Subject: Entering.
Author:
Posted on: 2020-08-13 12:36:02 UTC
Click.
Click.
Click.
Tiled floors, measured paces. The tap of a cane's heel on the floor, measured little metronome of sound, two steps each, one off the beat, one on. The heels of his top boots made more of a tap on the tiles, but they were in perfect time. Always. It was that or... well, right now, or did not bear thinking about. Even alone.
Click.
Especially alone.
Click.
Agamemnon kept walking. Parade stiff, head high, every inch the confident and charming Regency dandy for all that he was but seventeen years. He was refined. His tailcoat was a rich red, a literal wine-dark rather than Homeric, that emphasized his slender waist and broadened his rather slight shoulders. His hard-wearing buff overcoat was pristine, though a discerning eye could spot areas where it had been diligently repaired and patched after encounters in the field. His boots gleamed, his cravat was elegantly knotted, the silver ferrule and handle of his cane shone like twin moons in the night sky of dark oak. He might have been in a tiled corridor walking away again, but in his mind's eye he could picture himself walking down the Strand, a man about town, a scholar, an officer, and a consummate gentleman.
Click.
And the more he imagined it, the less he saw of the brightly lit, airy surroundings of the DAS-SWEAR research facility.
Click.
And that was all to the good.
Click.
Click.
Poink wait what?
He looked down. The rabbit looked up. It was understandably aggrieved at having its reverie interrupted by a stout stick bouncing off its head. After affixing him with a glare that was entirely too intelligent for comfort, it hopped away down a darkened corridor, white bobtail flashing like a lighthouse in the gloom.
And against every single instinct in his rational mind, Agamemnon followed the rabbit. Because as peculiar a place as DAS-SWEAR was, and as preoccupied as he was, he was absolutely d*mned certain that there hadn't been a rabbit there when he'd glanced idly at the round a moment before.
He turned on his heel and walked down the dark corridor, pace brisk, stick in hand. It seemed to go on entirely too long, and get darker than DAS-SWEAR's environs had in years. He saw eyes, or the ghosts of eyes, flickering from open doorways as their owners zipped away to some safe hiding place. There were so many. But he followed the beacon white tail still, not knowing quite why, just that it was important.
More eyes came through the gloom, and Agamemnon was suddenly unsure how long he had been following the rabbit, or even how far. And now, he stopped, because the rabbit had. It had turned around to look at him, and there were so many more, and then Agamemnon looked up and up further into the imperious-radiant-blue eyes of-
"Stop," she said.
Agamemnon paused, and looked down briefly. The first three inches of his swordstick's blade were already leaving its scabbard, his knuckles white with the pressure of his grip, his stance low and purposeful like a knife-fighter. Every instinct was screaming at him to keep going, that this was an incursion of some manner or other, that the ancient-looking woman in the black gauze mask was dangerous, look at the eyes, nothing not born of glitter has eyes that blue, d*mn your fear and look into the eyes-
"Once again," she said.
Agamemnon sheathed his blade, muscle memory and years of training scattering like leaves. He looked around and saw all those hundreds and thousands of glinting eyes, soft does, solid bucks, mad hares, gathering like clouds before rain.
"We return," she said.
Agamemnon straightened. His swordstick swung briefly, an idle motion, before it fell from his shaking hand.
The woman smiled.
The rabbits leapt.
Click.
Agamemnon Wymbourne will, as if it wasn't entirely obvious, be taking on the godhood of El-Ahrairah. Because frankly it'd be awesome and also I want to make hS draw a bunny boy.
For that matter, let's discuss Agamemnon's appearance. He's quite short for his age by modern standards, at around five foot six and not doing much more in the way of growing. He still shaves, no massive hipster beard yet, and he has short sandy hair and kind, worried eyes. He dresses like a Regency gentleman, as described above - though he is slowly modernizing, as shown here by the absence of hat. This picture should give you an idea of the silhouette I'm going for, though you'll need to take away the hat and add a cravat and, hopefully, bunny ears. =]
I'm not familiar with this canon at all, so please tell me if I've got something egregiously wrong here. While it might just have been beginner's luck, the last time I started doing something without knowing what the hell I was on about, it turned out pretty well. =]
