Arrival
Characters: Charles Brandon, open
Rating: Pending
Time Period: Modern
Location: Arriving, Castle Entrance
Relative Date: Now
Status: Open
A castle. That was something. Some familiarity, even it wasn't recognisable. Charles rested his free hand against one of the stone walls, and then had to give in and slump his whole weight against it as it became increasingly more difficult to breathe. He tugged at the laces of his ornate shirt, trying to get it open so it could afford him even a gulp more of fresh air. He was in surroundings he didn't know, with things that were unfamiliar. That gigantic, loud, shiny black... bird? Dinosaur? He didn't know. All he knew was that it was quite like nothing he had ever seen, and he didn't take kindly to the sensation that he was flying, either, the whole thing making him feel quite ill. He couldn't be flying, and if he was, what had been in that wine at the feast to make his mind play tricks on him like this?
He peered up at the castle, squinting as he tried to take in its form all at once. He hadn't been here before. He had no recollection of it. A sheen of panicked sweat had broken out over his skin, beads of perspiration dotting his forehead and trickling down his temple to his jaw and then his throat, despite the heavy blanket of snow lying. His clothing felt so claustrophobic all of a sudden. Where the hell was he?! Where was the King? One minute he was rushing down the halls of the palace towards Henry's chambers in response to his letter, and the next he was in the big black bird with all the adornments and the large sword blades on top of it. Something had probably happened in between those two events, but he was so stunned, it was just a haze in his mind now. Maybe he had even lost consciousness?
"My Lord?" he mumbled in confusion, his head whipping around to look behind him, hoping Henry might eventuate out from behind a pillar and admit to some amusing trick on his best friend. It felt eerily quite, which wasn't unfamiliar following a heavy snowfall. He got his shirt open, tugging so tightly on the laces they tore and allowed him to pull the heavy fabric away from his throat as he sucked in some fresh air. It didn't help much, though. It didn't tell him where the hell he was, or why. He looked down at the small box in his hand that the man had given him. What was it? He set it down on a low stone wall nearby atop the inches of snow and took some tentative steps away from it, eyeing it nervously with a hand on his chest as his ragged breath fought to even out. It might contain poison. He couldn't be careful enough in a foreign place, even if it was part of his imagination.
It had to be part of his imagination, for in England, it was the middle of summer.
Rating: Pending
Time Period: Modern
Location: Arriving, Castle Entrance
Relative Date: Now
Status: Open
A castle. That was something. Some familiarity, even it wasn't recognisable. Charles rested his free hand against one of the stone walls, and then had to give in and slump his whole weight against it as it became increasingly more difficult to breathe. He tugged at the laces of his ornate shirt, trying to get it open so it could afford him even a gulp more of fresh air. He was in surroundings he didn't know, with things that were unfamiliar. That gigantic, loud, shiny black... bird? Dinosaur? He didn't know. All he knew was that it was quite like nothing he had ever seen, and he didn't take kindly to the sensation that he was flying, either, the whole thing making him feel quite ill. He couldn't be flying, and if he was, what had been in that wine at the feast to make his mind play tricks on him like this?
He peered up at the castle, squinting as he tried to take in its form all at once. He hadn't been here before. He had no recollection of it. A sheen of panicked sweat had broken out over his skin, beads of perspiration dotting his forehead and trickling down his temple to his jaw and then his throat, despite the heavy blanket of snow lying. His clothing felt so claustrophobic all of a sudden. Where the hell was he?! Where was the King? One minute he was rushing down the halls of the palace towards Henry's chambers in response to his letter, and the next he was in the big black bird with all the adornments and the large sword blades on top of it. Something had probably happened in between those two events, but he was so stunned, it was just a haze in his mind now. Maybe he had even lost consciousness?
"My Lord?" he mumbled in confusion, his head whipping around to look behind him, hoping Henry might eventuate out from behind a pillar and admit to some amusing trick on his best friend. It felt eerily quite, which wasn't unfamiliar following a heavy snowfall. He got his shirt open, tugging so tightly on the laces they tore and allowed him to pull the heavy fabric away from his throat as he sucked in some fresh air. It didn't help much, though. It didn't tell him where the hell he was, or why. He looked down at the small box in his hand that the man had given him. What was it? He set it down on a low stone wall nearby atop the inches of snow and took some tentative steps away from it, eyeing it nervously with a hand on his chest as his ragged breath fought to even out. It might contain poison. He couldn't be careful enough in a foreign place, even if it was part of his imagination.
It had to be part of his imagination, for in England, it was the middle of summer.