Morning, the 10th of Loshis 2720
Once room service was ordered and Niccolette was done in the bathroom Jean dragged himself, reluctantly from the warm embrace of the bed and walked, a little stiffly into the rooms lavish onsuite.
His shoulders and back were ached slightly and as he used the facilities and tried to make himself, at least somewhat, presentable he rolled his neck and shoulders till the stiffness eased. Jean retrieved his underwear from where they had been abandoned, on a thankfully dry bit of floor and pulled them on.
They had been made to order by a very relented tailor here in the Stacks, Juniper Feldspar was one of the very few people who knew his secret. In all respects, but one, they were a normal pair of gentleman's undergarments. Accept for the cleaver padding, once he had buttoned them Jean felt more like himself.
Though when he looked at his bloodied and damp chest wrappings he could picture the slight tailor's look of slight annoyance that he was not wearing one of the far more comfortable garments that Juniper had made for him. Jean allowed himself a slight chuckle at that.
After carefully listening at the door, to make sure the hotel staff had left, Jean walked back out into the room and a smile lit up his gaunt face. Partly at the smell of rich coffee and sumptuous food arrayed on the table, and partly at the sight of Niccolette artfully leaning against a chair.
Then Jean saw her fingers toying with her wedding ring and he felt a pang of guilt, grief and sadness.
He let out a slight sigh as he got himself a cup of the dark strong coffee and added a heaped spoon of coarse brown sugar and downed half of it.
Before he tucked into the food, he regarded Niccolette.
"Thank you Niccolette, truly." His eyes moved to the ring.
"He was, and remains one of the best men I have ever known." As he spoke his free hand rested on his chest over his heart.
It was then the memory of that burn scar that resembled a hand print on Niccolette's otherwise perfect unmarred skin, and he could not help but think, that by its size, it would have to be a man's hand.
Then with restrained enthusiasm he tucked into the food like a polite man who has not eaten in a decent meal in over a week, which he in fact was.
When he paused in his eating, he looked up from his plate, a little sheepish.
"Sorry, I'm afraid I haven't been taking care of myself as well as I perhaps should of late "