Post by Fierro Darque on Jul 2, 2010 10:07:53 GMT -8
(ooc: I forgot when you wanted to make this post, date wise so I can change it later lol)
XX-XX-XX11
2 a.m.
There was a lot of waiting going on. So much waiting, it was making his head hurt. It was late, or rather early to some, and he was perched on his favorite chair which was beside his out-of-tune grand piano and was facing the door. He'd been waiting for hours, first pacing the foyer, then passing the time by cleaning the dust off of some of the funiture, then again by idly playing some of the working notes on his piano. Now, he just sat there, staring and waiting for the girl to show up...although he was beginning to wonder if she was even going to show up at all.
Fierro pressed his lips to the rim of the near-empty tumbler in his hand and took another sip of his whiskey. He bit his lip slightly. The alcohol had stung the cut on his lip. Why was his lip split open? Because a crazy prisoner in Azkaban decided to take a swipe at him when he was interrogating him earlier. Wanker. The Minister thought to himself, as he shook his head slightly.
I could have sworn Nadia told me she wanted to talk. She made it sound important. And if it is so urgent she make me sit here and wait for her, what the hell is taking so LONG?! His inner monologue was beginning to leak out as he grumbled to himself, taking another trip over to his teak-wood cabinet, where he kept his liquor. Bartending for himself, he once again filled the glass to the halfway point and returned to his seat. The cushions were a lot more comfortable than the chairs in Azkaban, where he'd been spending some time working with Sark and the others, since there were a few cutbacks made recently to the prison staff.
He sighed aloud. The fire had died out, no longer keeping the house warm. That was perfectly fine to Fierro, though. He didn't mind the house cold, even to the point to where you could see your breath. The Minister was rarely home, but when he was, he always kept it freezing. Warmth only reminded him of his family, people he wanted to forget.
Fierro sipped again at his refilled glass and then reached over to set his beverage on top of the piano, letting his hand fall limp on the armrest. Slowly, his eyelids shut, and he was trying not to let his neck become weak and succumb to sleep in his big, comfortable chair. The whiskey wasn't helping his exhaustion from the long day he had, and neither was all the waiting. However, Fierro was simply too tired to complain anymore. He just wanted the girl to show up, and now.
XX-XX-XX11
2 a.m.
There was a lot of waiting going on. So much waiting, it was making his head hurt. It was late, or rather early to some, and he was perched on his favorite chair which was beside his out-of-tune grand piano and was facing the door. He'd been waiting for hours, first pacing the foyer, then passing the time by cleaning the dust off of some of the funiture, then again by idly playing some of the working notes on his piano. Now, he just sat there, staring and waiting for the girl to show up...although he was beginning to wonder if she was even going to show up at all.
Fierro pressed his lips to the rim of the near-empty tumbler in his hand and took another sip of his whiskey. He bit his lip slightly. The alcohol had stung the cut on his lip. Why was his lip split open? Because a crazy prisoner in Azkaban decided to take a swipe at him when he was interrogating him earlier. Wanker. The Minister thought to himself, as he shook his head slightly.
I could have sworn Nadia told me she wanted to talk. She made it sound important. And if it is so urgent she make me sit here and wait for her, what the hell is taking so LONG?! His inner monologue was beginning to leak out as he grumbled to himself, taking another trip over to his teak-wood cabinet, where he kept his liquor. Bartending for himself, he once again filled the glass to the halfway point and returned to his seat. The cushions were a lot more comfortable than the chairs in Azkaban, where he'd been spending some time working with Sark and the others, since there were a few cutbacks made recently to the prison staff.
He sighed aloud. The fire had died out, no longer keeping the house warm. That was perfectly fine to Fierro, though. He didn't mind the house cold, even to the point to where you could see your breath. The Minister was rarely home, but when he was, he always kept it freezing. Warmth only reminded him of his family, people he wanted to forget.
Fierro sipped again at his refilled glass and then reached over to set his beverage on top of the piano, letting his hand fall limp on the armrest. Slowly, his eyelids shut, and he was trying not to let his neck become weak and succumb to sleep in his big, comfortable chair. The whiskey wasn't helping his exhaustion from the long day he had, and neither was all the waiting. However, Fierro was simply too tired to complain anymore. He just wanted the girl to show up, and now.