"One must always hope when one is desperate..."
Gustave Flaubert (December 12, 1821 ? May 8, 1880) French writer
He didn't know how he got there. If he was asked later, he wouldn't be able to tell you what route he took, what he saw, or even what the weather was like that summer evening. He may vaguely recall Kitty was finishing up her shift. He might remember walking through the inn and up to the room he kept at the inn, although he wouldn't be able to say what it was he went up to the room for. He wouldn't remember what he drank, if asked later (although the odds on favorite was that he was knocking back scotch).
He had but a singular thought. One purpose that moved him to action. One reason for being there at the inn that night.
The tempered smile faded behind the beard as quickly as it formed at the gentle jest from his friend. He nodded as he absently turned the wedding band on his finger. A weighty silence lingered for another breath or two between Gypsy Witch and Barrister, before he leaned across the table and begged her help privately.
The man ran his hand over his face and dropped his attention to the marred surface of the table between them. He listened as she spoke, the burden of what was asked of her, carried in tones gently and softly. In hushed whispers, heads bowed over the table, they spoke...one desperately holding onto the hope against hope, the other bearing the weight of the man's frail longing and offering reassurance with her touch.
He left the place in Lilliana's wake, absently flipping the blinking device in his pocket. He clung to Lilli's words, clung to the device in his hand. Such was the nature of hope. It came in the form of a warm touch, a sunrise, a friend's jest, a blinking device.
(My thanks to CherubicMagic's awesome player. Her post related to the exchange can be found here... We All Search For Something. Yes, I am very behind in my postings).