Abel pulled his pocket watch out, squinting to see the time despite the glare of the sun against the sheet of crystal covering the hands as they slowly made their way to... 11:38, quite precisely. By noon, he was supposed to assist to the hanging of some outlaw, in the place of his father.
He rolled his dark blue eyes with a sigh, putting the carefully polished watch back into the pocket of his immaculate undercoat, buttoning it up to his neck, hiding from view his pale skin- which, as his father would have it, was a sign of nobility, tied a red neck-cloth into rather bold looking cravat, as would a proper gentleman. He buttoned up a black, gold trimmed jacket, as would a proper gentleman. His black breeches, he had worn all day, even as he sparred with his swordfighting tutor, or in more secrecy, worked his body- His father still clung to the idea that nobility mean excess, of riches and of flesh, and despite the fact that the times were changing. Even though Abel generally went along with his father’s whims, he would have lost patience long ago if not for the few subtle elements that allowed him to dwell in opposition- He trained his body to be as thin and muscular as possible, hid his wig beneath his bed when he left, to make his father believe he wore it, or simply through it to whoever would like it as soon as he was out of his father’s sights, in the few cases where the man in question accompanied him to the door.
He put on a pair of black leather boot, with gold incrusted trim and buttons, and stormed away, his raven hair billowing behind his back. As he pushed open the door to his residence and quickly made his way out of there he was greeted by a few smiles. The ironsmith, for which Abel had worked many times- He ached to find his own trade, and such a difficult art interested him. Of course there were glares and smiles from many of the women. In the 2 years following his eighteen birthday, he had slept with as many women as he could- Not really to oppose his father at all. Abel hated the shallow man who raised him, but no with a passion- he decided that it would be best he spend his time doing other things with passion- such as indulging in the pleasure of flesh.
Some seemed to be anxious to see him, hoping for a second night with him, others felt scorn, as they wanted only a ring around their finger. The few who genuinely smiled to him were the harlots, who knew well how to appreciate his shocking (To the religious, downright sinful,) habits in the bedroom.
He trod along grimly, despite all this. He truly didn’t enjoy trials. The judges’ close minded view of an immense world he could only look at in between the bars of his cage, diplomacy, only managed to irritate him, the cheers of the crowd, in favour to killing a man, sickened him, and his role to watch through the entire sentence, without being able to say a word in favour of the law or of a falsely accused man only reminded him of the restrictions that bound him. Perhaps he had been taught that there were no good feelings to have towards a felon- Aside disdain and hate- but he still respected those who lived their lives between laws more than he did the rich and powerful. Those who knew what it was to be free.
He ran into a young woman, around his age, who was coming to assist to the trial. He briefly noticed her beauty, but had no time to dwell over her, as stunning as she was. He politely excused himself and took his seat, consulting his pocket watch again. 11:54. The trial would begin shortly. People began to mass around the trial area, as he took a seat, his handsome, sharp, facial features shadowed by the sun overhead.
How could a single day change anyone’s life, he wondered.
He rolled his dark blue eyes with a sigh, putting the carefully polished watch back into the pocket of his immaculate undercoat, buttoning it up to his neck, hiding from view his pale skin- which, as his father would have it, was a sign of nobility, tied a red neck-cloth into rather bold looking cravat, as would a proper gentleman. He buttoned up a black, gold trimmed jacket, as would a proper gentleman. His black breeches, he had worn all day, even as he sparred with his swordfighting tutor, or in more secrecy, worked his body- His father still clung to the idea that nobility mean excess, of riches and of flesh, and despite the fact that the times were changing. Even though Abel generally went along with his father’s whims, he would have lost patience long ago if not for the few subtle elements that allowed him to dwell in opposition- He trained his body to be as thin and muscular as possible, hid his wig beneath his bed when he left, to make his father believe he wore it, or simply through it to whoever would like it as soon as he was out of his father’s sights, in the few cases where the man in question accompanied him to the door.
He put on a pair of black leather boot, with gold incrusted trim and buttons, and stormed away, his raven hair billowing behind his back. As he pushed open the door to his residence and quickly made his way out of there he was greeted by a few smiles. The ironsmith, for which Abel had worked many times- He ached to find his own trade, and such a difficult art interested him. Of course there were glares and smiles from many of the women. In the 2 years following his eighteen birthday, he had slept with as many women as he could- Not really to oppose his father at all. Abel hated the shallow man who raised him, but no with a passion- he decided that it would be best he spend his time doing other things with passion- such as indulging in the pleasure of flesh.
Some seemed to be anxious to see him, hoping for a second night with him, others felt scorn, as they wanted only a ring around their finger. The few who genuinely smiled to him were the harlots, who knew well how to appreciate his shocking (To the religious, downright sinful,) habits in the bedroom.
He trod along grimly, despite all this. He truly didn’t enjoy trials. The judges’ close minded view of an immense world he could only look at in between the bars of his cage, diplomacy, only managed to irritate him, the cheers of the crowd, in favour to killing a man, sickened him, and his role to watch through the entire sentence, without being able to say a word in favour of the law or of a falsely accused man only reminded him of the restrictions that bound him. Perhaps he had been taught that there were no good feelings to have towards a felon- Aside disdain and hate- but he still respected those who lived their lives between laws more than he did the rich and powerful. Those who knew what it was to be free.
He ran into a young woman, around his age, who was coming to assist to the trial. He briefly noticed her beauty, but had no time to dwell over her, as stunning as she was. He politely excused himself and took his seat, consulting his pocket watch again. 11:54. The trial would begin shortly. People began to mass around the trial area, as he took a seat, his handsome, sharp, facial features shadowed by the sun overhead.
How could a single day change anyone’s life, he wondered.
