Author: Guede Mazaka
Libertine: for ficangel
Grégoire does admire the gun. Truly. It’s a work of art, backed by ingenuity and determination, and that is precisely what sets his teeth on edge. It’s a way around whatever possible lesson in caution the lion might have had to teach, a way to continue killing no matter what.
Now, he is a man that has been many places and met many people and done many things, so he has few ideals left. And he knows the pulsing excitement of the hunt from personal experience, and he does remember liking it. But nevertheless, his compliment to Jean-François is not entirely forthright. Because something else that he has done is learn from his errors. He doubts the truthfulness of that maxim here.
* * *
Discretion: for sex_and_tea
It is a grotesque thing, his arm. A reminder of when pride and skill came to nothing in steaming, merciless jaws, and a reminder of how much is owed Sardis. Jean-François left to escape the stifling confines of the good priest’s domain, only to find his salvation in those close strictures.
Sometimes the binding that hides his disfigurement kinks and presses too hard, and he can feel his jaw tighten. Of late it happens most when Chévalier Fronsac has his eyes roving over Jean-François, lightly intense gaze noting far too much for a man of his careless reputation. He does live up to his position of a naturalist, for he looks upon the supposed stump not with horror, but with interest.
That is almost worse.