You open the door, just as the man who called out earlier is again about to knock. He grimaces, staring you in the eye as if expecting you to speak. When you don't, his look turns from expectation to frustration. You find yourself growing somewhat concerned.
The man in front of you is an imposing force. He stands several inches taller than you, with layers of clothing covering his broad frame. His beard is neatly trimmed, but a coarse shadow has started to spread across his cheeks where the morning shave fails to hold through the night. Dark, leathery skin from years of working in the sun—his black eyes bear the weight of a man who has never had a moment to stop fighting.
Unexpectedly, he grabs you by the lapels of your wool coat, violently pulling you closer.
“Tell me what you saw this time, Aidan!”
- If you answer, "How about you let go of me first?" Go to 10.
- If you do something else, comments below and your story will continue as soon as possible.
(Image from Wikimedia Commons of James Beckwourth, not necessarily a
character portrayed in this story. Used for illustration purposes only.)
I say "How about you let go of me first?", smile, and raise my eyebrows expectantly.
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