[center] [h1] [color=d72525] Sergio della Gherardesca [/color] [/h1] [/center]


One of the boons of home visits is that home really is the only place in this land I can fetch good tobacco. I can weather Abele's ridiculous antics if it means I don't have to inhale the roasted moss common in some parts. I'd rather not have to spend such expenses on some sleazy charlatan to give me something I can get for a quarter of the price back at home. 

I talk as if home itself isn't a gift to visit - my corner of Thaln never ceases to surprise me with how well kept in its beauty, despite my absence, but on this occasion I hadn't had much chance to appreciate the sights. I'd received a letter from my cousin that my younger brother - Abele - had fallen ill. I feel guilt now that my first instinct was to suspect a macabre joke that he'd reeled my gullible relation into. The timing too, was poor. In the midst of the ball fiasco, no less, I was given the letter by a nervous courier who I'd likely made ever the more antsy by my less than cool conduct. I took flight homeward bound almost immediately after reading the letter in full - concluded with my cousin reporting an urge from Abele for me not needing to visit. It was uncharacteristic enough to shock me into action - brief flashes of my father's last days controlling me more than anything.

Quite the luck that it turned out to be a false alarm. Abele had contracted some obscure fever and in the time it took for the letter to deliver had seemingly mostly recovered - although still bedbound. Normally this would have elicited anger, but this time it sparked relief.  He was well enough to only require me to stay a few days to ensure the illness was not to have a recurrence. I considered petitioning for more time away, but I'd missed enough with the situation at the ball that I couldn't permit myself to remain more than that. My best physician was to keep me updated with regular letters for a month. I suspect my brother would refuse to see him longer than that.

Now back at Candaeln, I fan the cigarette smoke away from my face. I've been watching it burn away outside the Iron Roses' keep, dressed in shirt and trews. Starkly modest, frankly, but the stress of the past week has stripped my extravagance bare. It'll return - likely as soon as I'm sent out on task. For now, I'll bear the cross of modesty. 

And as quickly as it was lit, it fades away. Such is life. 

I find myself floating back towards the keep, mostly aimless in direction. And then I looked down to my shirt sleeve, to notice a dispersion of ash across my top. 

[color=d72525] "Oh...for...[b]Merda![/b]" [/color]

This shirt wasn't even a favourite. In fact, it almost wasn't worth the visit to the maids to have it cleaned. 

Angrily, I stormed into the keep, looking for the maids quarters. A week ago, this wouldn't have happened.