Young Writers Society

William:

Well this had been a bit of a surprise. And yet, not really. More like a general acknowledgment of what I had not previously known. At the same time, though, it did appear that I had felt a tinge of shock. Even I could admit that.

Lady Popplewell seemed to be in quite the bout of emotion, speaking in a rushed, rather pitiful manner towards someone who seemed to be in earnest. It looked like a good time to intervene, and knowing Poppy, it'd be better to do it sooner than later. Devious she was but rash she was also.

"-and let me see the king!" She was struggling when I approached, tears pricking her wide, childish eyes. Eyes that, in all honesty, could never be read in a manner that would ever tell one the truth. There was something about those orbs of her that completely bipassed the heart. On the contrary; they acted in her stead. The guard looked absolutely bewildered.

"Lady Popplewell," I said smoothly, placing myself directly in the position that I believed to be mine. The one at her right side. The one of someone who loyally did what was asked, but in what way was completely of my own accord. I worked hard to be in this position and would keep it. "is something the matter?"

She turned her eyes towards me, brows furrowing before the words spilled from her lips, "Why, William. I hadn't expected to see you here."

The guard, who had been somewhat unsure of his actions, and a little embarrassed that he needed to be brash with this said woman, looked to me with relief spreading across his features. Of course, I wasn't here to help him in the least.

"You should be resting, milady," I said. "Would that not be the proper thing to do?"

Her hurt expression filtered into that of annoyance before returning to that impervious pout. "But I must speak with Derrick. It is of great importance."

"Yes, but Derrick does not wish on company as of yet," I said. "Of course, you will have you chance to speak with him. In time."

She let her arms fall from the guard in front of her, never changing that expression of hers for a second before turning to stride back down the hall without so much as a goodbye. Rash. yes, that really was a good word for her.

After murmuring a few apologies to the guard, I went in search of Poppy, catching up to her with little to no real difficulty whatsoever, though I'm sure that had been her plan. The mask of sadness was replaced with frustration, her eyes glaring daggers with as much ferocity as I could have expected. "I needed to speak with Derrick."

"Patience, milady," I stated simply. "Good things come for those who wait."

"I'm sick and tired of waiting."

~~

"Sandor, we have a problem," is what Garis would have liked to have said, but Sandor's expression indicated that would be a not very good thing to say right now, and considering Sandor's expressions were more open than a wide open book, not to mention easier to read than one (despite years of court life and being friends with him, but that was part of why he stuck around), Garis decided that it would be in the best interests of both of them if he didn't mention the problem right then or quite that way. It would be better to let Sandor relax a little first, via drinks (but not too many since Garis needed Sandor sober enough to be reasonable), which meant a trip to their favorite pub.

So he sidled up alongside the taller man (who was no longer that much taller thanks to Garis' newest and currently most favorite pair of shoes), smiled his trademark smug fox smile, and said instead, "Someone looks like they need a drink."

"Hello, Garis," came Sandor's relieved and almost-grateful reply, and he looked over at the ex-assassin, only to do a double take. There was a moment of disbelieving silence as he looked Garis up and down before asking, his tone incredulous, "Did you get taller?"

"Maybe," said Garis, beaming. "You like?"

"I'm not sure I—wait. What the nine hells are you wearing?"

"I'll take that as a 'No.'" Garis pouted. "And for the record, they're called heels. They make people taller."

"I can see that, but why are you wearing them?"

"Because they make me taller."

"And why do you need to be taller?"

"The ladies like men that are taller than them instead of on the same eye level."

Sandor just stared, so Garis stared back but tripped as a result. Cursing under his breath, the ex-assassin lifted himself up off the floor and tried to regain some measure of lost dignity as he brushed himself off while Sandor kept staring at him, completely unimpressed.

"And you're wearing those again why?" asked Sandor, and behind the very unimpressed expression, Garis could see the humor just itching to worm it's way out as a full laugh, and the ex-assassin did so hate to be laughed at instead of with, especially by Sandor, even if it was only in his head.

"Oh, shut up and go get a drink," Garis snapped before stalking off a little ways ahead (but not too far ahead). Sandor would catch up. After all, they were both headed to the same place.

Besides, he could probably use the sort-of-not-laughing at his tripping thing to divert Sandor's attentions once he broke the bad news.

Gregory

The very first thought- no, the very first inkling of a thought upon hearing The News (as Gregory would now and forever refer to it) was that he was going to kill that boy. That boy being Sandor- killing method being a nice, hard beating. Of course, to beat Sandor, Gregory had to find Sandor, and everybody knew how much the boy adored that bar. Disgusting little drunkard. Granted, it had been Gregory's second home before he had been shipped off on campaign... but that point was mute. The Dancer was where he would find Sandor, and so The Dancer was where he was. He just had to keep reminding himself that a possible murder was the only reason he was there.

Clinking glasses, rowdy laughter and the all-to-familiar smell of alcohol mixed with... well, just a bit of everything... it was all so familiar, so inviting. So inviting, in fact, that Gregory had half a mind to plop himself down and order a drink. He almost did plop himself down- right next to a scronny, pale boy sitting at the bar.

He caught himself last-second, narrowing his eyes in concentration. He didn't have time for a drink right now- maybe as a reward for later, but not now. He had to remember his rage. Rage and the fact that Sandor had a tendency to ruin everything he got those grimy little hands on, and, considering the direction of the stories that Gregory had just heard, this was one of those 'everythings.' Bloody little weasle.

A quick glance to the left told him exactly where that particular weasle was. Speak of the blood and... that wasn't how the saying went, was it?

"Sandor!"

Heads turned- however unimportant they were. Gregory couldn't hold back a slight grin; one that only grew when the weasle-boy flinched. Sandor's eyes narrowed, much to Gregory's delight. He was obviously unwanted company, and for once, that was fine by him.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

That almost stung... but not quite. Gregory was too angry-with-a-side-of-satisfaction to feel 'stung.' He took a few steps closer, shoving a few men out of the way in the process. So long as they didn't hit back, it didn't matter much. "Hunting you down, what else?" He pushed a slight growl into his tone- best his anger was known.

"Don't you have other things to do?"

Gregory's jaw twitched at the feminine voice. An unfamiliar one, to make matters worse. He turned his head slowly, ready to give this person, female or not, a piece of his mind (a very large piece, if he could help it). He stopped cold when he saw her, pretty hand on a pretty hip, pretty lips smiling, the opposite and very pretty hand on a pretty little neck. Bloody hell.

"Aren't you here for a drink?"

Well, that had been... unexpected. Before Gregory could so much as reply, he was being lead away by a complete stranger... a very gorgeous complete stranger, as far as he could tell. The fact that he was following with so little hesitation almost made him worry. Almost. The sly smirk on the girl's face and the look in her eye were more distracting than the smell of the actual drinks- who could focus on a gut feeling with somebody looking at you like that?

He shot a hard glare at Sandor- a warning of sorts. He'd be back. Right after he was aquainted with the girl who was leading him further away. As soon as you've explained the situation to her, you're going back to clobber that little beast. Something told him that the clobbering would be put off a while.

"That was an awfully daring gesture for such a pretty young woman," he muttered, turning back to the little problem in front of him.

A flick under his chin surprised him, as did the... whatever it was that was laced into her voice. Honestly, never in his life had he met anybody quite like this. He had met bold women, but she was raising the bar on his standards, and was already becoming well-liked.

"I couldn't just let you start a fight here on what's normally such a calm night." Such an alluring voice...

Gregory straightened out slightly, clearing his throat to the best of his abilities. "Yes, well, forgive me. Perhaps I'll take my fights to another place next time." His attempt at playfulness was weak- but he couldn't blasted help it. She was so... distracting. Which was definitely not a good thing. Was it?

She turned, ordered drinks, and led him to a table further back; the entire time, Gregory was transfixed. He was watching her hips sway, noticing the way her hair moved slightly every time she took a step, all the while smiling dumbly to himself.

The young woman (girl? He wasn't sure which term to use just yet) took the far seat, facing the rest of the bar, coy smile still pulling at her cute little lips. He took his seat, thankful to be facing her, and curled his fingers around the drink. Sandor could wait. For now.

"Maybe you should tell me why you're so determined to start a fight," she suggested.

Gregory took a small sip, still trying to wrap his head completely around this little situation. It wasn't working, and he was more than happy to give up for the time being. The attention was always welcome, and for now, he was going to bask in it.

"As soon as you grace me with letting me know your name." He smiled at her, leaning back casually in his chair.

Her expression didn't change even the slightest bit, much to Gregory's fascination. He had been expecting at least a slight frown. Not that he wanted one- oh no, he prefered the smile much more, thank you very much.

"Lily DerNoir." Her hand was offered, and Gregory took it gratefully, planting a kiss just below her knuckles.

"Beautiful name, m'dear."

"Thank you." Lily looked down at her lap, seemingly not ruffled enough by the compliment to blush- that was a shift in expression that he had been anticipating. "I'm sure a man such as you holds an equally wonderful name." Ah well, he'd have to work on that later.

Gregory bobbed his head slowly, though he was absolutely positive that his name didn't match his own splendor. "Gregory Buefront." Ugh, you'd think a man as creative as his father could have come up with something half as wonderful as his son. Maybe he'd get it changed...

Lily looked back up, smile gaining something that Gregory was all too happy to pin down as admiration. A hand was on his jaw- oh God- Lily's hand was on his jaw. "I seem to have been right."

Well that had been... he cleared his throat, more to hide the fact that he was flustered than anything else... another surprise. "Do you think so?" His hand slid over his lap- he had intended to place it over Lily's, but something made him stop. Obviously, he didn't want to make a wrong move at this point.

What if she meant that as an insult? Another moment of hesitation, for other reasons entirely, but it passed. It was impossible for a woman of her grace to insult anybody- particularly a man like him. Wasn't it? Yes, yes it was; he had nothing to worry about. He managed a chuckle. "There are times I assume that my father could have done a better job at naming me, but if you like it..." Maybe it held more... something (masculinity? Power? Authority?) than he had first assumed.

Lily smiled again, and Gregory smiled right back. Maybe it was time to start fresh- forget the pretty girl during the campaigne, forget Sandor (for the time being- he was still getting a beating at some point)... Why not have a nice home-coming for once?

Petronella

The boy had always been quick on his feet so Petra wasn't surprised by his ready interruption, but she was angry. Not that it lasted for long. It was already declining to a perturbed sulkiness because unfortunately William was probably right. Not that she'd be telling her servant that, of course.

"I'm sick and tired of waiting."

"Just a little longer," William assured her. Petra turned to examine his features - always so hard and fixed! - and she smiled at him. Fixed they might be, but those words meant as much to William as they did to her. Just a little longer. Yes, and then the throne would be hers one way or another.

"Where to now milady?"

"I need a room. I was hoping to see Derrick - you should have called him 'the king' by the way. I'll have to do it too, except for a few slip ups here and there, he is my cousin afterall, but to you he should always be the king." She paused for a moment and William nodded his consent. He was probably berating himself for that failure. Good. Petra needed her tools to be sharp and ready to cut. "So I was hoping to see Derrick and have him assign me a wing of rooms but this way is probably better actually. Let's find us a really incompetent courtier who will be stupid enough to insult me."

"I take it you want to be assigned something less than you deserve?"

"Oh you are clever!" Petra gave him a very winning smile but said nothing further on her plans. It wasn't that she didn't trust Wiliam, for in actuality she was foolishly certain of his loyalty, but she did ever so much like her servants to wheedle the information out of her. William had to ask before he got any cookies.

"I see. If you're given a lesser room but don't react with indignation, your cousins will think that you have no desire for power, thus cementing your facade that you're here out of grief for the late princess. They will of course give you a better set of rooms out of politeness and it's a win win for you." Petra gave William a very scathing look and pouted all the way to the courtier's office. How irritating! She really needed to find herself a less intelligent consort to whom she could actually reveal the cleverness of her plans herself and revel in her superiority.

They reached the office and William went inside to arrange her accomodation while Petra lurked in the hallways, her face a mixture of sadness and confusion for the benefit of all those passing by. And so far she hadn't seen Roan anywhere at all. That wass mildly worrying.

William:

I had one and only one superior and that was Lady Popplewell.

As I sorted out the manner of her quarters for the next bit, I couldn't help but fume quietly to myself. A rookie mistake, yes. It was generally something I shouldn't have forgotten, but to have to stoop down to such a level... No. I should take less offense. I needed to take less offense. King Derrick, as of now, was still as such and it would be extremely improper for me to think otherwise.

But damn was it ever infuriating.

"Nothing overly excessive," I stated plainly. "She is in a very fragile state of mind. I fear extravagance should only worsen her already wary mood."

The man, though meticulously dressed, appeared nothing short of boring, as he shuffled through sheets of paper. A mindless droll, really. All I needed was a few servants to help with luggage and a key for a room. This was bloody ridiculous. The only noise of recognition he gave was a slight humph in the back of his throat. An odd, annoying sound.

As he continued his shuffling, my brows furrowed in frustration. "Lady Popplewell is quite tired. I assume that she should receive a room presently?"

"Yes, yes," he mumbled, continuing his scan of the page. "One moment, if you please."

I felt as if my blood were boiling.

"Her things are still waiting in the coach," I added.

He humphed again, picking up a quill before scratching down something that may or may not have been even somewhat relevant to what had been occurring thus far.

"I also humbly request-"

The man stood, pulled open a drawer, than passed me a key. His heavy brow and soft exterior seemed to harden and focus in that mere moment. "This is for her room. A servant will be sent to show you where, exactly. The accommodations, including your own personal quarters will be attended to as well. You may go."

"Gladly," I replied. Bastard.

I then returned to where I had left Poppy. She was tapping her foot restlessly, arms crossed over her chest in that impatient manner of hers. My fury dissipated just a little bit. In all honesty, I could rarely remember a time I had ever been even somewhat angry at her, if there ever was. It was near impossible to ever stay angry when she was near. Of course, I would never admit that.

"Things sorted?" she asked.

"Rightly so," I replied. With that, a servant girl appeared from the office I had just been in, though where she had been hiding, I couldn't really tell. All I knew was the her shoulders were slumped and her eyes were directed towards the floor in that delicate obedience of the working class. I was not so modest.

"This way," she murmured stoically.

Vivian

Bloody hell what had she gotten into?

Her smile was still perfect as... Gregory, was it? continued talking. She had met many egotistical men but he took the cake. By a long way. But, by her standards, it was amusing. She laughed at the right moment, fuelled by her own enjoyment. He was so easily flustered by charm— far too easily flustered. Just a few flattering comments and one favour with just the right look, he would be invaluable for the next spell.

Still. While hearing every detail of his past campaign gave her much to flatter him with, it was getting tiring after the day she'd had.

Her eyes were going over the bar behind him, unnoticed as he was too absorbed in his own world. Vivian picked out the watchers— there were too many tonight. Why she wanted things quiet for just a little bit longer. If she knew the rumours about a coup, it would be foolish to think others didn't— before settling on Garis and Sandor. Talking quietly, Sandy now rather nicely drunk and shooting the odd glare back at her that she'd taken away his fight. From the look in his eye, he would probably need one. She knew the one reason Garis had brought Sandor to the Dancer.

As much as she would like to help Garis relax while Sandy and Gregory determined who was the better man, the watchers would need some attention. It was always hard to know with them. Some could watch for days and not move, while others could only be visible for a few hours and come up with all the information they needed. Especially with Garis and Sandor around.

Why if she could keep the bar's behaviour going normally past maybe a fight— if Sandor would enjoy one right now, she was not about to stop him— all the better.

She smiled at Gregory. He was about to enter his next story. Absolutely perfect. "I'm sure you have quite the treasure chest of stories to tell."

He paused, flustered yet again, before smiling. "Why, yes. When you've been on as many campaigns as I have..."

She smiled more. He was far too easy to manipulate. "Why don't you save some? Come back here... tomorrow, maybe? Then you can continue telling me." She stood and walked past him, trailing a hand along his jaw so he'd continue to look at her. Not like he needed the help. "It's been wonderful talking to you."

Vivian kissed her hand and placed the mark on his lips. She was still forbidden to him. His eyes glazed over, firmly entranced. It was nice to know her charms still didn't fail.

With a small wave and a hand trailing down her neck, she walked into the crowd.

"He's all yours," she said offhandedly to Sandor. He glared at her before she turned away to work her way down the bar line. Between that damn thief who'd made her pass out— with a Gypsy technique, no less— and going from Derrick to Garis to now Greg, it was hard to continue finding amusement in the situation.

It was time to join the watches. Depending on how they left, she'd know who to follow. Maybe she'd get lucky and spot some of her contacts among the patrons. Let her know if there were any Gypsies hanging around.

Note: Unless someone really wants to have the description of that fight note for note, we can just let it be implied. If not, then just retcon it later. Since this rather well wraps up the first scenes, I think we can move forward fairly well? :3 After this, Roan would be on his way to reunite with Poppy or whomever.

Roan

It didn’t take Roan long to find his way out of the catacombs. While disgusting and murky, the sewage canals would certainly serve him a good purpose--that of an escape route. And from what he could tell, there were no traces of human life in the catacombs. Snakes, however, were bountiful. And, after trudging through the grimy waters and god knows what else, he found a stairwell leading to the surface world.

Now, it’s quite notable that Roan stank. It wasn’t an unpleasant aroma that would warrant snarled noses in the high courts; no, it was a putrid aura of sorts that had even brought Roan to vomiting several times in the sewers.

However, odors aside, Roan had found his exit--and had finally burst through the gate to the back alleys. Roan scrambled into the dirt and buried his face into the ground, gasping for clean air. Dirt was clumped into his hair and his chest and shoulders were blackened and muddy. With a long, agonizing exhale, he stood.

He was certainly getting a raise for this. He began walking, his bare feet aching on the loose, jagged stones in the alleyway. He passed by a window and heard roars of laughter and music...and knew he was at the pub. Fitting, he thought, that the underworld met the ones on their way there in this one spot. He crouched instinctively and peered into the window for anything theft-worthy.

And whom he saw sank his heart.

Christ, he whispered to himself, I could blow the damned pub up and be done with them.

It was Sandor. The very one Poppy had encouraged him to...deal with, more or less, first. And Gregory, and that pesky not-Elizabeth from the castle. It could be a treat, certainl--

Perhaps he wouldn’t have to deal with Sandor after all.

Gregory took the first swing. Poor Sandor was shoved back by the blow, hit the floor, and scrambled as the men in the pub roared them on. It wouldn’t be long until men took sides. Until it was a mob war.

Roan loved mob wars.

However, as enticing as it was--and it was enticing--he had to clean himself up and find clothes that were neither 1. tights, nor 2. translucent. He backed away from the window and started down the dark alley before a younger man--scrawny, a beggar, and drunk-by-the-smell-of-his-breath-at-least--stopped him with a dagger to his throat.

“...hello,” Roan whispered.

“You must have money, must have goods to sell or food to eat. And this shiny knew dirk from the brawl inside is going to get it all from you...”

The man looked manic, crazed like a rodent in a sew--

God, Roan had to stop imagining the sewer. He cut his eyes at the man and swept his feet under the beggar’s legs, bringing him down to the ground. Roan took the dirk from his hand and straddled the man’s waist, holding the glistening blade against the beggar’s throat in reprise. Roan’s eyes were dark, demented in the way that only an assassin’s can become. “Perhaps you’re right, assuming that your afterlife is full of money and goods and food.”

The blond man’s eyes widened, blue as the morning sky after a new rain and terrified as a widow in the night.

“Beautiful dirk,” he said, and then saw the emblem embedded on the hilt of the weapon. A gilded hectagon with an impressed “S” in the center.

This was Sandor’s dirk. He grinned, his teeth more visible in the early moonlight than his own grimy skin.

“Good job, beggar,” Roan soothed, and ran a hand through the man’s thin blond hair. “I’m going to imagine that you’re that sweet little Elizabeth from the castle.” Roan nodded, smiling. “And I’m going to kill you.” He leaned in close, their noses touching. “It’s a gift, really. From me,” he covered the man’s mouth with his hand and turned the dagger on its tip, poising it over the man’s artery, “to you.” With a swift thrust, the dirk slit through the man’s throat, a spurt of warm garnet splashing against Roan’s chest. His legs and arms seized from the initial shock, eyes wild and horrified as if he had just seen the face of Satan himself.

Roan slid the dagger out of the man’s throat, watching his face those last few seconds before unconsciousness would nestle in...and then that warm little nap of leaving the earth would begin. He wiped the dagger’s blade on the man’s lips and cheek, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it onto Roan’s own shoulders.

“Money and goods and food to you, friend.” After donning the man’s pants, Roan heaved open the gate to the catacombs and hauled the beggar’s body to the mouth of the stair well. After mocking a cross in front of his chest, the murderer kicked the corpse in the ribs, forcing it down into the sewer.

He then looked at his new dagger, so fine and glossy from the moist blood that it cast a vague reflection of Roan’s thin face, his cheekbones high and even. “You’re going to make my job much easier,” he said, and grinned. “And I know just where you’ll end up resting soon.”

Petronella

It was small. Petra had known it was going to be small and terribly uncomfortable but as the servant girl led them into the room, she felt a whole new sympathy for the lower classes. It couldn't even be called a suite! The first room was square shaped and had enough room for one double bed, a small wardrobe, a quaint little chest, a wash stand and a rug on the floor. They weren't even nice fixtures, other than the little chest which was kind of pretty with its carved animals and rather whimsical design, but the rest was horrific! The colour scheme appeared to be burnt ochre - there wasn't a single item in the room that wasn't some shade of red or brown or orange.

The servant girl seemed to want to show them the adjoining rooms but William very firmly said:

"Milday is tired. She will take all meals in her room and should be advised when the king is ready to see her." William's voice was smooth and invited no questions, though there was a slight catch at the word 'king'. He was going to have to practice saying that.

"Yes, thank you, that would be-" Petra spoke in a distracted air and then turned toward her very small window with its orange curtains and took half a step forward. Behind her back, the servant girl smiled sympathetically, seeming to forget herself for a moment. Then she ducked her head.

"Yes, ma'am," she said. "The room of the left is the lady's bathroom and the one on the right is yours." The servant girl left. No sitting room. It was worse than she'd feared.

"William-" Petra's voice was distressed and shrill as he closed the door.

"I know, Poppy, I know." William crossed the room and placed a comforting hand on her arm - he always was one to cross social boundaries - before helping her to sit on the bed.

"I think I have underestimated you. Whatever did you say to get these rooms."

Before William had a chance to answer, the door opened to let in a smelly, poorly dressed man with a dirty mop of chestnut hair and a set of nondescript features. William's body went tense and Petra wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"You're giving me a raise," Roan said as he closed the door behind him.

"Firstly, where the blazes have you been and secondly how dare you come in here smelling like that! You smell like you've been living in the sewers and walking through ten feet of filth - how you got past the guards is beyond me, they must have been able to smell you a mile away! And one of them told you where my room was? Oh that makes me feel safe. My cousins have idiots working for them, any half witted drunkard could walk in here and slit my throat. It's not surprising that Ari and her sisters were so easily killed. Well. What have you got to say for yourself?" Petra gesticulated wildly with her arms before slumping into a huffy silence. Roan knew that sometimes he just had to let his mistress talk herself out.

"I'm not a fool. I didn't ask any of the guards where your room was, I just followed the sound of your screams of distress all the way here. This is where you're staying?" Petra gave him a sulky stare.

"Story time. Now. Before I decide to cut your salary instead - or something else. Maybe a few heads would improve the decor of this room."

William

"Maybe a few heads would improve the decor of this room."

I couldn't help but smile at her words.

The man - though distinctly soiled - was a rather pretty face to say the least. Feminine, almost, as his features were far too soft to be considered manly. That and his physique completely rectified any chance of masculinity.

Unfortunately, I had a very hard time keeping my eyes away from the male in question. He was an oddity, and things that were out of place tended to keep me occupied for hours on end. A challenge would keep me at bay, if anything else.

He flicked his eyes towards me for a brief second, no emotion passing through his features, before returning towards Poppy. A smile, though devious, slipped across his lips.

"Milady," I murmured, squeezing her shoulder softly. "Patience."

She sneered. "Yeah, yeah."

The Roan character had obliged himself by taking the only really open seat left; the chest. Crouching down low enough, he sighed, rested his back against the wall, and wiped some of the dirt off his brow with the hem of his sleeve. Much good it did. He seemed completely at ease as if rushing would get him nowhere. It was that calm, smoothness that sparked my interest.

Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect on Poppy.

She was getting anxious. Her hands were fidgeting and her eyes kept darting between him and I as if waiting for me to interject so she wouldn't have to. Apparently he wasn't going to listen to her, or so it would appear. He was yawning now, looking at his nails with a lazy bemusement that could only be expressed by those with little to nothing better to do. He looked as if he were enjoying himself immensely, nonetheless.

"If I may-"

Roan looked up, smirk growing. I suppose this was what he was waiting for. "Actually, I was waiting for you to leave."

I could feel my temper ignite.

Poppy's eyes widened for a second, then returned to their natural authoritative glare. "William is my eyes and ears, Roan. Anything I know, he knows. Anything I will come to know, eventually he will come to know. There is no need for secrecy."

"On the contrary," Roan stated. "There is absolute need for secrecy, milady."

"He will stay," she said. "And that is all."

I felt a sense of pride rush through me at her words, whether I should have or not. Either or, my interest was slowly waning when it came to this said Roan. At least, in a curious manner.

Roan

“If you do insist that your pretty puppy stay...” Roan cut his eyes at the servant boy and back to Poppy, and then rose from his seat upon the chest and nodded. “I have acquired two valuable assets this evening.”

“Assets? Roan, if you’ve been fishing for shiny things across the corridors...”

“You underestimate my sense of duty.” His voice dropped, not bothering with theatrics as it was a waste on Poppy. Everything was a waste on Poppy. From beneath his belt line, he retrieved both the dagger and the vial of sleeping potion. “Now, being an inherent gypsy of the lowly quarters of the underworld, I have not the sheer brilliance to devise a proper plot by which we may implement these assets--” Perhaps theatrics could work after all. “--but I have faith that you, such a lady of artistic and academic calibre, will have a proper idea as to what we may do.”

“You’ve a knife and a bottle of juice, Roan. This means nothing to me.”

“Oh, of course.” By that point, Roan had rid himself of his disgustingly grimy clothes and turned from the duo, washing himself down with Petronella’s personal wash cloth. Gradually, the stench subsided. As he pulled on new black tights, he glanced forward to that William boy who was staring at him with the most ferocious curiosity. Then again, it wasn’t every day that a man like William was to see another man dressing this way--

As a maid.

The assassin adjusted a corset around his torso and turned his back to William. “Be a darling, dear pup?” William silently took hold of the threads and began to tie them, squeezing Roan’s breath out once or twice along the way.

“Now, the vial is quite special, you s--” he lost his breath, “see... Within that minute portion of glass is a petrifying potion produced from veritable vegetation that induces a sleeping state equivalent to that of being comatose.”

“Comatose?”

“Comatose.” Roan sneered and peered at his figure in the mirror, frowning at his lack of hips. “Perhaps the bosom will compensate.”

“And what shall we be achieving by having such a potion?”

Roan had then donned the overcoat of a maidservant--black and white with frills and lace covering the front in an apron. He tied the belt around the back and adjusted the breasts, seeming uncomfortable. “You see, that potion is so rare, so valuable that only the most keen of rogues can procure it.”

Petra smiled. “And that implies servitude to the King, yes?”

“Indeed.” Roan returned to William, taking the man’s hands and using them to hold up the faux bosom while Roan secured it behind his back. “Now, I’m uncertain if this particular Rogue is still present, but it would be a delight to me,” he removed William’s hands from his chest in a fake-slap and with a wink, “if this potion belonged to a certain femme fatale who has taken a disliking to me.”

“A disliking, you say... One could never imagine someone disliking such a noble man of character like yourself, Roan. Such hygiene!”

Servant Pup chuckled.

“Laugh as you may, Dearest Miss, there is an individual in this castle, perhaps at this very moment, whom I would fancy seeing cold and alone in a burning casket.”

“I assure you that I can relate,” said Petra as she peered upon the face of Derrick on the wall. “So you have a potion that induces sleepiness,” she said, “a potion that is perhaps a signature belonging to a royal... Oh, I see!” Quite the devious, sly grin spilled across her features, something that was very out of character for a divine and practiced lady such as herself. “And the knife?”

“The knife is a dagger--a dirk.” The Maid-Roan had placed a mess of false hair on her--his--head and was adjusting it as (s)he spoke. “A dagger that belongs to darling Sandor.”

“Oh, my, you have been busy tonight.”

“And to acquire these things, I merely had to swan-dive from a tower, trudge through waist-deep sewage, and slit the throat of a sweet little beggar behind the pub.” Roan poked his lips out, checking for signs of believability. “I’d say fortune played a large hand.”

He pulled from the trunk of clothing a small container of scarlet lip stain, brushing a small amount onto his lips. Returning to William, he planted a smudge on his hand, frowning at the faint, almost-not-there stain. “This dry weather has been murder to my disguises.” His voice was gradually getting higher, adjusting to the role, no doubt. He applied more garnet to his lips and planted one final, approving mark to William’s cheek, leaving a perfect lady-like kiss on his pale skin.

“Dearest Poppy, we have plotting to do.”

Vivian

She never slept much when games were about to start.

With Sandor either at the Dancer or at the medics— she assumed, although she'd seen Sandor walk away from fights relatively in-tact, hangover notwithstanding— she didn't see much of a problem going to talk to Derrick this late. Even if he was probably in bed. Not like he minded much.

"What in God's name are you doing here?"

Vivian chuckled as she finished slipping in the just-squeeky-enough-to-wake-him window. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"No," he grumbled, rubbing his face as he pushed himself up. "You never come with good news."

She laughed, being careful not to alert the guards to her presence. "It's nothing too bad today— nothing I can't handle, at least."

His disbelieving look was just barely visible in the moonlight. "You haven't handled it yet?"

She waved a hand. "It might take a bit longer than normal, with another Gypsy afoot."

"What?"

"He knocked me out when I tried to relieve him of Entriken's Doze— it was stolen from Garis and mine's hiding place, and I'd hoped it'd be a bit easier to steal back, why I didn't tell you— and the technique is Gypsy." Vivian leaned against the windowsill, thinking what else to tell him just yet. "Oh. And don't wake up Sandor early tomorrow."

Derrick groaned. "Don't tell me he got into a fight again."

She chuckled and nodded. "Even without that, I'd think he'd stay at the Dancer considering that he's already been told about the theft."

"And Garis?" he said, trying not to squeak.

"Was the one to break the news."

Vivian heard a deep sigh. "Thanks for ruining my night."

She grinned and bowed. "At your service, Sire."

His body stiffened, and he looked up at her. It was easy to see his worry with his eyes shining like that. "Is... it safe to sleep here tonight?"

"The window woke you up and it's the quietest secret passage leading to your room, plus the two guards at your door." She waved a hand over her shoulder, going to look at her reflection in the mirror. If she wanted to explore the castle, she'd need to change out of her city garb. She grinned at his still-worried look visible just past her waist. "It's not like you'll be sleeping much tonight, anyway."

He grumbled.

She just turned to face him, still smiling. "Don't worry so much. I doubt any plots have started."

"That's reassuring," he muttered.

"It's safe to sleep in here for tonight," she said, rolling her eyes. Sometimes, Derrick was just no fun. Which meant neglecting telling him about the slightly odd murder she'd found behind the bar and how she wasn't going to stop for another hour or two, depending on what she found.

When no more comments were forthcoming, she went to crack the window open. "Before the guards show up." She waved and blew him a kiss before slipping off the sill.

Thankfully, she'd checked in to another in besides the Dancer for the very purpose of avoiding Sandor. It was quick work to find one of her court dresses and go back to the castle. Thankfully there was an underused room she could use and change. It was always best to only hold one persona per location.

First thing's first— find out where the dear Lady Popplewell was staying. Plots usually came from claimants to the throne, no matter how distant.

As she walked down the empty halls, she stuck to those decorated with tapestries to muffle the sound of her footsteps. This late at night, those who were awake were either paranoid or up to no good. She smiled at the observation.

The smile quickly turned to a raised eyebrow of curiosity. There were noises down the hall. Vivian stuck to the walls and listened closely. Moving quickly, smoothly— not paranoid. It was time to see how good a lier this person was.

Vivian began walking down the middle of the hall, giving the appearance of being lost in thought. Noblewomen— especially those of the age she could pass for— were sometimes known to wander at night. Their story was much easier to play convincingly. Still up to no good, but it was much easier to hide it.

A maid became visible down the hall. Vivian pretended to be startled out of her dream world by a new presence, hand to her chest and breathing deepening. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect to see you there!" She ran a hand through her loose hair, shaking it out as if coming out of a daze. A small chuckle escaped her throat. "The castle is normally so empty at night, so I've heard. It's... lovely, for gathering your thoughts."

Now. To see how the maid would answer.

Petronella

Poppy was willing to admit - at least to herself - that Roan did in fact deserve a raise. What lovely little trinkets he had uncovered! Oh yes, they could certainly make use of these. She'd not bring the matter of the raise up herself of course, but he would ask again and she'd graciously give it to him. Afterall, Lady Popplewell was an excellent mistress.

"We certainly do!" Poppy agreed, clasping her little hands together in delight. "I think we shall start with this femme fatale of yours. I wouldn't want anybody to destroy all our plans, especially before they're even hatched." A worried look crossed her face for a moment and she gave a sulky pout before moving her eyes to Roan, defiance flashing in their depths. Perhaps good fortune would be with them and the woman would already be gone, or even better, had just been passing through and was in no way involved with the king or kingdom. That of course was very unlikely. Wherever one found a court and courtiers, there was sure to be at least one assassin around. Sometimes more, though they didn't share territories particularly well.

William was wiping at the red mark on his cheek, his expression somewhere between disgust and curiosity as he hovered awkwardly in front of the bed.

"It would give me no greater pleasure." Roan's voice was pitched high and his tone light hearted but Petra knew him for the menace he was. Petra knew he would get the job done and was well pleased in her choice of servants. Oh yes, it was all coming together very nicely now.

"Off you go then. Once she's disposed of, the rest of the night is yours to do with as you wish."

"And if this should prove to be a job of longer than a night?"

Petra frowned and William moved over to pacify her. Petra thought if he told her to be patient once more she'd take that knife - dirk - right out of Roan's hands and run him through. Instead he just stood there though and placed a hand on her arm.

"Just get it done, Roan. If you need more time we can discuss it later." She sniffed in disapproval but the rogue did not seem shaken at all. He dropped a lavish curtsy and winked at William before swaying his hips all the way out the door. He really did make a good woman.

Garis

Vivian, Vivian, Vivian. As fond as he was of her and her company, there were times Garis wished he'd disposed of her when he had the chance. Like when she'd tailed him to where he stashed (most) of the Doze. And like now, with how she'd told Derrick that the Doze had been stolen. As if having to inform Sandor about the matter hadn't been bad enough.

Really, he wondered why he had ever thought keeping Vivian around was worth it sometimes. Especially now that it was becoming apparent that their interests were diverging (albeit slightly).

However, he was undeniably fond of the lady assassin and her... assets, however much Sandor might reasonably grouse about it, and so it was with this fondness in mind that he tracked her down late this night, with every intention of realigning their interests onto the same course.

He found her in one of the hallways, dressed for court, attempting to strike up a conversation with a maid, and he knew the interruption in her information-gathering would irritate Vivian. Garis smiled. She could use some sharing in the general pool of irritation.

And so he sauntered down the middle of the hallway, calling out, "Ah! There you are, my dear! What have I told you about allowing your mind to wander while wandering, especially at night?"

Vivian's expression quickly shifted from surprise to a perfectly natural blush of chagrin as the maid watched the exchange with thinly-veiled interest. "At so late an hour," Vivian replied, brushing out an imagined wrinkle in her skirt, "I was not expecting to meet another in my wanderings."

Garis exaggerated a sigh and ran a hand through his slightly-tousled hair before holding out a hand to the lady assassin. "Come along. We should retire before we attract more questioning attention."

Vivian did not bother to hide how put out she was -- it meshed quite perfectly with her absent-minded noblewoman act after all -- as she took Garis' hand. The two walked down a hall leading in the general direction of the nobles' quarters (and Garis' rooms), and once they were safely out of sight and hearing range of the maid, Vivian took her hand from Garis' arm and looked at him.

Garis looked right back and said, "You told Derrick about the Doze."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I was merely keeping my employer appraised of the situation."

Garis sighed. "My dear lady, you should know by now that your employer's knowing the specific means at or not at your disposal isn't so much important as their knowing that you do or do not have the means in general to do the job. Trade secrets are trade secrets for a reason. It's much more difficult to counter the unknown, after all."

Vivian looked at him sidelong. "You mean to tell me that Derrick did not know about the bottle of Doze?"

"No. Not until you told him it was missing. Specifically."

"And just how long were you planning to keep him in the dark about it? "

Garis tipped his head at an angle in a rather exaggerated musing pose. "Ideally? Until we were both long dead and cold in the ground."

"Yet you told Sandor."

"Yes, well, Sandor is considerably more reliable, experienced, and effective in fixing problems than our young and still newly-crowned king. You know how he frets about most anything, especially if it involves potential harm to him." Garis ran a hand through his hair. "And you know how Sandor gets when Derrick is less than perfectly happy. It would be best for you to lie low for a while."

Vivian scoffed. "That was the plan. I'm not as completely lacking in sense as you seem to think I am."

"Then be more careful in who you tip our hand to, hm?" He bent down to give her a quick kiss to take away the sting and couldn't help but feel inordinately pleased that he was bending down to give her a kiss. His mood bolstered by that little fact, Garis reached up to toy with a strand of her hair as he whispered in her ear, "In the meantime, my rooms are quite empty at the moment, and it has been a while since we have last ween each other without an audience..."

A sly smile spread across Vivian's face. "It has been a very long time. Shall we continue where we left off?"

"You will have to refresh my memory. It's been so long, I can't quite remember where exactly where we left off."

Vivian gave him a playful shove in reply. "You're always so forgetful."

Garis put off answering in favor of opening the door to his rooms and ushering her inside before locking the door behind them.

I've definitely been writing in first person :/. Sorry, guys. Bad habit.

William:

"I don't like him," He lied.

Poppy looked at him, smirking all the while. "Oh, William, you're reading far too much into this."

William stared at the door, not moving or making a noise as he did so. What had just conspired was enough to fill his thoughts for a good couple hours. Especially Roan. He could hardly discern a thing when it came to him, and that was very disconcerting to say the least.

"Let me rephrase," he said. "I don't trust him."

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in a frustrated manner. "He has done nothing to warrant your distrust."

William shrugged, thinking it would be a good time to leave her. She was getting anxious with him which was never a good sign.

"Look at all he's done for us," she continued. "At all he's brought forth. You shouldn't think so lowly of him."

William crossed my arms over his chest, waiting for the opportunity to leave but not knowing if such was a good thing. She was not dismissing him though he really wished she would. Maybe if he angered her a little further..

"I simply don't know him enough to trust him," William added, trying to contain what little dignity he had without having to admit he was wrong. "Its not because he has not been useful or shown you that he is capable of grandeur. Simply speaking, I just don't trust him."

"And what do you expect me to do, exactly?" she asked, brow raised in that annoyed manner of hers. "Tell him that he must do more to show me that he is worthy enough? He already knows everything. If he wanted to end me he would have by now."

He couldn't agree less. "Have someone follow him."

"That seems a little bit much, don't you think?"

"No, actually," he replied. "I don't."

She paused, brows furrowed and lip protruding though I'm sure she didn't realize she had been doing as such. When she spoke again, all the color drained from his face. "You do it then."

"Me?" William asked, flabbergasted. "I couldn't possibly."

"You're the one who distrusts him so much," she stated. "Its your worries you want put to rest. If you're so adamant on finding his flaws then do it but don't expect me to send someone else to. You're quite capable of it yourself."

This was the first time he had ever been truly unhappy with Poppy.

I miss my ickle Petra

Petronella

William gave her a very sulky look and Poppy decided she was done with his company. She waved her hand at him, too frustrated and tired to give a formal dismissal. Which door he left by she cared not. Either he could follow Roan along the hallway or he could be sensible and retire to his room. It made no difference to her. Petra flopped back on the bed and when she cracked an eye open some minutes later, her room was empty.

Poppy gave a deep sigh before sitting up and slipping lightly to her feet. She pulled her nightdress on slowly, cherishing the feel of the silk on her skin. Then she crossed to the window and looked out. The sky was dark and the moon was up and casting a dim glow over the kingdom. Her kingdom. She could feel her people sleeping out there, feel them dreaming of greatness and she echoed their dreams. She would be queen, it was the only way. It was the only future she could envisage for herself and the only thing that would make her happy.

"Star light, Star bright. The first star I see tonight-" Petra opened the window to feel the breeze against her skin and stared up at the sky with wide eyes. "I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight." It had become somewhat of a ritual for the young woman and not something she shared with her servant, naively believing that he'd never heard her recount the rhyme, never heard her footfalls to the window every night. And it was always the same wish. Poppy's desire to be someone was so fervent and so powerful that some nights she thought it might over-power even her. She let out a soft sigh. "Please," she whispered before bringing the window to and creeping back to her bed.

There were nightmares to follow that night and by morning the covers were knotted with sweat and Poppy was in an ill mood. She hoped that Roan had good news for her or she was not going to be a happy Petronella