Member
Location: The Strand, London (Glimmeric)
Thalken paused his examination of the crime scene when he heard someone talking to--him? His head slowly swiveled to the side, and his dark eyed gaze sought out the source of what he viewed as an intrusion. His gaze inevitably landed on Michael with such intensity that it practically bored into the man. There was also a coldness to Thalken that was clear as day, and yet apart from that, one could not really tell exactly what he was thinking or feeling. He preferred it that way, as he should hate to be predictable.
He rose to his feet. Given his standoffish demeanor, it was yet to be determined if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He did a onceover of Michael and Thomas before taking in those in the crowds surrounding them. It was not too difficult for him to deduce the reasoning behind the request for his assistance. Apart from the butcher, he was easily the fittest man there. His help was definitely needed. But to do it front of all these people? He didn't want an audience! His lips thinned, and his jaw clenched as he seemed to wrestle with the decision for a moment. Would it ruin his reputation? What if word got back to his father that he was publicly helping people? Why was it so hard for him to choose to do something good?!
Thalken quickly pushed aside the flurry of self-defeating thoughts and doubts. "Fine," he retorted gruffly, before he could change his mind. If there was any hope for him to dissociate himself from his father's cruel ways, it was here and now. He couldn't pass up on opportunities to make a more positive difference, no matter how insignificant that difference was. Thalken sighed before finally walking over to the legs of the dead Lord Galloway. He leaned down and got a firm grip before nodding to Michael that he was ready.
Location: Westminster Hospital
Fyror refused to let defeat or hopelessness overcome him, even if the odds did seem to be stacked against him. If nothing could be done to save Millicent, if it was a lost cause, it would hurt him, truly. But it would hurt him just as much if he sat back and did nothing. He had to try something, anything, to save her from this terrible fate. He was not the type of man who could just sit back idly while people suffered. No, he was a man of action. He would put everything on the line to protect an innocent life. He was at least glad to hear that Dr. Graham was willing to do the same, that he wouldn't let fear of retribution rule him. Fyror would surely need all the help he could get with this.
His attention was diverted from the doctor as there was a knock on the door followed by the entrance of a nurse. No sooner had she explained the situation did a familiar voice cut through the air. Well, it was nice to know Mrs. Wyndham was alive and well. Her lungs were clearly unaffected by the iron rod that had impaled her. He nodded his head in response to Dr. Graham and followed close behind him. It was easy to locate the room that Mrs. Wyndham resided in. All one really had to do was follow the shrill sound of her voice as it echoed through the halls of Westminster Hospital.
As they neared, Fyror heard another female voice chime in. Unfortunately, it did not sound like Millicent's, and that notion was confirmed as he and Dr. Graham entered the room. It was Emma who was speaking now, and the words that fell from her lips couldn't have hit him any harder. "WHAT?!" he practically spat. The words spilled out unchecked, coming out so much harsher than he would've liked. Anger had rapidly boiled to the surface, and it threatened to spill out even more. Realizing that, he quickly turned on his heels and sent his butt outside the room to get a grip. His rugged features were only rendered that much harsher and threatening when he got riled up like this. He took some deep breaths as he tried to calm his racing heart and to reign in the anger. That anger was better reserved for Lord Rutherford, and Lord Rutherford would most certainly pay for what he has done to Millicent. Fyror would make sure of it.
After some decently sufficient cool off time, he finally made his way back into the room. He tried to keep his facial expression more or less deadpan. That alone didn't exactly make him seem more approachable, but it was the best he could do in the given circumstances. His stoic demeanor was at least somewhat befitting his role as a captain in the British infantry. "Sorry about that. Now tell me what happened," he stated. His voice serious as his gaze met each of theirs.
