"Can't I at least get a kiss?"
Dagramir would protest as he was persuaded, half-naked, towards the ajar window of a Bree-town house. First floor. Bedroom. As to be expected. The bare, young woman whose name he had forgotten amidst the heat of passion would have only giggled, before continuing her efforts to remove him from the premises, handing him his boots and shirt that had been rapidly discarded the previous night. Rays of the dawning sun beating against the glass, illuminating the scars of his back.
"Quickly!", she would state in a hushed, commanding tone. "Before me father wakes-".
No sooner had she uttered the words, did her aforementioned father come walking straight into her room, a fulfilled smile on his uninformed features.
"Alice! Wake up, petal! Yer tutor will be 'ere soon-...", the balding Bree-lander would begin in a jovial tone as he gracefully opened the door, before his hazel eyes would focus upon the sight before him. The girl would squeak in embarrassment, and distress, making a quick grab for the ruffled covers that lay over her bed to cover her naked form.
It would take Dagramir no longer than the awkward stare-down that would happen as a result, before turning and rather quickly increasing his efforts to leave. The steadily rising voice of anger booming out towards him, the rogue would swing his legs out the window, preparing himself for a controlled descent. Though the charging local at his rear would give him little room for adjustment. Rather than facing the wrath of yet another angry father to add to the ever-growing list, he takes the easier option. A reckless drop to the street below. Just as the other's fingers would reach the windowsill, Dagramir takes the leap out into the safety of the air.
Taking only a few seconds for him to free-fall towards his intended target, he would land on the canopy of a stall positioned just off from the window, his pale body being enveloped in a sea of red and white cloth. His landing cushioned by the supporting bars of wood, and the fruit that would lay damaged below him. Laughing, he would wade his way through his tangled prison, flopping rather crudely to the ground. At least for him, the owner of said stall was just down the road, gathering more produce for the day's shift. Catching yet another lucky escape of the day.
"You fuckin' bastard! Ah'll 'ave your fuckin' head!", would be the enraged roar heard from the level above. Dagramir would at least take the time to slip on his weathered boots, and to ruffle his short, curled hair, before looking upwards at the regional pair who would peer down towards him, with varying levels of anticipation, for very different reasons.
A rather loose grin appearing on his clean-cut face, he raises his hands to protest his innocence. "Now, now! That's not necessary...", Dagramir would begin, using the charm that had gotten him into this mess to try and calm the situation down. Though, unfortunately for the Gondorian, the shouting had caught the attention of the unfortunate stall-keep whose stall lay ruined beside him. Hearing more garbled shouts of confused rage from just down the road, he would take one last look up towards the window. "Sorry, darling! Gotta run!", though who he directed his message to, even he would be unsure.
With that, the young man would quickly turn and sprint off in the opposite direction of the ever approaching furious noise, though a grin would once again take hold, as he would hear the higher-pitched yelps of encouragement coming from who he presumed to be Alice. Pulling his shirt over his head to give himself a little more decency, as he darted past, and between, the various people milling through the town. Knowing he would not lose the owner of the stall, and any mean friends he brought with them, through the hustle and bustle of Bree, Dagramir would do what he did best. Take to the roofs. Leaping from the ground, to a fence, and then scampering up a wall to a low-lying roof, he would stride off over tiles into the night. Victorious, in more ways than one.
Perched atop one of the houses just off diagonally from the infamous Prancing Pony, the significantly older, bearded Gondorian would smile to himself, reminiscing. The midnight moonlight dancing gracefully off of the tiles he would sit comfortably upon. Such times were infinitely simpler. When the only things he had to worry about was where he was sleeping at night, and more importantly, whom he was sleeping with. Taking a customary swig of the bottle that sat comfortably in his gloved grasp, he would sigh out into the air. Where had the time gone? Just around a decade had past since the raven-haired rogue had first set foot in Bree. A decade of debauchery and illegalities that he had somehow lived through. From snatching coin purses in the Pony, to now being a dependable part of a company of sellswords. A brief chuckle would come over him as he realized that was actually how he met Taala, of all people. Pinching the purse from an innocently gullible former lover of her's.
Now things were different. The lines of morality had become blurred. And he hated it. Over the course of years, and spending his time with what he considered to be the wrong people, he had developed a conscience. Albeit, a heavily flawed one, but it was still limiting to him all the same. It's what led him to the loss of his family. It's what led him to tying a rope around his neck on that fateful past summer's evening. And it is what was leading him to the doubts about his future he was having. Still ever in his prime, was the young man, but he knew he was significantly less younger than he was that morning following his rendezvous with 'Alice'. Having already deduced the issue, his problem was solving it. Surely the purpose he had been searching for since awaking under the rubble and ash of his previous home was more than occasionally being used as a weapon by someone unable to fight their own battles?
Perhaps that's why alcoholism was taking hold of his already ravaged body. It was now more noticeable than ever, as even he looked with disdain down towards his only companion. The bottle. A grimace setting on his face, he mulled over the thought of throwing it away, though he couldn't accomplish such without taking one final gulp. Which he did. Tossing the somewhat empty bottle down onto the cobbles below, a satisfying 'smash', accompanied by the wailing distress of street cats; that was the easy part. The hard part was the following question that would accompany his thoughts. 'Why now?'. Of all the times for him to doubt himself, why would now be the time? And why could he not get that damn copper-haired enigma out of his mind? Flirting came as second-nature. As did the fun that came with it. The wonders of gentle suggestions, and teasing jests. And he was very accustomed to such engagement. Yet the pangs of disappointment when one departs were unavoidable. The toils and troubles of attraction, one could only assume it would end up fatal. But for whom does the bell toll? He was no longer youthful, and care-free, nor was he interested in angering a certain colleague. But there, her name remained defiant, etched in the cornerstone of his mind. Was that the reason he was discarding his past more freely than before? Was that why he felt...guilty?
Closing his eyes, and leaning back against the angled slope of the roof, he would enjoy the serenity that came with the open air. Though at least he could determine one thing from his musings, and the endless questions that would plague his ever-roaming mind. He preferred when he was afflicted with his previous concussion.
At least when he was, he knew why the world span around him.
