[He never gets letters. Not as Anders, and certainly not as Detlef as that man had only lived for a pair of months. Intrigued, he opens the envelope and reads... only for his face to crumple. He doesn't cry. He has enough control for that, at least, but it's a close thing.
The letter is carefully folded and tucked into the belt pouch that doesn't hold a destructive kitten, as is the token he'll never use. He has no right to it.
Screw Justice, screw the angry stares he'll get in the tavern, he needs a drink.]
no subject
The letter is carefully folded and tucked into the belt pouch that doesn't hold a destructive kitten, as is the token he'll never use. He has no right to it.
Screw Justice, screw the angry stares he'll get in the tavern, he needs a drink.]