[The eastern side of the Monastery isn't a long walk, and the courtyard looks black in the dark, stone no paler than the grass and weeds growing haphazardly and unattended around its structure. He maintains his hold on Sylvain's horse until they reach it—and then attempts to work the bridle off the animal completely with intention to let it graze in the yard. The stables are still intact deeper within the Monastery, but he does not lead them there. With Sylvain in tow, it would be time wasted, however much of it they might have. If the horse is well-trained, it shouldn't wander too far. It can be corralled later.
Dimitri's hands are deft in their work, inarticulate but gentle on the buckles and fastenings, regardless of whether Sylvain decides to help or halt him. He exerts more care toward the horse than it still seems possible he could possess, all while ignoring Sylvain's close look. Those light colored, pretty eyes would be too familiar to him—realer than a ghost, if not so hungry. He tells himself he will use this opportunity to go against his enemies. He will torture Sylvain, if necessary, to obtain the information he needs. He promises himself this with the delusional belief that it is true.]
How sentimental of you. [Not so much said in a growl as it is rasped, scraped out of his throat, because that is how he sounds now.] A fantasy. Don't try to tell me otherwise, Sylvain. You left me long ago for the Empire. I am certain I was never a thought in your mind.
[Perhaps Sylvain was even relieved to hear he was dead—one less childhood enemy out of the way. Whatever the temptation to sink into Sylvain's sweet words, he steels himself. He will not be so foolish a second time.]
Get down from your horse or I'll be forced to drag you off of it.
[The ache in his shoulder is becoming more noticeable, paired with the rhythmic pain of his head, both well-known hurts. He'll need to attend one of them soon.]
PLEASE LMAO...... it's too accurate
Dimitri's hands are deft in their work, inarticulate but gentle on the buckles and fastenings, regardless of whether Sylvain decides to help or halt him. He exerts more care toward the horse than it still seems possible he could possess, all while ignoring Sylvain's close look. Those light colored, pretty eyes would be too familiar to him—realer than a ghost, if not so hungry. He tells himself he will use this opportunity to go against his enemies. He will torture Sylvain, if necessary, to obtain the information he needs. He promises himself this with the delusional belief that it is true.]
How sentimental of you. [Not so much said in a growl as it is rasped, scraped out of his throat, because that is how he sounds now.] A fantasy. Don't try to tell me otherwise, Sylvain. You left me long ago for the Empire. I am certain I was never a thought in your mind.
[Perhaps Sylvain was even relieved to hear he was dead—one less childhood enemy out of the way. Whatever the temptation to sink into Sylvain's sweet words, he steels himself. He will not be so foolish a second time.]
Get down from your horse or I'll be forced to drag you off of it.
[The ache in his shoulder is becoming more noticeable, paired with the rhythmic pain of his head, both well-known hurts. He'll need to attend one of them soon.]