[The Unlucky Game Master]

Arc 7.1

"He was a tall man, with black hair slicked back, while wearing a genial smile on his debonair features in his grey tail coat and black empire top hat."

He watches the scene, while tilting the brim of his hat down, with his murky grey eyes, as a devilish smile forms on his lips.

What a pretty lass, she is, with her cap decorated in floral over her bright golden hair.

So carefree they are,....a pity.

He can't let his own toy break, because of ignorance, now can he?

That wouldn't be fun.

Charlotte shows a surprised look, but quickly returns to normal, as I look towards where she watches.

A man, walks with the air of a gentry, his grey eyes send chills down my spine, I know not why.

"Good'day, may I trouble you for a place to stay for the night?"

Before I can open my mouth to disagree, charlotte leads the man towards the cottage, warmly.

The man places his hat to the side, while I look at him warily, ready to protect charlotte, at a moments notice.

"My apologies, for abruptly imposing, but I swear to recompense, for the inconvenience."

I relax as I slowly return the warm smile with Charlotte, sitting in a chair, I lean forward to shake hands with the man.

"It's no trouble, may I know your name?"

"Roy, Roy Walters."

I soon learn of the mans broken wheel carriage, on the way to town.

More and more gents, travel around, as the rails increase, with factories flourishing.

I watch as the man takes out a piece of gold guinea from his coat pocket, sliding it, onto the table.

I feel unease, watching Charlotte, accept it giddily.

Early in the morning, I happen upon, a scene of frivolous jolly.

Shame, overcomes my being, for such stray thoughts, of skepticism.

With his sleeves rolled up and loosed hair, he laughs, while eating with them, around the small table.

Milk and butter, was served, without stinginess.

Walking with the man, towards his carriage, I carry wool in one arm.

The horses whinny, loudly, upon our approach.

"I'll be gone, by the end of the night, to head to Charing Cross."

Trading wool, I take a cloth dress, thanking the woman.

At dusk, I pace in front of the fireplace, with Charlotte sowing, hearing the floorboards creak, with every rock.

Looking into the crackling, fires, I watch them.

"Come with me to Charing Cross, I'll ask the man."

Nothing, awaits us, in these rural areas, more and more people are heading, to the cities.

From further afield even, scottish, irish, even the Wales!

To show hesitance, would be a fools folly.

Packing in a rush, we hurry, holding hands, to rush before the man leaves.