*The Verge of War* A Medieval Rp

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silkiecuddles said:
Without making eye contact, Katrina asked again. "Should I? Know your name?" The head laundress was watching her, she could feel it. It wouldn't do any good to make her all worked up.
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Alfric should just tell her; he knows he should. But he's so tired, and his eyes are so heavy. She doesn't care. He sighs and turns to leave, twisting the door handle and stepping back into the kitchen.
 
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Lsky said:
Alfric should just tell her, he knows he should. But he's so tired, and his eyes are so heavy. She doesn't care. He sighs and turns to leave, twisting the door handle and stepping back into the kitchen.
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"Well you're knight, that's for sure," Katrina stated. She handed him a clean towel to dry off himself, quickly averting her eyes from him when the head laundress neared.
 
silkiecuddles said:
"Well you're knight, that's for sure," Katrina stated. She handed him a clean towel to dry off himself, quickly averting her eyes from him when the head laundress neared.
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Alfric moved back a little as she pushed the towel into his arms. He looks at her and then at the other laundress. He bows his head slightly and then backs away towards the door. Shoving the towel down his top, he gets ready to go back out into the rain.
 
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Katrina shrugged. If he wouldn't tell her his name, she would simply find out. She was very rarely in the other half of the castle where the knights and guards resided, so that's probably why he didn't look familiar. Finished withe the basket of laundry, she went to find Princess Lariah.
 
Alfric opens the door and a rush of cold air bursts into the room. He squints and quickly pulls it shut behind him, hugging himself to keep the towel dry. The rain and wind whips at his hair, blowing it over his eyes. He runs round the corner and down the stairs into the main courtyard.
 
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Alfric stops suddenly, remembering now why he felt so much lighter. His sword. The king would kill him for leaving it out in weather like this. He spins around on his heels and runs back up the stairs, pulling the blade from the knotted grass and wiping it desperately on his trouser leg. He pulls it up and try's to sheath it, his towel beginning to slip out of his shirt. The distant sound of thunder echoes through the mountains, urging him to move quicker. He gets a hold of himself and runs again down the stairs, stumbling and slipping on the wet stones. It is difficult to tell what time it is; the sky is dark and cloudy, and the sun is nowhere to be seen.
 
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He hopes he hasn't been out here too long; the maids will be so angry when they see the state of him. He skids down the path and lands rather heavily on the door to the guard barracks. He struggles with the handle, the rain starting to sting his skin. His hands keep slipping so he folds his sleeve over his palm and tries again. This time the knob turns and he pushes the door open with his shoulder, slamming it shut behind him and leaning against it to catch his breath.
 
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