Estinien snoops clandestinely. Most of what he finds are notes about events
and people he's got no knowledge of at all, or designs for machines that
seem impossible. While hunting for a decent pair of shoes at the back of
the closet he finds a small booklet commemorating Nero's graduation from
the academia, signed by several different hands.
There's a photo here too, several young men and several older ones standing
at proud attention before the camera. The very edge is torn, as if
someone's been about to rip it in half and then thought better of it.
Estinien glances at it as he tries to wiggle his feet into Nero's old
boots, stuffing the toes with extra socks, and notes that the child on the
far right, the one who has not one but two men there to support him, seems
familiar. And of the men behind him, one is far too familiar.
The child on the far left, gangly and blonde, is alone.
Estinien tucks the book into his satchel. Perhaps it is nothing, and
perhaps this Nero is long dead, along with all the boys who stood beside
him and all the men who stood beside Gaius. It still feels wrong to leave
it out for the carrion crows.
After a time, there's a knock on Gaius's office door.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2023-01-09 02:30 pm (UTC)Estinien snoops clandestinely. Most of what he finds are notes about events and people he's got no knowledge of at all, or designs for machines that seem impossible. While hunting for a decent pair of shoes at the back of the closet he finds a small booklet commemorating Nero's graduation from the academia, signed by several different hands.
There's a photo here too, several young men and several older ones standing at proud attention before the camera. The very edge is torn, as if someone's been about to rip it in half and then thought better of it. Estinien glances at it as he tries to wiggle his feet into Nero's old boots, stuffing the toes with extra socks, and notes that the child on the far right, the one who has not one but two men there to support him, seems familiar. And of the men behind him, one is far too familiar.
The child on the far left, gangly and blonde, is alone.
Estinien tucks the book into his satchel. Perhaps it is nothing, and perhaps this Nero is long dead, along with all the boys who stood beside him and all the men who stood beside Gaius. It still feels wrong to leave it out for the carrion crows.
After a time, there's a knock on Gaius's office door.