod in his direction. Adoration. Adulation. Admiration.
Acceptance.
At the very least, he had that now. And inside, every time the sickness returned to him, every time that guilt that religion teaches you to have swelled in his stomach, this abated it. The lessons from his past tried to haunt him, tried to eat at him on the inside and tell him he was wrong or bad or amoral for turning his back on his namesake. For defecting to Alerar, he was the lowest of the low. But these nagging thoughts never lasted long, not while he basked in the warmth of acceptance. He had found a true home, a place for himself among the people he had been raised to see as enemies; back in the land of his birth, he had found nothing but prejudice, scorn, and rejection.
Is it so wrong to want someplace where you belong? Even if it is among those you've been taught are your enemies?
In his mind, he could already hear the voices of his old countrymen, having received word about his defection and the success at Gisela. They would spit bitterly just trying to pronounce his name, and they'd call him a heretic, a brigand, and a traitor. But for every hateful word they would say, William would pass another look of reverence, another smiling face of appreciation in Alerar. This is why the nagging doubts never got to him. He was close enough now to see the government center, a small, nondescript building that you'd never know was any different that any other just by looking at it. Offices of faceless, nameless workers who toiled behind the scenes to keep the cogs of the great machine that was Alerar moving smoothly. The sight hastened William's step as he smiled in eager anticipation.
I do wonder what that bloke Kresk has in store for me? He mentioned it involving my performance at Gisela... perhaps he wants to discuss some grand reward?
While not a greedy man by nature, caches of hidden treasures, property deeds, titles of authority... they all swam inside his horned head as he made his way to the doorway of the building. And he thought to himself how much nicer the place looked when you walked through the doorway with eagerness than when you went through the cast iron portcullis with fear.