- Wed Aug 23, 2017 10:31 am
Tristan just laughed. The memory of the bully seemed to lighten her spirits which might have been odd, but it was indeed a pleasant thought since they managed to find a stronger friendship through adversity. Everyone always said they would just "laugh about it later", and here they were. "Those were the days. Clear wanker, that one. I'm sure he's living it up somewhere, maybe running his parent's store like he kept bragging about." Tristan rolled his eyes. He didn't wish the worst on the kid who didn't know any better than to pick on his fellow classmates, but he was sure he was living a quite, humble, if not miserable little life in the rural parts of England.
He held the door and let her head out first, but together, they stepped out into the crisp, evening air. The streets were busy but the sounds were nothing like the confined sound of chatter and bar noise. He offered his arm again as they started to stroll, wandering in the direction of a park he knew was nearby. It even smelled like a sweet summer rain was inbound, but London always smelled like that. Damp. Dreary. But as he looked down at his current company, he thought to himself that she brightened even the darkest moments of his life. A smile found his lips as she spoke in Gaelic, her voice like a gentle melody when she use the old words. "That you did. Wasn't much of a knight back then, getting my ass beat up on the grounds more than once per school year?" He chuckled. "But you know even now I still don't think I'd want to fight back." His mother was a pacifist; While Tristan was a soldier and would surely defend himself, it would take a lot to push him over that edge. It wasn't that he'd gone soft, but being the Hand to King didn't put him too much in the arena, so to speak.
He made sure to keep a slow and steady pace for her to move with ease and not rush her. Tristan was relatively taller than his companion for the evening stroll, which was a humorous contrast to the days before; the lanky teenage version of Tristan who was inches shorter than he was now, closer to the height of the pixie who tolerated him in the woeful days of puberty and all of the awkward nonsense that seemed to follow. He never really bragged about his new physique but held a certain pride over it in his own mind. His mother didn't raise a cocky braggart, after all.
"Oh, if you need to leave or step away, feel free. I can even send for a car, if you’d like—but right now neither of us should try to travel by any other means—“ he meant apparating, since her fragile state and his aching bones would only make things worse. “I'm just walking towards a little park over that way--but you don't have to feel obligated to stick around with the old, lonely marine." When he was in this area, Tristan always made the walk down to the park before heading home. As a Marine, he used the routine to clear his head before diving back into work, and now that he had company? It was lovely. Still, he wanted her to know she was more than welcome to stay, as it was clearly written in his blue-green gaze.