The Stolen Kingdom | Started (Still Accepting via PMs)

Alice Dietrich | the Angorian Palace

Alice watched the guard leave with a narrowed glare, then turned it on her fiancee. Things would get ugly quick if he didn’t explain things fast. “So, Cill? What was going on here? Care to explain?” Her hands crossed, then moved to her hips, then crossed again. The blonde prince switched his serene and calm smile on at her.

“We were just talking about certain country issues, darling.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if it was of no importance. “Nothing to worry your gorgeous little head about.”

Alice relaxed, letting her shoulders drop from their tense position. She almost felt silly now, assuming that he could have been doing something wrong. He leaned forwards and beckoned her to the seat the guard had been in previously. “Come and sit by me, won’t you? You look too lovely to be admired from such a distance~”

The princess only hesitated a moment before taking up the chair, sitting a little uneasily. “You should be more careful, darling. If anyone else had walked in on that little display they may have taken it all wrong.” She knew she almost had, but it was a ridiculous thought. Her fiance only had eyes for her. He took her hand as she sat down and kissed it.

The princess rolled her eyes and pulled her hand back, shooting the prince a smile. “My, aren’t you an impatient one? The wedding is soon, darling. There will be plenty of time for that later.”

He sighed. “But that’s no fun~” He beckoned a servant over and instructed her to pour some wine for Alice. “Oh well. I will bow to your wishes if you say so, my darling~” Unseen to her, he slipped something into her drink.

“You are so sweet.” She smiled as she took the glass and sipped from it politely. Little did she know that when she’d wake up, it wouldn’t be in her own room.

Dawn ‘The Weasel’ Cooper | the Marketplace of Tálamon

Dawn was just wandering through the marketplace, on one of her daily ‘enthusiastic walks’. Subtly, she’d bump into people. Those people would later find themselves missing a few coins, maybe a whole coin bag. Possibly some jewelry. They were very enthusiastic walks. It was rare that anyone would actually catch her slipping her nimble little fingers into their pockets.

So when someone did, she was rather surprised. The man who now had a hold on her wrist was a tall, pale-haired man. His red eyes narrowed darkly into an almost hawk-like glare at her. She’d have to think fast to get out of this one.

“Alright, you got me.” She pulled the coin bag back out, holding it up to him. He wasn’t one of the stupid ones. Even after he took it back he didn’t loosen his hold on her. Here she had been preparing to snatch it and bolt out of there. He tossed the bag up into the air and neatly caught it, still looking down at her--condescendingly, she realized. “You can let go now. I gave it back.” She narrowed her eyes, wondering what his game was.

He pulled her up close and studied her. A grin played on his mouth. “You think I don’t know your game? I’ve dealt with your lot before.” She gave him a narrow look over, almost suddenly realizing that his clothes weren’t native. And they definitely weren’t commoner’s clothes. No difference to her. This was just a new challenge.

She let out a quiet laugh, shooting him a toothy grin. Just as she opened her mouth to retort, she started laughing again. “Oh boy, do you think you scare me? That’s rich.” She got back in his face, sneering. “Pretty boys like you are all talk no fight.”

His grin widened. It was almost inhuman. “Thanks for the compliment, and by the way, you’re not the first person to tell me that. If you do walk away without a broken bone, though, you’ll be the first person to do so.” He looked down at her condescendingly. “Wanna try me?”

This time, she spat right in his face. “Like I said, you don’t scare me.” She gave him a challenging look. One that clearly said ‘It is on’. He wiped her saliva off his face without so much as a flinch and grinned down at her.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about~” Suddenly, he pulled on her arm forcefully and dragged her away from the crowds into a relatively secluded alleyway. A knife appeared in his hand; from where he’d brought it out, Dawn couldn’t see. He stepped back, giving her some space. “Are you sure you wanna do this? Looking at you now, it doesn’t seem like you have a lot of strength in that scrawny little frame of yours.” He smiled at her provokingly.

Dawn quickly flicked out her own dagger, eyeing him narrowly. “Hasn’t anyone taught you it’s not smart to underestimate your opponent?” She then swiftly slashed forward for him, missing by a hair’s breath when he feinted back. “You wanna dance? Let’s dance, pretty boy. We street rats can fight just as well as you guards.”

His mouth twisted into a grimace at the words ‘street rat’. “Don’t...use...those bloody words!” He viciously counterattacked, going for her knife hand and locked it away before flicking it away from her hand in a series of maneuvers. His knife came back now, to rest at her throat. “You...!”

What he hadn’t noticed was Dawn’s magic building up in her hand. Before he could so much as blink she let it all out against his solar-plexus, sending him flying back a good two, maybe three feet. “You were saying?” She walked over, nudging him with her foot. “Like I said, all talk.” As she turned away, however, he aimed a kick at her bad leg and made her fall on top of him. Her face screwed up in pain momentarily, waiting for the burning sting in her leg to fade away or go numb. “God damnit...”

“Oof! You’re heavy for a small one...” He wasn’t trying to push her off, however.

She shot him a confused look, trying to read his face. When it clicked, she turned bright red and scrambled off of him. “Pervert,” she sneered, taking a few limping steps away. He sat up, the strange grin still on his face, and tilted his head at her.

“That was a rather compromising position, wasn’t it?” Dawn scowled at him and threw another punch, which he dodged easily. He swiftly stepped away from her reach, shrugging to himself. “I was just joking. But look here!” He jingled a coin purse at her; the biggest purse she’d filched today, as a matter of fact. “Should I turn this in to the guard?”

Her eyes widened slightly, hesitantly letting her hand drop. “Give it back.” She wasn’t asking anymore, she was telling him to. His smirk turned into a full blown grin. A bloodthirsty one at that. “Unlike you spoiled royal guards, we street rats have to fight for our next meal.” She clenched a fist again in warning. Surprisingly, this provoked a different reaction than she’d expected: his eyes narrowed in a glare as he tossed the purse back in her face.

“Just...shut up. Ugh.” He turned his back on her. “Street rats, street rats, when will you morons learn to shut up and not call people these stupid names? Ugh...” Dawn quickly pocketed the coin bag and quirked a brow at him silently. He turned his head to glance back at her carelessly. “See you around...if you can stop calling yourself a street rat, that is. Heh.”

She narrowed her eyes at his back as he walked away. “That’s right, run!” He didn’t bother looking back, if he had he would have noticed the victorious looking grin on her face.

Very enthusiastic walks indeed.

Samad Amarandos | Marketplace of Tálamon:

Samad followed his master wordlessly as they threaded their way through the crowded marketplace. He was sure he’d seen a tall, white haired man a moment ago, though Jaska obviously hadn’t. That was normal. He was used to that, the lack of attention on important things--or things Samad thought important anyway.

“Look at them all, Samad. Completely oblivious to what’s coming.” The boy looked up at his master as he spoke before looking at the people around him. He knew what the man was talking about; he’d only be planning (out loud, mind you) around the boy for months, and Samad had heard it all....several times over. He, surprisingly, wasn’t sick of it yet.

“I see it, Master,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to the ground. He could feel it, had felt it since they left the house. He currently had no control whatsoever over his own body; he was a puppet right now, following Jaska’s unseen and unheard commands. And he hated it.

Jaska simply smirked at the boy and continued walking, hands clasped behind his back. Samad scowled--at least he could see do that, if nothing else. But he remained silent as they walked, eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on a small group of people, all shouting and gesturing rudely. Samad smirked.

“There, Master,” he said, knowing that Jaska, for all his strange little quirks, would notice. Especially if he pointed it out for the man. And noticed it he did, pausing as they watched the argument continue. “Master?” he asked when Jaska did nothing.

And then he did do something, he lifted his hands out in front of himself slowly, as if he were holding onto puppet strings. The two arguing men found themselves incapable of movement for a moment before Jaska twitched his finger, making one man punch the other clean across the face. The other man retorted by hitting him in the gut. With a snicker he let his hands fall, letting their fight escalate on it’s own from there.

Samad stared at the men for a moment before looking towards his master, who was now chuckling to himself. He didn’t quite know what to think about the entire thing right now, so he merely nodded meekly and stared up at Jaska. “Now what, Master?” he asked, trying to please the man before he decided it’d be fun to toy with Samad again, too.

Jaska clasped his hands behind his back again, doing another quick look around of the market. A searching look. “Nothing yet, boy. It’s not time yet. Somewhere in the marketplace right now is the lucky man or woman who will tell Tálamon who I am, but not yet.” He shook his head and kept walking.

The slave was still pondering his master’s words when he saw the tall man with the white hair again. His arm flinched, as if he were going to grab his master’s sleeve, but instead, nothing happened. He sighed and kept his gaze on the man. “Master, how about that one?” he suggested, referring to said white-haired man. Jaska looked down at him, smiling as if he were entertaining a small child. Samad hated that smile.

“Like I said, boy. Not yet.” He still looked over, considering the white-haired man. Samad glowered in the direction of the white-haired man. He had been sure that man was perfect for it, and to be scolded like a little boy. He sighed, again, and dropped his gaze.

“Yes, Master,” he mumbled. “I understand.” He very much wanted to hit something right now. By the gods, even kick a stone or scuff at the ground with one foot, but nooo. Jaska’s hold on him was far tighter than his hold on anyone else. He would just have to endure it.

Cillian Angorias | Back Alley / Marketplace of Tálamon:

Cillian had watched the fight with growing amusement. The girl was beating up his fiance’s bodyguard--or was he beating her up? He couldn’t really tell, though he did know one thing; someone was using magic and it made his skin tingle and his temples ache. He couldn’t help it; he started laughing when she landed on him and was still laughing when the man stalked past him, throwing the prince a glare. Probably thinks I’m insane or something, he thought, still amused though no longer laughing.

The girl rounded on him, fists clenched. “And who the hell are you!? Want your ass kicked next!? Don’t think I won’t do it!”

That only made him laugh again, harder than before. She glared at him, and the look on her face had him doubled over in amusement. He had only just straightened up again when she stormed over and grabbed him by the front of his cloak, slamming him back against the wall. Cillian’s breath left him in a rush.

“Do you want a piece of me? I can take you, beanpole. Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here and laughing at me?” She tightened her grip on him, glaring up into his face. “Who the hell are you under there?” She reached up to pull his hood off.

“Beanpole?!” he said, then realised what she was doing and grabbed for her wrists. “N-no. Don’t do that!” She hesitated, as if to ask why not. Cillian stared down at her, hesitating himself. “Don’t....just don’t, alright? Please?” She blinked at him, and he had a feeling she hadn’t be told ‘please’ before. He sighed.

“Alright then...?” She pulled her hands back, eyeing him. “I’m gonna be nice today, and let you walk away without a bruise. Get lost before I change my mind.” She planted her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing in an attempt to see the face beneath the hood.

Cillian tilted his head forward, making sure the hood slipped down over his eyes. It helped to keep his face hidden. That had certainly kept his ass out of the palace dungeons so far. He knew that if he had tried to leave the city, he would have been asked to remove the hood--and that was a very, very bad idea. And he was glad he hadn’t tried it, too.

“You need to pay more attention to their intentions,” he stated, pushing off the wall with a scowl--not that she’d see that. “Also, don’t go towards an opponent when they’re down; they might not be as injured as they seem.” With that, he turned to walk out of the alley and into the crowd. He could hear her following him.

“What, running away now? You know you don’t stand a chance against me, is that it? Giving up so easily? People like you get eaten alive where I’m from, beanpole.”

He stopped short of the crowd and slowly turned back towards her. “People like me?” he asked, keeping his voice down. “People like me, huh? You have no idea, shorty. No idea at all about where I’m from.” He was annoyed now--in fact, more than annoyed. Maybe a little angry. “And I am not running away, damnit!” He snorted, looking her up and down rather blatantly. “I’d knock you on your ass fairly quickly, little girl. And besides, you cheated.”

“Shorty? --Cheated!?” The girl’s face was red with rage. “All’s fair in a street fight, moron... and I may be short, but I could still kick your ass. I wouldn’t even need magic to beat you. Hell, I could do it with one arm tied behind my back.”

Cillian took in her appearance slowly, smiling at the girl’s obvious rage. “Oh, I’m sure you would, princess,” he told her, taking a step forwards. “Be warned, though. I know when you’re using magic, Mage. And I’ll have you know it’s damn annoying when you do.” He took another step forward, unsurprised when she held her ground. “But you’re forgetting one thing, little girl.”

Dawn quirked a brow, obviously not impressed. “Oh? Am I? And what exactly am I forgetting, Beanpole? Care to elaborate?”

He leaned in close, grabbing her by the elbows as he put his lips by her ear, and whispered, “You’re still a girl, and that makes you vulnerable.” And then he slipped a foot behind one of her ankles and promptly tripped her over. He danced back out of reach before she could react. “Still not paying attention, princess.” He tsked at her chidingly.

The girl let out a long string of curses, rolling over and holding her thigh. “God damnit, who’s cheating now?” She glared before muttering under her breath “Every single time, you all go for the same freaking leg.”

Cillian raised an eyebrow, aware that she wouldn’t see it. “Cheating, you say?” he asked thoughtfully. “No.” He laughed. “I wouldn’t call it cheating, per se. More like taking advantage of my opponents weaknesses.” He crouched down to be level with her. “You should probably hide it better. Then maybe they won’t notice it.”

“You wouldn’t have even known if you hadn’t been stalking my fight like a creep.” She narrowed her eyes and pushed him away as she sat up. “What are you even doing around here? I’ve never seen you before.”

Cillian, caught out, coughed and abruptly stood up. “I-I... You know what? Nevermind. Obviously, you have more important things to be doing.” He made to leave the alley again, waiting to see if she’d stop him before he disappeared into the crowd or not.

“That’s right, Beanpole. Run away. Keep yourself out of trouble, you never know who might be watching!” She was yelling at him now, and if they weren’t careful, people were going to start paying attention to them. So, Cillian ignored her as he collected his bow from where it had been leaning against the alley wall.

Bow in hand, he turned back. “I am not running away,” he told her sternly. “I’m saving the fight for another time. Besides, sometimes it takes more courage to walk away than it does to stay and fight.” He gave her a pointed look even though she wouldn’t see it. “Perhaps you should try to remember that.” And then he was gone, having dived into the crowd before she could reply.

Horo Hajime/Along the banks of the River Talamon:

THe sun shown brilliantly with that wild abandon that seems to overcome it during the season sometimes. It dappled brightly though the leaves of the giant old oaks bordering the river at this point in its course- the light making lacy patterns on the hard packed dirt of the riverside path. Is was a bright lazy light- the light of late afternoon, not many things were stirring- even the insects save the cicadas had stilled their noises. Only a few birds still trilled lustily in the branches of those same oaks as they rustled and swayed gently in the breeze that came up the river from the distant sea.

On this section of river-bank was a lone figure sprawled out with his bare feet stuck into the babbling waters.The rest of him was lounged back on the warm grass- looking much like a black tom-cat enjoying a afternoon nap. For his angled features and almond eyes did give him a rather feline aspect when viewed from afar.
A female robin surveyed him with wary interest from her nest in the tree above him- something about him didn't seem normal. he looked human, he made noises like a human, but he certainly didn't smell human. The robin shifted uneasily on her clutch of eggs. Something about him seemed very off and she couldn't place
it...Was he purring? The robin craned her neck out further, the strange creature was indeed purring softly- like a sleepy cat. She hunkered down on her eggs more wary then ever. Cats were not to be trusted, and cats were the only thing she knew purred- little did she know purring was a normal noise for one of his kind.

Horo had been traveling all morning at a good clip for being on foot and the seduction of the river, the warmth of the sun and the hazy lazy feeling that always overcame him after meals proved too great. he had sat down to "rest his eyes for a moment" and that moment had stretched into a several hour long nap.
Like Most Eastern lungs he had no set internal clock for sleeping- he could easily be nocturnal as diurnal- as long as he got his sleep somewhere in there.

He stirred slightly as a breeze rustled the branches overhead- his bright green eyes slid open and blinked- all vestiges of sleep gone.

"Sweet Ancestors..." He muttered sitting up slowly and stretching the kinks from his back- His back in turn cracked loudly showing him how little it appreciated sleeping on the ground in this form- sometimes his age seemed to be catching up with him. He groaned softly then rolled his shoulders. Standing gracefully for a man of his height he caught his pack from the ground and shouldered it, turning for the capitol.

Fennel Vasser | The Prince’s Bedroom, Angorian Palace

The light in the bedroom was almost non-existent. With the curtains drawn almost completely over the window and no lamp light to see by, the current ‘prince’ of Angoria almost stumbled over a chair on his way back from the shower. He grinned at his newest conquest; the bright-haired princess of Revenar. With any luck, he’d get that guard Jahan into his bed as well...not to mention the bodyguard. He’d very rarely had the chance to bed someone with mage blood before...

The girl shifted uneasily as she opened her eyes. “Where am I?” She held her head with one hand as she looked blearily around the room. “Where are my-- Oh gods!” Her hands shot to the blankets, wrapping them around herself. Fennel smirked at her.

“Hello darling. Have a nice nap?” He shuffled back under the blankets, sitting beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder, which she flinched away from. “Aw, don’t be like that, dearest~”

She shuffled away from him, eyes widening. “What did you do!? Why am I in here!?”

He brushed a hand over her hair. “No need to panic, darling~ don’t you remember? We had fun this last while, didn’t we~?”

Again, she pulled away from his touch. “I told you we had to wait! O-oh gods... if anyone finds out... Why did you do this!?” She quickly scampered off the bed, trying to get back into her dress.

He stared at her as she attempted to cover herself up, a lascivious look on his face. “I couldn’t wait, darling~ You were so beautiful, how could anyone wait after seeing such a gorgeous little thing like yourself?” He pushed the covers up and patted the spot beside him. “Come and sit beside me~ You don’t have to leave so soon~”

“Yes I do! If anyone finds out... you can’t tell anyone. You can’t.” She finally managed to get the dress over her head and cover herself up. “If anyone finds out... you’re a dirty and disgusting man!”

Fennel chewed on his lip thoughtfully as he looked at her. “You wouldn’t be the first to say that, darling. But I never did...” He smiled darkly here. “...boast about my conquests.”

Alice took a few shaky steps back towards the door, shaking her head at him. “I hate you. You’re a... you’re a bastard!” And with that, she turned and ran out of the room, her face buried in her hands. Fennel stared as the door slammed shut behind her, and then hummed to himself.

“Everyone is so tense...”

Gilbert Beilschmidt | Back in the Palace

When Gil walked back into the palace and mumbled to himself angrily about the lack of proper alcohol in his system, he’d expected the princess to come up to him and start lecturing him about proper bodyguard behaviour in her usually snobbish way. But as it was, the only familiar face he ran into as he walked through the hallways was her other bodyguard, Ria. A deep feeling of unsettlement sat in his stomach as he clapped a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Oy.” He glared down at her; the murderous look in his eye fixed her to the spot. “Where the hell is her royal spoiledness?” When she blinked at him confusedly, he clapped his other hand on her other shoulder and shook her violently. “Well?! Answer me! Where the hell is that brat?!”

“I just--I was at the market picking up stuff...” She blinked up at him innocently, holding up her basket. “I thought she’d be able to handle herself, sir...”

“You imbecile!” He pushed her away and made for the dining room. Empty, as he’d suspected. As he turned away, however, a soft pitter-patter of slippers came up behind him and stopped a distance away. He turned around to see the princess staring at him, her face pale and withdrawn. She had a hand over her cross, which he raised an eyebrow at. “So you’re alright. I thought that bastard did away with you or something. Wouldn’t have put it past him...” he trailed off, noticing how quiet she was. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She turned her face away, letting her hand drop away from the cross. “Perfectly fine.” The smile on her face was painfully forced. He twitched in annoyance. He knew when a person was lying; being a “street rat” for that many years made you aware to every nervous habit a person had. She was being too obvious, anyway. He sighed, rubbing his forehead irritably. What possible reason could she have to lie to him, though?

“...you’re lying. But I don’t understand why.” He stared at her sharply. “What the hell happened while I was gone? And why didn’t you have Ria with you?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment the Prince’s guard, Jahan, came into the hall through one of the other doors. “Gods be damned, where is he?!” He paused upon seeing them and flushed a perfect pink. “Oh, excuse me. I apologize for my outburst, your highness.” The guard bowed. “Have you by any chance seen Prince Cillian?”

Gil sighed and rolled his eyes to himself. However, just as he was about to tell the guard that no, they had not seen his pinch-faced, purple-and-red-coloured snotty highness, he noticed Alice flinching and edging away from the guard. He turned to narrow his eyes at her. “Oy. Where do you think you’re going?”

“To my rooms. I’ll... be in my rooms.” With that she quickly turned and started down the hall away from them. Almost running. Gil stared at her back and then glanced over to the guard, who was frowning as well. What in the name of holy Revenar had happened while I was gone?

Ria|Palace

Ria ran after the Princess, in a manner that would have drawn a frown from Ms. Flameel back at the academy. Ria's face was red, partly from the exercise, but mostly from anger and embarrassment. That foolish woman had ordered her away and she, like an idiot, had decided to humor her.

Who's the bigger fool, the fool or the fool who follows her?

Ria shoved the thought aside. She did the same to the thought that she might soon be unemployed. Ria made it to the door and tried it. It was locked. She brought her hand far back, then she reconsidered it. The door was solid and beating on it would just hurt her hand. Instead, she knocked on it delicately, as Ms. Flameel had instructed.

"Your Majesty?" she whispered.

"Go away!" the princess replied. Her voice broke as she spoke, the mark of a person who was crying. Ria tried again, with no difference.

Elron Heast | The Slums of Tálamon

Elron tucked his shirt into his pants, taking a big whiff of the slum-air. Despite the questionable odors permeating from various obscure corners, there was the slyest of grins upon his lips, a devilish spark to his eye. And the greatest thing? Well, the greatest thing was that he had no idea why. The morning had been slow; a flirt-fest during his masquerade as Elly that ended in a blade to his ribs (not that it had done much more than tear his favorite dress and scratch the skin, but it was still the first failed robbery in a Long Time), and... little else. But no, the rest of the day- the rest of the day was just bound to be different.

And to prove the theory, along came a rather high-and-mighty looking Dawn. “Guess who just beat the living daylights out of a royal guard?”

Elron’s eyebrow arched, and he conjured a rather plump, delicious-looking apple from the air over his head. And by the air over his head, he meant his pocket, and by plump and delicious-looking, he meant slum-quality, quite possibly worm-infested and just a tad shriveled. He took a bite anyway, the grin on his face only growing at the foul taste. “Not you?” He couldn’t help the singsongy tone. She made it too easy.

The triumphant glint turned to a scowl almost instantly. “I have the bruises to prove it.”

“Right, beca-”

Dawn lifted her shirt, and sure enough, there were bruises. Bruises that looked like they had been formed from well-executed punches. Or kicks.

Elron’s eyebrow arched higher. “You know, it’s highly improper for a woman to hike up her shirt in public like that. Not that I advocate the current social normalities, but.” He waved the hand with the apple, taking another bite before he continued. “But, before you say anything, and I know you were going to, I have to finish my previous statement.” He cleared his throat, flicked the apple off to the side and clasped one elbow in his hand behind his back. “Where was I... oh, yes. ‘Right, because your obtaining bruises is most certainly proof that you were the victor in that battle.” He dropped his hand, letting his arms fall back to his sides.

Her arms shot up, making a rather flail-like gesture. “He ran away and everything, okay?!”

Elron mirrored the gesture and the tone, expression suddenly as exasperated as hers was. “Did he run away, or did he strut away in victory?!”

Something bony and surprisingly sturdy hit him square in the gut, forcing his breath to catch in his throat and his shoulders to haunch. “You dirty little wench.” It came out as more a breath than an insult. This time, though, oh, this time, he saw the punch coming. He managed to dodge, grabbing her arm with the hand that wasn’t busy clenching his abdominal. ”Easy, Weasle. You punch a man-who-is-occasionally-a-woman in the gut and get all worked up when he/she spews words out of shock, hurt and anger. Mostly hurt, by the way. Emotional hurt. That was just plain rude.” He backed off before she had another opening, wincing slightly at the throb. As fun as it was to tease her, the woman really did know a thing or two about punches.

And honestly, punches were something that he’d really rather avoid as much as possible. They tended to hinder his pick-pocketing capabilities. Should’ve worn the dress... more padding in the dress.

There was a half-muttered, “Stupid,” from the lady-thief’s end, and it took every ounce of Elron’s self control to not comment on how absolutely unoriginal that insult was. “We should be getting home.”

Ah, well; so she did know how to say sensible things after all. For a moment, he’d been worried that the beating she’d so obviously received had knocked the ability right out of her. Elron straightened, rubbing the heel of his hand over his stomach once more before clapping Dawn on the shoulder. “Mm, yes. We should probably take care of your bruises.” He just couldn’t help the teasing undertone.

Jahan Siavash | Dining Room, Angorian Palace:

Jahan stared after the Princess for a moment before his frown deepened and he sighed. “What is the matter with her?” he asked, tilting his head to one side and then shaking it. Gilbert, the other bodyguard, shrugged. “Strange girl...”

“She’s not usually like this, though.” The pale-haired bodyguard said, biting his lip viciously. He shot a suspicious glance at Jahan. “I bet your so-called prince had something to do with it.”

The dark-haired guard blinked. “How can you be so sure, foreigner?” he asked, not moving from his spot near the head of the dining table. “Prince Cillian would never--”

“First of all, open your damn eyes, you slavish twits.” The other rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as his mouth twitched, unsurprisingly annoyed. “Are you even sure he’s the same moron? Either your darling prince has a split personality or someone’s masquerading as him, that’s all I’m going to say.”

Jahan paused. He didn’t say anything for a long moment before he finally sighed and crossed the room to the doorway Gilbert stood in. “So you’ve noticed it, too, huh?” he asked, gaze narrowed at the other man, as if daring him to just say one wrong word. The bodyguard nodded. “I thought I was the only one...”

“Well, I haven’t gotten as far as I have by being naive. I wouldn’t trust your ‘prince’, if I were you.”

The dark-haired guard snorted. “My so-called prince is not Cillian. The prince I know would not be trying to bed anything and everything that moved, myself included.” Jahan scowled. “Prince Cillian would never be so...”

“...lecherous?” While the other had raised an eyebrow at his declaration that the prince had wanted to bed him, he had apparently decided not to comment. However, something seemed to click in his head and the expression on his face turned scarier than Jahan had ever seen him--or anyone else, for that matter. “Waaiiiit a minute...”

“Yes, ‘lecherous’ is one word for it--wait, what?” Jahan scowled at the look on the other man’s face. He didn’t like that look. “What is that look about? What have you realized?”

“He might not have done away with her but...” With a glance at Jahan, he turned away. “Excuse me while I go check on the princess,” he said stiffly.

Jahan frowned at him. “I would suggest you use a little...delicacy if what you think happened has, in fact, happened,” he told the other man before he left. “And try not to raise your voice!” he called as the man took off down the hall. However, he had the bad impression that what he had just said didn’t sink into the other’s head. “Somehow,” Jahan muttered, “I have a very bad feeling about this.”

Gil Beilschmidt | Striding off down towards the Princess’s room

Honestly, he could feel like murdering someone right now. No, it wasn’t that he could feel like it, but rather, that he felt it. He wanted to pick up that little blonde menace by the collar and shake him violently; he wanted to wrap his fingers around the jerk’s throat and squish the life out of it. No, he wanted to see the bastard’s blood. He wanted to stab him to death. He wanted to see him choke on his own blood.

By the way, these weren’t unusual thoughts for the ex-general.

“I’m going to kill that bastard, kill, kill, kill, kill...” This thought ran in his head as he came to a halt in front of the princess’s door, barely noticing the handmaiden there and without warning, started ramming on the elegantly carved wood violently with his fist. “Oy! If you’re in there, open up!”

“S-sir...” Ria shrank back from him, confused. He turned his glare on her, which made her shut her gab. She bowed to him and turned away, walking down the hall. He’d have to sack the girl soon if what he was thinking was right. Some bodyguard she’d turned out to be. He pounded on the door again, his eyebrow twitching vindictively.

From inside came a quiet, “It’s not locked.” He blinked and twisted the doorknob--she was right. Within moments, he was standing in her room, with the door closed firmly behind him. He had an idea that whatever they were going to talk about was something he didn’t exactly want to hear about.

She was sitting close to the window and staring outside it down at the grounds. Where she usually had a disapproving pout on seeing his face, she simply looked pale and unhealthy in the dusklight. He narrowed his eyes at her. “I think I know what happened. That’s why you were lying, wasn’t it? You were ashamed.”

She looked over to him for a second, then back out the window. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Gil.” Immediately, he flinched at the casual use of his nickname. She never used it anymore. She only used it back then, when they’d first met. Now...now it was simply unnatural for her to call him like that. He cleared his throat and walked towards the window and leaned on the window sill, blocking her view.

“Enough lying. I want answers. Did he or did he not do what I’m thinking he did?”

She looked away from him and around the room, avoiding his eyes. “Depends on what you’re thinking...”

He finally lost it. He had no patience for these hide-and-seek games; never had. Back as a child, he used to punch anyone that suggested playing even the normal game, and he liked the royal version of the game even worse. “Do you want me to gut it out of your darling prince or are you going to tell me yourself right here?” She mumbled something incoherently, which prompted him to put a hand on her shoulder. “What was that? I didn’t hear you. Speak clearly!” She said something again, louder this time, but still unclear. “I...can’t...hear...you!”

Her gaze snapped right to him, backing up in her seat. “Don’t touch me.” Of course, this only prompted him to tighten his grip on her shoulder and give her a challenging look that said, ‘why not’. But he quickly released her when suddenly, she started crying. “O-oy!” He fished around for a handkerchief. Obviously, he didn’t have one on him. “Don’t...don’t make that face! What’s the matter?”

“I d-don’t know what happened. We w-were in the dining room... after you left... and I woke up...” She was cut off by a half-choked sob as she buried her face in her hands. “If my father finds out...”

“...damn this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose before he put his hand on her shoulder again. “Come on. Stop crying, please. I can’t...I’m not good with seeing anyone like this. Come on, just...” He wasn’t sure what was uppermost in his thoughts. To be honest, he should’ve been more worried about what her father would do to him if the old man found out; but for some reason, he was more worried about her. He’d never really been worried about anyone else except for himself; this disturbed him. He patted her awkwardly on the head. “H-hey...”

She lifted her head to look at him, very obviously trying to hold it in. “S-sorry...if anyone else finds out...I don’t know what will happen...”

“What the hell are you apologizing for?” He started in his normal tone, harshly, but dropped it as soon as he saw her flinching at his voice. This was wrong, this was all wrong, and it was all his blasted fault. Instead of leaving it to some inexperienced brat of a handmaiden, he should’ve been here himself to protect her. Instead he went off to blow off some steam, and look what happened when he wasn’t around. He pulled her up, gently, out of the chair. “Do you want to like...go for a walk? Or something?” When she shook her head, he bit his lip. “Look, I know it’s all my fault, but please, please don’t be like that.”

Then she looked at him again, brow furrowed. “How is any of this your fault? You didn’t know...you didn’t know he would...” She shuddered. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine for being so stupid.”

“But it was my job to know, wasn’t it!” He wasn’t used to playing nice, and it showed; he was back to his normal tone again. “I shouldn’t have left you here, I shouldn’t have...left you alone to face that bastard...all by yourself...”

She looked away again, sighing. “I don’t know what to do...Gil, if anyone...if my father finds out, I don’t know what he’ll do. I’m tainted. What if Cillian calls off the wedding? What am I going to do?”

“Just...damn this!” He wasn’t even planning it but he pulled her into a hug. Just looking at that teary yet composed face made him want to stab something, preferably the bastard that did this to her. “I’m going to kill him one of these days. I swear I’m going to kill him!” He tightened his hold on her. “So...just...stop being like this!”

Alice only hesitated a moment before hugging him back, needing the comfort. “I’m just so scared...this can ruin everything--”

“I’m not going to tell him,” he mumbled. “So just...it’s...”

“We just... can’t tell anyone. Everything will be fine if no one knows. It has to be.” She pulled away from him, wrapping her fingers around her cross. He nodded at her stiffly; it was for both their own goods, he knew. He wasn’t just doing this for her, but for himself as well, right?

Right.

Cillian Angorias | Marketplace of Tálamon:

Cillian chuckled as he walked. The look on the girl’s face had been priceless, too. Far too precious--for his amusement, that is. He sighed, making sure his hood was still casting his face into shadow and settling his bow more comfortably on his shoulder. Hardly anyone gave him a second look as he wove through the crowd, frowning as he slipped behind two guards unnoticed and over to a stall selling apples. He brought two while he waited for the guards to leave, which they did--rather quickly, too.

He relaxed once they were gone and strode away from the stall, tossing one of those big, juicy red apples up and down as he walked. One of the street rats, he noticed, was watching it as it went up and down, up and down, so he grinned and tossed it towards her. She looked hungry, too, the poor thing, and he really didn’t mind giving up one of his apples to the poor. It was worth it to see their faces lit up in delight.

In fact, he was so focused on the kid that he hadn’t noticed the tall, dark haired man pass by him until he bumped into someone--and was sent flying. Right into a wall between two stalls. Cillian hit it hard, and groaned, sliding down to sit a little hunched over, an arm wrapped around his chest. He’d felt something crack, and having landed left-side first.

“Shit,” he gasped, wincing. He glanced up to see a little dark-skinned boy trailing behind a taller, dark-haired man. The boy was staring back at him, something like concern in his gaze even though his face betrayed nothing--like a porcelain doll. Cillian frowned, slowly getting to his feet while using the wall for support. That had hurt. When Cillian took a second look, he noticed something else. The boy wasn’t wearing any shoes, and he could clearly see the brand on the back of the boy’s left calf. He stared. A slave...

Samad Amarandos | Marketplace of Tálamon:

Samad stared back at the hooded man, concerned. His master had thrown him into that wall hard, and he was probably hurt. Badly, too, if the way he was holding onto his ribs was any indication of it. But no, Samad couldn’t go and help him because he was still under Jaska’s control.

“Vermin,” his master muttered, bringing his attention back to the man in front of him. Samad exhaled, wanting so very much to glance back at the man yet unable to do so. It seemed that Jaska had tightened his hold on the boy.

“Master...”

Jaska turned on him so suddenly that even his master couldn’t control the way he jumped when the older man snapped at him. “What?”

Samad stared, mouth opening and closing, though nothing came out. Jaska stared back for a long moment before he shook his head and turned his back on the boy. Samad’s gaze narrowed as his master began walking again as if nothing had happened. They both came to an abrupt halt a few minutes, although Samad wasn’t really expecting it. He peered past his master to see a small figure lingering at the mouth of one of the many alleys that led off from the marketplace. But then the figure vanished into the alley and Jaska turned his back on it.

Samad’s frown deepened. “Master...?” he asked, hesitating. “W-what is going o-on--”

Jaska turned to fix Samad with a look that the boy couldn’t comprehend. "Shut up,” he snapped. “Nothing is wrong. It is simply not time yet." Samad flinched and shut his mouth before he could let anything else slip. Jaska said shut up, so he shut up. That was how things were with Jaska.

“Yes, Master,” he said, very quietly. His master didn’t appear to hear him. He followed after Jaska when the man began to circle the marketplace again, and Samad had no choice in the matter. His master was pulling strings again. Invisible strings that made Samad’s body move without his consent.

Grohiik Vahdin | Marketplace of Tálamon

The 'useful' information that Vahdin had provided had earnt her enough money to go to the market and buy some decent food. All that she'd been eating on her travels were whatever berries and nuts that she could forage, none of which were particularly tasty or sustaining. Vahdin had managed to find the stall that sells small pies, although they’d probably be cold by now they were still wonderful for an empty stomach. She’d even picked out her particular favourite pie; a stake and probably now congealed gravy, when she delved her hand to find her coin purse she found it missing. In a slight frenzy Vahdin whipped her head around, quickly scanning the crowd around her for the thief.
“Chuffing street rats,” She growled as she ran after a small boy. He’d been trying to steal from her for months and only now had he been successful; while her attention had been focused elsewhere. Height was an advantage in the market, but only for the short. The tall were left to tumble over the crowd while the smaller among them could duck and weave between the people, Grohiik Vahdin was one of the tall who’s way was barred by the throng of people. By the time Vahdin had reached the edge of the market the boy had long gone and she was left hungry and annoyed.

Fennel Vasser | The Prince’s Bedroom

It was nearly evening when the knock at his door came. Fennel quickly hid the book he was looking at under his blanket and cleared his throat, lounging back lazily against his, no, Cill’s pillows. For a moment, he wondered how the ickle prince was doing out on the streets, but he quickly wiped his mind of the thought and made his face impassive. “Come in.”

The door opened to reveal the young prince’s guard, making a suspicious face at him. He stood in the doorway, as if not daring to put one foot in the room Fen was in. Good, he thought. The boy’s scared of me, then. Another look, however, convinced him that that wasn’t all the boy was feeling right now. Was it...disgust? The former thief narrowed his eyes. “You don’t look too well, Jahan. Do you want to take a seat?”

“Your highness...” Jahan seemed to hesitate in the doorway for a moment before closing his eyes. “What have you done to the princess, Cillian?” He added before collecting himself and taking a small step into the room. “I mean...”

Fennel almost burst out laughing here. Almost. Instead, he contented himself with a smirk as he looked at the guard. They were that close then, were they? This was interesting--very interesting indeed. Things were starting to fall into place, then. He licked his lips lasciviously, staring at the guard’s frame, before smiling innocently at him. “Whatever do you mean, my dear boy? I haven’t done anything to her...”

The guard seemed to frown for a moment. “Well, she’s in her room, and from the look on her handmaiden’s face when I passed her in the hall, the princess has been crying.” Jahan fixed the ‘prince’ with a dark look. “So, I will ask you again, Prince Cillian; what have you done to her?”

“Like I said, Jahan...” His voice dropped to a low whisper. “Nothing.”

Jahan scowled at him, pushing the door shut behind him. “Nothing?” The man snorted. “You were the last person I saw with her; I left you with her. And what is she doing now?” The guard’s voice was rising with every word. “SHE’S CRYING! WHY IS SHE CRYING, CILLIAN ANGORIAS? WHY?!”

Fennel fixed a look on him; the calculating look he always had whenever he found himself in situations like this. A secretive smile lit up his face. “Now, now. Why don’t you take a seat--”

“No.” Jahan’s gaze was narrowed and dark. “No, Cillian. I will not take a seat, not like some pup at its master’s beck and call. You need to remember that even though I am your guard, I am also your friend. And as your friend, I am telling you that you have done something wrong within the last day.” The man took a deep breath. “And you need to bloody fix it. Do you want Revenar to be an enemy? Do you want them to invade Angoria?” He was breathing heavy, but he didn’t stop. “They have more military power than us. You should know this, Cillian. You should know th--”

“--and as your prince, I’m ordering you to sit. Down.” Fennel blocked out most of the politics lecture; he didn’t need that crap right now. One part he hadn’t made concessions for was all this political idiocy; all this Revenar and princesses and royally stuck-up-morons and diplomacy...he hated the entire lot of it. He glanced over at Jahan again; the guard looked perceptibly irritated, his mouth open as if to continue his lecturing. Fennel did not like this at all. “Well? Why are you standing there?”

The guard stood there for a moment, not quite sure if he should continue or follow the damned orders. He chose to sit down and shut his mouth, striding across the room to sit on a chair at the desk close to the ‘prince’s’ side of the bed. He did not look happy, at all. Fen smiled; this was going to be very interesting.

Very interesting indeed.

Jahan Siavash | The Prince’s Room, Angorian Palace:

Jahan glared at the boy sitting on the bed, taking in the messed up sheets and the way the boy was very clearly not wearing a thing besides that stupid robe he had on. He was reminding the boy not to mess around with a princess he wasn’t even married to yet, and then he had to go and tell him to sit down? To order him to do so? This was definitely not the Cillian he normally talked to. Not at all. “I must apologize, your highness, for the way I behaved just now. I should not have yelled--”

“Now, now...” The ‘prince’ tilted his head and looked innocently at Jahan. This was also another mannerism he wasn’t used to; Cillian wasn’t a play-actor. This much, the guard knew. “Why don’t we talk these matters over together like calm, civilized people?” The boy tossed off his blankets and got off the bed from the other side, securing his robe as he walked over to a disused, old-looking cabinet. At any rate, Cillian had never had any use for it...before. “What would you like for your poison~?” He turned around, holding two bottles. “Wine or champagne?”

“...wine, your highness,” Jahan murmured, eyeing the boy as he came round the end of the bed bottle of wine in one hand and two goblets in the other. The ‘prince’ had put the champagne back before he moved away from the cabinet. He slipped over to the desk and place the two glasses on it, before uncorking the bottle and pouring out wine into both goblets. Jahan found it a little strange that his prince was drinking, but he didn’t say anything. Cillian hardly ever drank, but who was he to mention that now?

“Here you go,” the ‘prince’ murmured, delicately handing Jahan one of the goblets before taking a sip from his own. “So how has your work been, lately? You seem stressed out, dear boy.”

Jahan eyed the wine for a moment before looking up--without touching it. “Fine, your highness,” he said, gaze dropping to the goblet of wine in his left hand. “There has been no attempts on your life thus far, and none on the princess’s either, but I doubt this...calmness will stay.” He sighed and raised the goblet to his lips, then paused and looked up again. “I have a feeling there may be a storm coming.” And Jahan meant that in more ways than one, too. “I.. fear for your safety, your highness.”

The boy smiled, taking another sip of his own wine before deciding to respond. “I’m glad that you’re always watching out for me, Jahan.” The guard’s mouth fell open as he stared at the boy before him. He was completely stunned. That was something the prince he knew would say. “Now then, why don’t you take a drink?”

Jahan stared at him for a long moment, closing his mouth as he looked up at his prince. “Yes,” he murmured, smiling slightly. “Cillian...” And he raised the goblet to his lips, taking a large sip. He was very aware of the way the prince was watching him at the moment, but he couldn’t care. This was the Cillian he knew. He had to have been sick or something lately. Jahan lowered the goblet, still looking up at the prince, who coughed. The guard’s gaze abruptly dropped.

It only took a few minutes for Jahan to realise something was wrong; he’d drained the goblet and the prince was pouring him another. How many had he had? He couldn’t remember, because Cillian was smiling away, and everything was getting fuzzy and maybe a little blurred-- Wait, what? Why was everything... And then it all went dark.

Dawn Cooper | Her home

The next morning Dawn was up bright and early, as always. Almost always. Elron was still asleep on his cot which was on the other side of their one-room home. Shack. Unless you counted the bathroom, then it was two. Elron was snoring away. It wasn’t always that Dawn was up before him, but when she was...

“Hey lazy bones get up!”

The girl took a running start across the room and pounced on her roommate, hitting him over the head with her pillow. There was always a consequence to sleeping in later than Dawn. Always. Elron woke up with a start, flailing under the smaller thief's weight. When he finally got his bearings he shoved her off the bed and onto the floor.

“Goddammit, woman!”

This just sent Dawn into a fit of laughter, laying splayed out on the floor. She tried to contain it long enough to shoot a good comeback at him, but this just set off another fit of giggles. “Oh man... The look... on your face,” She snorted in her laughter “Priceless!”

Elron responded by giving her a face-full of pillow, which she quickly grabbed and shot back at him. She was still laughing when he pulled himself up off the bed and got onto his feet. Elron grumbled as he stepped over her, ‘accidentally’ nudging her head with his foot.

“And good morning to you too,” Dawn rolled her eyes as she finally pulled herself up off the floor. “Whose turn is it to go out and get breakfast again?”

“Yours, but I might not be here when you get back. Abusive roommates aren’t easy to live with, you know,” he grumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Dawn crept up behind him and slipped her arms around him in a hug. “You’ll be here. You always are you big dumb dumby head. I only abuse you because I care,” she hummed in a playful tone.

“Awww...”

For a moment, Dawn thought he was going to return the hug. That was until he wrapped his arm around her in a headlock as he dragged her towards the door. Then shoved her out of it as soon as they reach it.

“Back to poverty’s kitchen, Woman!” Elron grinned as he shut the door behind him.
Dawn stuck her tongue out in his direction, anyway. Despite the fact she knew he couldn’t see it. Then turned to a few children that had been playing nearby, and had stopped to watch the display.

“This is why you don’t roommate with Elrons, children.” She ruffled the smallest’s hair as she walked by.

Jahan Siavash | The Prince’s Room, Angorian Palace:

Jahan groaned, rolling onto his side. He blinked, frowning at the blurry room he was in. This wasn’t his room... He blinked again, and then stared. What the-- Jahan abruptly half-sat up, frowning. Why was he in the prince’s room? And-- Jahan looked down. Why was he naked with only a sheet covering him?

He was confused for a long moment, frowning at the situation, and only barely registered the sound of rustling clothing. When looked up, he found Cillian pulling on a jacket, pants and shirt already on. Jahan stared as the prince glanced back at him and threw him a grin before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. “What the...”

Jahan stayed like that for a moment, rubbing at his now-throbbing head. What in the name of the gods had he done last? And wait--was that really mid-morning sunlight streaming in through the window. He blinked, taking in the scene.

A half-empty bottle of wine stood on the prince’s writing desk, still open. Beside it sat two goblets; one on it’s side, clearly empty and the other still standing upright. Jahan stared at the glass goblet, registering the fact that it was still half-full. And then he saw his uniform, draped carefully over the chair he’d been sitting on the night before--he remembered that at least. But...that look. The grin. What kind of game was Cillian playing?

Jahan sighed and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He knew now what had probably happened after he drank that wine, and he wasn’t really furious. Just confused, and slightly concerned. He liked women. Jahan knew Cillian knew this, so why? He frowned, trying to remember anything. When it was still a blank, he decided that he should probably get up, get dressed and go check on the guards. Hopefully no one would ask him where he was last night. That would just be awkward...

Gil Beilschmidt | In his own bedroom, Angorian Palace

The pale-haired ex-general yawned as he rubbed his hair, his colouring matched up with the white sternness of his bedsheets. A yellow bird chick hopped around his window sill and chirped all lively as he pulled on his robes and stared out of the window. What had happened yesterday--he was scared to admit it, but he hadn’t seen it coming. Gil hated not being able to predict events. The only reason he was General--well, one of the few reasons he had been--was because he was scary good at predicting the enemy’s movements. To think that his foretelling had failed him...

...and there was the case of the princess herself, as well. No doubt her father would ignore her strange behaviour as one of her usual moods and dismiss it. In truth, he was the only one that really knew what had happened yesterday and it made him uncomfortable. The Princess--no, Alice--was being rather calm and collected about it all; too distant for his taste. He believed in facing these issues head-on instead of retreating inside a shell and waiting for it all to really explode.

He sighed and turned away from the window; the chick on the sill chirped loudly in an obnoxious tone as he fished through the drawers for his purse. Where had he kept it again? Oh right, probably in the coat. When he finally fished it out, however, he gave it a long stare. A very, very long stare.

What the hell?

Fennel Vasser | Dining room, Angorian Palace

The air in the dining room was thick with apprehension when Fennel finally decided to appear in the doorway, dabbing his cheek with one of the Prince’s perfumed handkerchiefs. Spoiled brat, he thought, looking at the hall’s current occupants. A nervous princess, her face not turning to greet him as it usually did, stared down at the rough wooden surface of the table instead; and her guard distractedly sent a rather frightening glare his way. The former thief almost stepped back, but decided not to. With any luck, the guard wouldn’t actually stab him.

Fennel cleared his throat and took the seat opposite the princess, smiling at her in what he hoped was a peaceful manner while her guard kept his scarlet eyes trained on him, muttering what appeared to be death threats. “So...” Fennel began, feeling awkward. Where were his lackeys when he needed them? Oh right...outside the palace walls. “How did you sleep, my dear Alice?”

She murmured something he couldn’t catch, and finally her guard spoke up. “Leave her alone,” he said flatly. “And for the record, we’d prefer it if you kept your mouth shut. Permanently.” Alice shot a scared glance at him, before her eyes swerved back to the table again. The guard stabbed his food with a fork viciously, and Fennel didn’t fancy being the one the fork was in. So he decided to keep his mouth shut.

A long silence reigned in which the guard’s food-stabbing was the only thing that made any significant noise in the hall. It was in fact, a very long period of time, before another set of footsteps echoed down the hallway connected to the room, and Fennel smirked to himself. Finally, some bait. It wasn’t long before the prince’s own guard appeared, in a rather obvious state of disarray. His hair looked like he hadn’t combed it for three days straight, while his uniform jacket was buttoned up all wrong. Fennel hid a snort as he indulged in a glass of champagne. “Hello, Jahan~”

The pale-haired guard stared openly. “What on earth happened to you?”

Jahan matched the stare with a dark look. “Would you believe me if I said I honestly don’t remember?”

“...yep. Woke up from a few brawls that way myself.” The pale-haired guard snorted to himself as he turned away. Fennel smirked to himself again, sipping delicately on his champagne.

The prince’s guard shot Fennel an unreadable look before taking his place by the door. “Let’s just say I did not wake up in my own room this morning and leave it at that, shall we?” The Revenarian ex-general raised an eyebrow at that, but apparently decided not to comment. Meanwhile, the princess seated beside him blanched at that comment and hid her face even further, if that was possible.

“You know...” The bodyguard started after a while. “Your jacket’s all messed up.”

“Oh, shit,” Jahan muttered and looked down. He blinked and swiftly fixed his jacket. When he looked up, most of the people in the room were staring at him. He flushed. “I apologize for the language, your highnesses...”

“I’ve said worse in my time,” the other guard quipped before he turned back to stabbing his food with a vengeance. Fennel’s smirk widened at this. Things were getting very, very interesting now. Now, if only he could find some way to get his hands on ickle Cill...that would definitely be the best thing, ever.

Gilbert “Don’t-call-me-Filibuster-flail” Beilschmidt | Tálamon Marketplace

Gil Beilschmidt was, at most, very rarely a happy duck. He had his moments, sure, but as mentioned before, they were very rare and very sparse and there were lots of moments in between that made you wonder if he was actually ever capable of looking really happy or even relaxed. Unfortunately for a certain female thief, this was one of those series of moments. “Did you see a female thief around here, about this size, with a lot of scars?” The stall owner he asked shook his head quickly and nervously, backing away at the look in his eyes. “Well?! Answer me!”

“I h-haven’t--!”

Gilbert sent him one last red-tinged glare before he turned away and muttered discontentedly to himself. Where could that short-stacked little rat be? He tugged at a wayward strand of his pale hair as he glanced around. He needed to find that purse, he desperately needed to, and he swore that if the little rat had sold it off he’d skin her alive--or some variant of said killing method. Thus, as he walked through the marketplace with his whole frame tensed to any possible form of threat, he accidentally bumped into what looked like a blue-haired circus freak.

“Watch it!” He rounded on the idiot and snapped, ready to punch the other in the face. The other one smirked before he could actually break his nose, though--and suddenly, Gil found himself unable to move. What...what? Suddenly his own fist shot up and punched him right in the nose, which broke--after all, he wasn’t one of the strongest soldiers in the army for nothing. “AGH! You--” Now his fist came back at him from another angle and suddenly he found himself on the ground with a purple bruise on his left cheek.

“M-master...stop, please...” The boy--a slave, from the look of his clothing (or lack of proper clothing, that is)--behind the blue-haired circus freak said in a low voice, quivering in his flimsy clothes. The freak turned back and glared, before suddenly slapping the back of the boy’s head, which made him whimper. Gil took this moment of distraction to get up on his feet--hopefully he’d be able to put a respectable distance between himself and this...freak. Mage. Whatever.