|The Man Seen|
|Summary:||In which Tommas resists the urge to punch Nicodemus in the face.|
|Related Logs:||Benedict/Nico logs.|
|Town Square — Stonebridge|
|Square-like and busy.|
|May 10, 289|
It's late morning and the center of town is busy with merchants and their customers all trying to share a single space. There's a general press of bodies, one among them a hedge knight in black with healing bruises on his face. He's at a leather-worker's stall, looking through the jerkins he has for sale and peering at the lacing of a dark brown one.
"The settings off on that. It'll tear in a fortnight," comments the large figure that casts a shadow over the stall with a painfully familiar voice. There is little humor or warmth to be found in Tommas's tone as he states a hard, cold fact. One which the leather-worker gives him dirty look over, snatching up the jerkin from display.
The hedge knight holds still, save allowing the jerkin to be wrenched away by the shamed shopkeeper. "I thought it looked a little off," he agrees, before turning to peer up at the large, looming, ax-wielding kitten-rescuer. "Hello, Tommas. I wondered when you might find me."
The Groves sworn does loom magnificently, hand lingering at his belt in a manner that warns but does not threaten. "Hello, Nicodemus or Ser…I suppose you have more right to that title than the name," Tommas greets bluntly.
"All right," Ser Lawson allows. "Are you going to hit me? because if you're going to hit me, I'd like to move away from the stand, first."
Tommas stares down at Benedict for a long moment, taking an obliging step back and folding his hands behind his back. After you? He does not make any immediate move to hit him, taking his measure of a man who he once called friend and lord.
Benedict/Nicodemus nods, stepping away from the stall and finding a spot near where the bridge begins that's relatively free of others. He drops his hands to his side and lifts his chin. "Thanks."
He follows behind, silently, hands remaining clasped behind his back as Benedict's path leads them into an area from others. When that chin is lifted Tommas lifts his huge mitt of a hand, pulling it back with every indication that he is about to lay the smack down. Air whistles past Benedict's ear, but the blow never lands. "I would not hit a craven man," he says softly.
Benedict keeps his eyes open, his gaze on Tommas, jaw clenching a little as that fist comes for him… and then past him. "Ah," Nicodemus murmurs flatly. "Then what is it you would like from me, Ser Belte?"
"Nothing." The word is simple, as often words from Tommas are known to be. "I just wanted to see it for myself." Him. This. "I know Kitt's seen you, Day's sharp enough she might have found you herself with that rumor rolling about — but. Aye. There you is. And what you'll be is up to you, just as its been."
Nicodemus lifts his brows a little. "Well. Thank you for that. I suppose. If there's nothing else, good day, ser."
"Good day." Tommas makes to take a step away and then pauses, turning back to face Nicodemus. "Oh, and Ser? If whatever course you take leads the little Lady to cry as she did before, I'll see that you don't get the opportunity to do so again." It's a promise. "If you've any letters for them, before you go — you can send them through me."
Nicodemus begins to walk away, though he stops and turns as Tommas speaks again. "I appreciate your righteous concern on behalf of Rosanna, ser," he replies calmly, "but that is not your threat to make."
"I rather think my Lord wouldn't mind too much at it," Tommas replies amiably, unbothered by the /rights/ of threats coming from Nicodemus of all people. "Good day."
"But what would Rosanna think?" Nicodemus asks before lifting his hand again in a wave farewell. He bypasses the leather stand in favor of another.