#thequeensman

      “I believe you are mistaken there. Should get yo’ eyes checked.”

Day 462 arriving at an inn in the dead of night. A traveller seeking answers for crimes committed in his name barged in, enquiring for a room on his long journey towards the truth. • • • #thequeensman #tavern #city #night #inn #traveller #lights #sky #path #crampt #secret #fiction #book #inspiration #bookinspiration #illustration #draweveryday #sketch #art #watercolourdrawing #watercolourart #watercolour #watercolourpainting #watercoloursketch #environmentart #fantasy #fantasyart #fantasysketch #fantasypainting #fantasydrawing https://www.instagram.com/p/BwfGERpl2Jf/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1o1213eohuyl9

The snow, however, was the icing on the cake. And it didn’t help that the one-bedroom apartment made for cramped quarters. Still, at least they had plenty of food, and they would be warm. All things considered, it could have been much worse.

             eliot narrowed his eyes. it didn’t look like just a scratch. especially with the way remy was having trouble standing. he sniffed. most of his friends were safe. he  considered gambit someone he had to protect too. even if the guy could take  care of himself.               he was at his side in a second, an arm looping around his waist to keep him  upright. “you’re a terrible liar, man.” there was a pause. “not all of my friends are safe.             “just hang on. ‘m gonna take care of you.” he held on to remy tight, taking a moment to examine the bandage work. “it’s a start. ‘m gonna have to stitch you up... don’t fight me, man. it ain’t gonna be pretty if you do.”

Text: take mei ‘m urs

Rogue wondered why these missions were always her job. Just because she ran on the wrong side of the tracks, once upon a time, didn’t make her the best choice for getting in touch with lowlifes and scumbags now. It’d been years since then. They really should have sent Logan instead. Some days, he was a lowlife, and damn proud of it.  Still, here she was, dressed to the nines in a slinky bit of green that played peekaboo as she moved. Or at least it looked that way. A pale, nude colored body suit made the illusion a good one. While she might trust her friends enough to run around in whatever she liked, Rogue really didn’t want any of these folks in her head if she could help it. Diamonds, courtesy of the Professor, glittered at her wrists, throat, and ears.  She looked good. More than that, she looked expensive. Which was part of the lure when dealing with thieves. Rogue was suddenly thankful for her troubled childhood. Mystique had been a hell of an acting coach. Rogue pulled up the whisper of her psyche now, putting it in the crisp click of her heels, the inviting sway of her hips, and the sultry curve of her lips.  Rogue could flirt, she was good at it, but she was rarely subtle in her danger.  The bar was high-end, the stools probably more expensive than anything she owned. She slid onto one, the slit in the side of her dress revealing a long stripe of toned leg. “Whiskey neat,” she told the bartender, because hell if she was drinking something weaker, and flicked the man sitting beside her a slow, appraising look. He was good looking and dressed in a way that said he was very well aware of it; good, vanity she could work with.  “Mr. LeBeau? I’m Marianne Page. My assistant spoke to ya on the phone.”