Young Writers Society

Sandor
It occurred to him, somewhere around the fifth weird look in his direction from the soldiers he was discussing security with, that he must look like hell, rumpled and just a bit disheveled from going straight from the Dancer to Garis then Casie. A couple pointed looks at his injured hand were only more hints for him to stop ordering people around and go back to his rooms to at least get changed and shave, and he resigned himself to it quickly enough, spurred on by the throbs of pain his hand was sending up along his arm.

Punching that mirror had been pretty stupid, in retrospect, even it had seemed like the right idea at the time, what with Derrick dying and all. Damn if the fact that he’d been wrong about that wasn’t enough to almost make him ignore the headache and pain.

That good mood was not even wiped out by the unexpected sight that greeted him when he arrived to his room, and he took the time to close the door behind him before turning to face the two women, eyes seeking his sister’s and tamping down on the urge to fiddle with his shirt in a hopeless attempt to smooth out the creases. He didn’t like that look to her, but what he’d done to find himself on its receiving end, he had no idea. “Arianna? How long have you been here?” A quick glance to Marie, ever faithfully at Ari’s side, only confused him more; he had no idea what to make of her expression either.

“Long enough. Where were you?” Oh, that was the Ari-angry-at-him tone alright. What the hell?

“Doing my job.” Not that she ever seemed to appreciate it. “What brings you here? You’ve never bothered before.” Or if she had, only rarely. Visiting someone made it so hard to ignore them, after all.

And he really didn’t like that look. Wait for it—“I’ve been down to the crypt.” Oh shit. “Where is Derrick.”

Oh yeah, he didn’t like that look at all. The litany of curses running through Sandor’s mind that exact moment might have made even Garis raise an eyebrow, and the man had seen him at his worst. Time to play dumb, why did she even have to go check on him godammit—

“I’m not you, Ari—I don’t play games.” At least bringing up the bite for that retort wasn’t hard. The panic and the anger at that incident were all too easy to reach for, especially relit by Ari’s oh-so-nice dropping of that bomb on him. “If something’s wrong, then look to dear little Rosalie. She’s been so good at following your example.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Sandor.” Urge to back up rising, and repressed mercilessly. Now was not the time to avert his eyes or show weakness of any kind. “You know who the assassin is,” she’s bluffing, she can’t possibly know that, “and I want his name. Now.”

Like she had any room to talk, with that woman working for her. He scowled, fairly bristling in anger. “If I knew who’d killed Derrick, do you really think I’d have let it pass?” He hadn’t, technically, but she didn’t know that. He hoped. “He was my brother more than he was yours, blood be damned. I’d have the assassin’s head on a pike already.”

“Unless it was one of your men who did it. You’ve always been too fond of the rabble.” Too close, she’s getting too close, he snarled—“Are you implying I would let—”

Ari cut him off. “I am saying the assassin was one of yours, and you let him walk away.” A flash of blue eyes, sharp and irate. “I am saying that the man who almost killed me was one of your guards—one of those supposed to keep us safe.” That sneer didn’t look good either. “Say, I hear one of them has been rather injured lately. You know who I’m speaking of, yes? You’ve been to see him, after all.”

The words he wanted to say were not of the kind to improve the situation, so he kept them in, corralled them in with the fear and the dread, the wild roil of she knows now the game’s up you are such a worthless idiot shit she knows we are so screwed. The anger and the protectiveness insisted on coming out to play though, and there was no holding those back, not when they rose so easily to thread through his posture, his clenched fists, his voice. “You keep him out of this.”

And quickly, before that victorious gleam to her eyes could make it anywhere further. Make it look like she’d only hit a nerve, instead of the heart. “He has nothing to do with your—our games, so back off.”

“Why so defensive, then?” That was the most dangerous Ari just there, smirking up at him and so confident, so sure of herself.

“My personal life is none of your business.”

“It is when mine is at risk!” She was so close now. Almost close enough to touch, or to hurt, or just to hold. He’d never been able to decide when it came to her. Right now there was little doubt as to which way the balance was tipping.

“It’s always about you, isn’t it Ari? It’s always your life, your regrets, your position; you have to be the first, at everything, and you can't ever lose, can you?—and everything, everyone else an afterthought—” And he shouldn’t have been airing dirty laundry in front of Marie, but screw that, Ari had brought the conflict here; let her reap the consequences of it. “You were the one to ask for our brother’s death, so don’t you dare blame anything on me right now, and keep the people I”—his voice betrayed him, caught; okay not that word—“care about out of your petty play for power!”

He hated how his breathing had taken that slightly ragged edge that normally only came with exhaustion, or how he could just feel control slipping from his precarious hold on it. He'd hit a nerve though, he could see it in how she was standing just a less rigidly, or how her look had lost some of its ice. "That's how it is, then?", and he did not know if it was a declaration of war or a truce.

Oh Ari. How it could have been so easy for them to—

“Listen. You know me—you know I have never been any good at lying, don’t you?” Unlike you, he wanted to say, but didn’t. She looked at him for a moment, wary but not denying it, so he continued, “So look at me, and tell me if I’m lying to you when I say this: I had absolutely no say in whatever happened to Derrick, nor any idea of it.”

It was no lie, please believe me—and when she nodded, a curt tilt of the head that could have been dismissal as much as acknowledgment, his breath caught in his throat.

“What of your man’s injuries, then?” And she just had to ask that, didn’t she, bring the guilt and his faults up.

His hand hurt.

“I have something of a temper, Ari.” That’s right, laugh at me all you want. He hated it, but now it was a fair price to pay to dampen the suspicions, if only for a while. “And we had a... disagreement.”

“Of course. Only you can hurt the ones you care about, isn’t it so?”

Low blow, sister. Low blow.

“Ari,” he said, and was surprised at how steady his voice was, all things considered. “Have I ever raised a hand to you?” He looked at her, caught the surprise and the outrage that flashed over her features before they were covered under that damnable mask of hers, and nodded when she shook her head, no. “I do not want today to be the first time, so please. Stop talking, and leave me alone.”

Guilty. That was the word Ari had used. And Assassins and a name: Vivian. I could have mistook her, or pretended to, I almost wished for it. If I could have had three wishes that day, one of them would have been to never become privy to Arianna's private thoughts. The other two I will reserve judgement on, for now. I thought of closing my ears and just not listening to anything she said, ignoring the way her mind was fraying before my eyes. I even had the crazy thought of helping it along because if she went mad, then at least there'd be a blank slate to start all over again. Or a mad one. But mad was better than murderous. I'd told myself, I'd promised myself it wasn't her, but the more time I spent in the company of the princess, the more certain I became. She did it. Her own brother.

It wasn't a long walk to Sandor's rooms but by the time we were there, I was convinced she'd had some part in it and grew increasingly worried that Sandor had also played a hand. Games. That was what this was to them. At the speed they talked, I struggled to follow much of what was said but gathered that there was a second assassin, a he. Amongst Sandor's guards. I searched his eyes for any truth in that; he never had been any good at telling lies.

Their bickering went on. I shrunk from them, disgusted that I'd ever wanted to be a part of such a family but even as I did, I couldn't help feeling my heart leap from one to the other. I couldn't find enough love for either, or enough hatred and my understanding of the situation didn't approve. I forgot a lot of what was said and am sure some of the information I stored away for later contemplation is fault. In fact, I don't remember anything clearly until the threat.

“I do not want today to be the first time, so please. Stop talking, and leave me alone.” Sandor meant it and he was a man who, once the fists were raised, didn't know when to stop. He was a man of passion and of action, so different to his seemingly emotionless, calculating sister. Ari had her head tipped to one side and was considering him, considering how much further he could be pushed.

"Stop this," I said quietly, more to myself than anyone else. I had two great big fistfulls of dress in my demure hands and was staring at the two of them. They'd turned to me, neither shocked by my presense but stunned that I had spoken out. "What use is this?" I demanded. "Huh? Can you tell me that? With all your intelligence, your witty repartee."

"Marie, that's enough," Ari warned, her eyes sharp as an owl's and just as predatory.

"No, no it's not," I said. "Derrick's dead and this is the shabbiest mourning I've ever seen." And I ran out of there before either of them had the chance to throw me out. I thought miserably to myself that now I would surely be dismissed but why should I care? And in my madness I had a plan. Vivian. That was one and an injured member of the guard for two. Both assassins, both to blame for deaths and at least one accountable for Derrick's. It was time I introduced myself.

(Unfortunately, this is going to be my last post in a long while. And just when it was getting good too )

Arianna-

"I really need to get new servants," I said, watching Marie leave.

Sandor raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really. And with Marie gone, who would you have in this entire palace to stand beside you?"

She was angry, tired, hurt, hollow. A hundred different emotions broiled inside her- emotions that she had kept hidden for a quarter of a century. She tried to calm herself but it didn't work. "What are you talking about, Sandor?"

"Face it. You've got no allies left. Even if you did gain power, what would you do? No one in the court likes you, no one in your own family likes you. What are you going to do, little princess?"

That was certainly uncalled for. "We are not discussing the fact you're taller than me right now, Sandor. That aside, I may have more allies than you know of."

"Name one."

It was her final secret. Well, not her final one, she had a million of the things. But the one that could cost her the most- the bribery to secure her own position in the palace. And right then and there, she let it slip from her lips. "Lady Popplewell."

Sandor stared. "You're going to bribe the council. You know you can't take the crown by yourself."

"And who would you rather have it? Derrick? He's dead, even if there's no body! Rosalie? Casilda?" She took a step closer to him. "I'm the best person for this job, you and I both know it. So no one likes me. What of it? I was made to rule this country, and that's what I'm going to do, at whatever cost."

"Whatever cost? Like killing your brother? That didn't seem like such a good idea a few days ago."

Arianna straightened. "Things change. I put my priorities back in order. Mother's on death's door, and afterwards I will take the crown, as I was meant to."

"Your mother didn't think you were meant to."

There it was, that hard, cold fact that dug between her ribs like a knife. She actually gasped, a sharp intake of breath, and stared at Sandor, trying once again to compose herself. She needed to get out of this room. This wasn't what she had come for.

"Do you know," she said quietly, "yesterday, in the kitchens, I almost thought that you were my brother."

That clearly hurt him just as much. Arianna hitched her skirt in one hand and began to move away.

"Perhaps in the beginning I was ashamed of you, because of what Mother had done. How she did that to Father..." Arianna shut her eyes, repressing the memory. "But these past few years, you've been as awful to me as I have to you. And probably rightfully so. You act as if your family's important to you, and yet every time you come anywhere close to redemption, you do something to sabotage yourself."

Sandor was silent. Mercifully.

"And perhaps, at one time, we were related." She put her hand on the door, musing for a moment. "But as far as I'm concerned, these days, I'm an only child. The rest of you are just obstacles."

She stepped out and paced down the corridor. She needed a glass of wine. From her own stores.

Vivian

This was a habit she would have to keep.

Coming into the palace through an empty room where she hadn't thought nobles would be, yet walking down the hall had brought the sound of raised voices. One of them being Sandor's. Another was distinctly... Arianna's.

Vivian slid towards the door, ready to hide should anybody come down the hall or exit the room. The wood only let somewhat clear voices come through at best, but it was enough she heard the gist of what was going on. Sandor was being blamed for Derrick's death. And doing rather well detaching himself from implications.

The conversation suddenly became just a bit too quiet to hear. Vivian moved away from the door. Upon hearing the doorknob turn, she slinked into the shadows.

A woman came out. Small, demure, and... angry. Vivian knew that walk, those glances around in every shadow and at every person walking; they were similar for everybody no mater what class the person was.

She was looking for an assassin.

Vivian followed the woman, if only to be out of sight when Sandor or Arianna came out of the room. This person, a servant from her clothes, was still looking. Would taking on a servant's kill even be worth it?

She smirked. If this servant had been inside the room, with Arianna, and hadn't been ordered to leave earlier for whatever reason, she was close to the siblings. A servant who was close to their lord was a good commodity to have.

When the halls were deserted and there was hardly a possibility for anybody to come, Vivian let her presence be known. "Looking for somebody?"

(This is my last post, and yes. Casi is dying. Btw, please give me some warning next time you decide to kill off my character. It's kind of a shock to come on see her getting killed....)

Casilda:

The pain woke Casi up and she wriggled around, gasping at the pain, until she fell out of her bed. She began crawling for her door, cursing the woman under her breath. Not to self; never trust an assassin she told herself. Although that advice was useless now, Casi knew she was dying.

"Sandor," Casi gasped as she reached the door and pulled herself to her feet. She twisted the door handle and pushed the door open, startling a few of the nobles nearby. "Help," she called out weakly. "Sandor....Sandy."

Casi gasped some more and then collapsed, causing several of the noble women to scream. Oh hell, she'd really done it now...

And then everything went black.

I'm really sorry I didn't PM you. The fact we're on a pretty tight deadline (Ky already being half-here cause of his school, Jag's plane leaves on Friday, and chances are I'll not have time to SB come Tuesday) made us want to finish the SB. PMing slipped my mind, and I am very sorry.

Thing is, your post now makes it my character has to vanish because everybody knows there's a female assassin. If you could make the halls empty, then the rest of us could still have some plot to play with (Vivian is so central to the conflict right now, her vanishing would mostly collapse the conflict) and the SB could continue.

Please? Again, I am sorry. But the rest of us would like to continue this SB and your post has made that rather difficult.

Sandor
And that is why you should keep your mouth shut, you idiot. Could you possibly screw this up any more?

He wished he could punch a wall or scream or get very, very drunk right now, but none of those were viable optionsm, so he settled for sighing, eyes falling shut. Such a mess they were, all of them, and dragging everyone around down with them. Who had even started this in the first place? It all seemed to blur in a succession of near-deaths, grief and feuding, and that there had been so much resentment, hate in the family—that he hadn’t noticed the extent of it earlier, that he couldn’t fix it...

He’d never wanted to alienate Ari. She was his sister, she was blood, and blood was important, he believed that. He did. It’d felt damn good to finally tell her how he felt, but it hadn’t been worth it, not for the two seconds of relief and triumph he’d gotten from it.

Nothing was worth that look she'd worn for just a second, or the words she'd said—because those had been sincere, and that hurt, that the one time she’d be honest with him was to renounce him.

His hand hurt, he was tired and he didn’t how to make any of this better. Useless, now and always.

“I just don’t want my family to kill each other. Is it really that much to ask?”

The wall was mercifully silent on that matter, and politely looked back.

He should be moving, he knew. Do what he’d come here to do before he’d been sidetracked by Ari and the knives in her mouth and her eyes, but now his rooms felt foreign to him, bare and still echoing the last remnants of angry voices. Maybe the sounds would seep into the stone: everything seemed to be volunteering itself to act as a reminder of his failings, after all.

And Marie... yeah, he'd screwed that up too. And she'd never been part of this, couldn't have been, but Ari and him, they'd taken her along. No wonder she'd finally snapped. I'm going to have to apologize, and wasn't that just great, another item to add to a list that would never end. He just hoped nothing bad happened to her. Ari could be nasty when she put her mind to it.

He wasn't sure how long it was he just stood there, just that when he was jolted out of his thoughts it was by a terrified servant barging in, babbling indistinguishably, with only a couple words clear, but more than enough to have him drop all brooding and rush out: "Princess Casilda", "dead".

No no no no, this couldn't be happening now. Not after he'd just found Derrick again. Not after Ari.

Please.

By the time he reached the cluster of nobles and physicians his heart had sunk deep, deep down, and when he saw her—

"Cas—" Sometimes professionalism and habit were efficient dams against emotion. "What happened."

One of the women dared pipe up with a "She stumbled out, called for help—said your name, and then..." Oh Casie. He should've been here. "Dead," the man examining her nodded gravely, and Sandor closed his eyes again, waited for the wave of anger and denial that'd emerged when he'd thought Derrick dead to come roaring back—and blinked them open when he found nothing but a low, disbelieving thrum of grief, spread like a blanket over the place where there should have been a howling storm of rage.

It's just another trick, some part of him insisted, and would not listen to his reminding himself that no, Garis was still incapacitated and that woman (for it was her, it had to be) would have no reason to spare Casi. And he'd made it clear to Ari their little sister was off-limits, which left—

This isn't real, his mind insisted, and he would not protest: the shock and the anger would come crashing down anytime now, but this passive sureness that it was nothing serious and to hell with the physicians, was strangely appealing.

"Get her out of the hallway." She shouldn't have been here, not collapsed like this on the ground like a forgotten, fragile doll. He would have picked her up himself, moved her back to her room, anything, but... "I'll be back. I need to take care of something."

He had to see sweet, murderous little Rosalie now, and there could be no more waiting. He'd stalled enough, and look where it had gotten him: with the one sister that liked him (not) dead. So curse the distance that separated Rosie from Casilda's rooms, because obviously it hadn't kept the danger away, and curse those fools that kept getting in his way. Curse that door for being locked, (what the hell she never bothered, not during the day), his hands for shaking when he tried his key and fumbled with the lock, and—

No. He didn't drop the key, but that was only because it was stuck in the door still.

Strange, how his mouth was so dry or how his vision seemed to have blacked out for a second.

No.

And hello there, numbness. You here to stay?

Marie

It was one thing to go looking for an assassin but, quite another, when you actually found one or rather, when one found you. I felt little uncertainty when I found myself confronted by the darkly clothed vixen but I stood and observed her for a while. Soft shoes. Good for moving quietly. Shapely legs, hardly a necessity but probably an asset in any vocation, except my own. A fair face or shapely figure only ever got a maid into trouble but those better off seemed to carry them most well. This one had it all. Her lips were plump but had that way of looking fresh, as if they'd never been kissed before and were just waiting to be opened up to the delights of the world. Her bossum was swollen and welcoming but not out of proprtion with the lean, cat-like figure. It was everything, even down to the way she held herself and the way her eyebrow made a perfect, questioning arch.

A lot of things were becomming clear to me that day and one of them was the unfairness of it all. I'd never before envied beauty because, as I said, in my line of work it only brought you trouble so I'd envied class and all that came with it but not beauty itself. To see that such a lowly, cruel, horrid creature could have beauty and twist it to her own means was hard. It wasn't right. I thought to myself that if I were beautiful, I'd never ensnare men's hearts against their will or use it to tempt poor women into a sense of false security.

"You must be Vivian," I said at last.

"That depends on who wants her." She hid her surprise well but I thought I saw it there, just for a second. After years of catching little flickers from Ariana, studying her blank expressions for even the minutest move, how could I not?

"Games. Again." I couldn't keep the disgust from my voice. You'd have thought that growing up around them all, I would have picked up a taste for the politics, and perhaps to some extent I had. Certainly it was fun in my youth to aid the siblings in playing one against the other, even to be played myself, but that was when I thought it harmless fun. The servants never encouraged or permitted themselves such behaviour. In retrospect, they were much the better people for it. "Allow me to be blunt. I do not wish to see the royal funds exhausted by two miscreants, just because the children can't help but squabble amongst themselves." Except this was more than squabbling but it was so much easier if I could blame anybody but them, anybody but her.

"Are you trying to warn me off?" The woman (though she was barely that) sounded amused and casual, as if we were simply disagreeing over which tablecloth to choose. I felt a foreign sense of danger, one that I hadn't even experienced upon the death of Derrick. Certainly the royal children were targets but myself? Had I ever dreamed that someone would consider me important (or insignificant) enough to be done away with? A shudder ran down my spine but did nothing to check my anger or resolution.

"Quite the contrary. I wish to employ you. I'm sure the other assassin has been, or is about to be rewarded with a fiendish sum from the treasury. Take him out. In return I'll see to it that the money falls into your hands." Could I do that? Possibly. The money would already have gone missing or been arranged to go missing so it would simply be a case of redirecting the path. It sounded so much simpler in my head. And why did I even want the other one done away with? Because I couldn't be sure? Because I didn't care for any of their kind, or even worse, because I wanted any evidence that Sandor had betrayed us, me, to be wiped away before my treacherous mind saw fit to investigate. And then after that? Did I expect that this Vivian would leave? Unfortunately in my simple naivety, I did. I couldn't understand that there was more to be lured by than the money, or even that any one person could be discontent with such a fortune.

Vivian

Her eyes flashed. Taking out her only competition. Getting his payment, when she had already gotten a matching payment for half his job. And being able to slip away before Sandor got his sword into her neck. She would need to slip away soon anyway. Getting paid for vanishing, while getting his stores?

Vivian smiled.

"I could arrange that."

The maid squared her shoulder, hiding her fear surprisingly well. "A yes or no is all that is required."

The payment would be enough to give a straight answer. "Yes. He'll be dead by tomorrow."

A small shudder ran through the girl's body— again, Vivian noted with satisfaction— before she nodded. Seeing no need to prolong her stay in the halls, especially when Sandor should be finding the princess' bodies any minute now, Vivian slinked off down the hall.

It was a shame she had to kill Garis. He'd been well on his way to becoming a prime contact; a foothold into the capital's underground. But Vivian knew the risks of having two assassins under one roof. Especially when one was under the protection of the palace guard— which she was now making a point to avoid.

At the same time, when faced with the possibility that the most likely place Garis could be found was Arianna's rooms, Vivian ignored how many guards might be in the area. It did, however, mean she was entering through the window. It would be much easier to escape should guards begin filing towards the princess' room if Vivian was outside.

She smiled when her target dropped out of Arianna's window, the hint of unprofessionalism in his landing telling her his injuries still pained him. Vivian kept that smile as she slipped into the light.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" she asked, fingers gliding down her neck to her chest. "With me" passed through the air as she placed a hand on her hip. It would be so much easier to kill behind closed doors.

Garis

He was beginning to cramp in his spot in the tree when he saw Princess Arianna storming into her room. Only she didn't storm in the sense of stomping and throwing a tantrum. It was a far more dignified storm, the sort that radiated off a person with great charisma, and sent everyone in her path scurrying out of fear for their lives.

Excellent. None of the servants would be bothering her (or him) for hours yet.

If only Sandor hadn't disarmed him so well, and if only Ilgard hadn't been so nosy and cleared away all his tools, and if only he had time to nab a dagger or somesuch, but an opportunity had presented itself, and it was too good to pass up. He still had a poisoned pin, possibly the same one he'd stabbed the princess with before, only this time, it was covered in a faster acting, more potent, and rarer poison. He doubted the princess would have an immunity to it.

And so, when he was certain the princess was engrossed in her wine, her back to the window so that she faced the door, the assassin climbed down the tree and slunk through the window he had earlier unlocked, slipping through with hardly a whisper of cloth.

The princess never heard him coming, so self absorbed was she, not that Garis would have given her time to notice him. Not this time around. He gagged her with one hand and pricked her throat with the pin, holding her down for those few seconds of struggle before she fell limp. He moved her to her bed, tucked her in, and then began scoping the room for hidden treasures; he would come back for them later, once the furor over her death had died down.

Satisfied with the fruits of his scouting, the assassin slipped back out the window only to be met by a most dangerous person.

She looked particularly lovely in full light, Garis mused as he glanced her over, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. Her invitation, though, caught him quite pleasantly by surprise, and he smiled in return, relaxing just a touch. He wasn't stupid. He knew she was probably trying to get him someplace private so that she could kill him. But he also knew that she liked to play, otherwise he would not still be alive, and he was never one to turn down a chance to play.

And maybe they could have some fun before they had to set about killing each other.

And so Garis smiled mock-sheepishly and replied, "Yes, but as I am sure you can see, I've quite exhausted myself." He limped a bit for emphasis.

"So I see," came the amused reply. "And I suppose you would appreciate some... help getting to bed?"

"I would appreciate it most thoroughly," he said, charm oozing from his best smile.

Vivian sidled up beside him, her arm suggestively slithering around his waist even as his arm draped her shoulder in a parody of support. They set off to Garis' rooms, and the assassin couldn't help but smile even wider.

Tonight was looking to be a fun night, indeed.

Vivian

Now. Should she kill him as soon as she got into his room, or wait and risk him possibly killing her? Garis knew her plans, after all— she didn't expect anything less.

Vivian helped him into his room, his smile quickly making the choice for her. There was no shame in playing just a bit. There might even be the chance to buy him off. And a personal debt would certainly be... worthwhile with him. She closed the curtains after she entered.

"Need some help to the bed?" she asked, already slinking closer.

He smiled ad her, nodding with pretend weakness. Vivian stepped up and rubbed his shoulders, letting her hands glide up his neck to run her fingers through his hair. He could almost meet her eyes without looking down. His smile was genuine enough to know if either of them had a final night tonight, it would certainly be an interesting one.

In one smooth movement she was at his side, as if she'd never lingered. She helped him and his false limp to bed, helping him sit. She put one hand behind his shoulder, another on his neck, to help him down. His sore leg was forgotten as he shifted properly onto the bed. Vivian leaned over him, hand on his neck traveling to tangle in his hair again.

Until she heard the click of the door opening. There was no mistaking that tall silhouette even at a quick glance. The only reason he would have to come here is to find out about one or more deaths. She had to find a way out and quickly.

Vivian's hand went to her belt, yanking out a pin and sticking it in Garis' neck. He groaned at the sharp stab of pain, causing Sandor to stop in his tracks.

She straightened, holding the bloodied needle up for him to see. "If you want him to live, you'll not kill me."

Sandor
"If you want him to live, you'll not kill me."

He’d thought her a hallucination at first, a waking nightmare come to hound his steps, but that voice cut through the daze as keenly as the needle pierced Garis’ skin. Of course she was there. Of course. Two sisters dead and he was close, so close to losing someone else, again, when was this going to end? “Like you didn’t kill Casilda?” He didn’t like the sound of his own voice right now, didn’t trust it not to do break or disappear.

He wasn’t even sure why he’d come up here, why go to Garis instead of Ari—because she was the one that Vivian was working for, it would have made more sense to go to her—because he had to do something—and with an assassin on the loose it only made sense to go see the one he knew, and—and maybe he just wanted to see someone that didn’t hate him for a bit, and hang on to the hope that someone at least was well.

So much for that.

He blinked, and her lips were moving, and for all that her voice was forever branded as bad news in his mind, it took a conscious effort to focus on the words themselves. The antidote against his letting her leave—unharmed—was it? Always the same deal, with her: get cornered, threaten, walk away. So tired of it, and he wanted to be angry but that wouldn’t come anymore than the grief, so he just sighed and nodded, drawn tight as a bowstring as she reached for her vial. She must not have looked much different when killing his sisters, and she made it look so easy—get close and prick and walk away scot free—even especially with Garis, who knew how it worked, who knew the danger; the girls would have had no chance, and—

And still this quiet thrum of nothingness in his head and the pain in his hand reverberating.

...and this was not how Garis was supposed to be reacting to the antidote. It hadn't been like this last time, and he was no doctor but he'd been around the palace enough to know how those things went when you got there in time. For one, the victim wasn't supposed to look worse after receiving the antidote unless Ilgard had administered it, the man had the nastiest potions in the world.

His eyes narrowed, and he directed the full force of that newfound glare on the assassin. "What did you do to him?" Seemed like did have some anger left in him after all. Being terrified to death apparently helped with snarling, too, and while it was far from his best, it was passable. Not so much for coherence, admittedly, since he was halfway across the room to her before he realized it, fists clenched too hard and just itching to finally, finally put the nuisance she was out of commission, but then again perhaps it was just as well. Thinking had brought nothing but regrets and mistakes. Thinking would force him to accept what he'd seen earlier, and he didn't want to. Not death, not then, not now, especially not now, and if he had to corner her and properly explain to that woman that it was now time to stop mucking around because she'd gone past the 'too much' line the moment she'd set foot here and he was at breaking point, then he'd gladly do it.

Why exactly he thought that any plan of his, however fuzzy and rough, would hold when he was in Garis' close proximity, he would never be able to justify; for once though it was only wary relief and not exasperation or frustration that rose when Garis managed some sort of sound that probably, maybe, was supposed to be human speech from the bed and made him whirl faster than he'd ever done in his life, inane questions on current state and wellbeing rising only to catch at the knot in his throat, and godammit his vision had no right to blur like this, and such a fine time his heart had chosen to catch up with the excitement too.

Please let him be alright.


[[4am = Jag out x.x Pooooke if I need to add/change anything, mmkay? brb, passing out nao]]

Garis

Everything was off to a good start. Vivan was beside him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other beneath his shoulder, neither of them free to grab for a weapon. But both his hands were free to reach for the blades (recovered from his secret secret stash because Sandor had confiscated all the weapons in his secret stash) he had concealed in his boot and beneath his pillow, should it all be a ploy on the lady assassin's part. In the meantime, though, he planned on enjoying all the attention.

He must have been enjoying the attention a little too much because, when the door clicked open, Vivian had the time to untangle her fingers from his hair and stab him with (another) needle before he could stab her with the boot knife he'd just palmed.

Garis groaned and went limp, mentally berating himself for getting poisoned again. And he'd taken precautions this time, too. In the meantime, though, he'd relax and stay calm and by a little more time for stubborn Sandor to (loudly) come to terms with the situation and get him the antidote.

Only this time, Sandor was unusually subdued, and the transaction was conducted in record time. Not that Garis was going to complain, but it was a bit worrying how his friend seemed to have lost all his bluster.

All such worries vanished, however, as Sandor administered the antidote and Garis felt sick to his stomach. He knew that antidote (and its associated poisons), which was the only reason why he didn't spew it back up then and there, even though he knew it would make him feel off for days; spewing from both ends was always preferable to death.

Worries were further banished when, after overcoming the extremely strong gag reflex the antidote induced, Garis noticed that Sandor was back to his usual violent self and pounding someone into a pulp in the corner. All fine and good, except if Sandor killed the person, there was a good chance that he'd be relieved of command, and Garis wouldn't be able to get away with a quarter of what he did with a different commander, so Sandor had to stay.

And so Garis called out Sandor's name... or tried to. It came up a bit garbled as it was aborted by some rapidly rising bile, but it did the job, and in no time at all, Sandor was by his side. And all was fine and dandy except Garis now had an uncontrollable urge to heave up his last meal all over his commander-friend, and there was a quivering lump of beaten person still in the corner.

But one thing at a time.

Vivian

A muffled yelp was Sandor's reaction to the first punch. Vivian tried to keep his blows from doing damage— that she couldn't quickly recover from, anyway. Another yelp when he hit the same spot twice.

For once, or twice, in her life, she didn't run. At this point it was better to let Sandor get his anger out on her before it became something worse and she couldn't return. The way things had been going, the palace would be a... promising place to return to. If she didn't let Sandor have a moment of rage, the chances she could return were low. All it would take was surviving this.

A choked, very wet, barely audible sound got Sandor away from her. Vivian used the opportunity to slip closer to the window. As a worried Sandor continued to try and nurse Garis she slipped out the window and into the night.

~

It took a week for the worst bruises to heal enough she trusted her movements. Sandor had done a worse number on her than she would ever admit, especially if the risk of seeing him again was present. But it was a risk she had to take.

There was not a chance she was leaving without seeing Garis one more time. There was a slight chance at redemption, and he was proving to be a potential contact. The castle had shown itself to be too rich a prize to let him go.

Besides, she had a dagger to give back.

A quick walk to the palace and climbing the wall in evening's shadow and she was at Garis' window. Sandor should be keeping an eye on Derrick. He'd been returned to the palace a couple days after Arianna's death had been made public. Vivian hadn't been around for Sandor's triumphant finding of the "kidnapped" prince Derrick. Wisely. She doubted showing her face to him now would be a good idea. Pre-coronation parties also made for the perfect opportunity to see about talking to Garis.

"I see you've made a good recovery," she said upon closing the window.

Garis was suddenly very awake. "... Can't leave well enough alone, can you?"

Vivian chuckled. "Of course not." Slowly she walked over to his bed. "I'm not here to poison you again, lovely. I believe you've had quite enough of that."

"Then what do you want?" he said, green tint to his skin barely visible.

She slid into bed next to him, hand going to tangle in his hair. "I figured a bit of an apology before I left wouldn't be such a bad thing to do."

He smiled. "I'm sorry, but if it involves play I can't, right now."

Vivian laughed. "I wasn't asking for that." She kissed his cheek as she slipped his dagger to the bed beside her. His hand caught her wrist.

"Not going to poison, hm?"

"You don't recognize it?" she asked, sly smile on her lips.

Without letting go of her wrist, he twisted the dagger to better look at it. "Well well. Either you're returning it, or planing on killing me with my own."

She chuckled, other hand going to the side of his face. "Returning it, of course. Killing you just isn't in the cards."

He worked the dagger out of her grip, just as Vivian pulled away out of range. No use risking her life staying in arm's reach.

She blew him a kiss. "I'll try to return at one point." The window opened, and she sat on the sill. "Goodbye."

With that, she vanished into the dark.

Sandor
Once it had been ascertained that Garis wasn't going to die and he'd realized that woman had taken advantage of his concern over his friend to slip away unnoticed, Sandor had proceeded to bury himself back into work in order to stop himself from thinking back on the whole convoluted mess. The times when he'd been forced to slow down had brought with them the disquieting realization that two thirds of his family were now dead (Arianna dead--and that'd been a nasty surprise to find after Casie and Rosalie, one the parts of his mind that were still functioning said was rather unlikely to have been caused by his least favourite assassin, leaving only one suspect left; at least mother had had the foresight to pass away quietly just before anyone had had the time to tell her what had happened to her daughters), and that wasn't something he could linger on too long without feeling like punching someone or, even better, finding a bottle or six and see it was possible to drown in it.

Which wasn't an option, because now someone had to deal with all the troubles that came with royalty dying (if it'd been only one of them--that would've almost normal, as per court reckoning. Two was worrying. Three was Serious.) and Derrick 'coming back to life', and that someone apparently was him. Why exactly, he had no idea, especially given how useless he'd been during the events themselves, but apparently there were appearances to be kept and security to be seen to (because saying "I've dealt with the assassin and the other one is under strict orders not to leave his bed, not that he'll listen" was strangely counterproductive to acquiring peace).

At least Derrick was still alive. When there was nothing else, he forced himself to focus on that. His brother was alive and well, and would step for the crown soon, and in the meanwhile would attend fancy parties to settle the restless, gossipping nobility down.

Someone else might have deigned to finally loosen up a little. Sandor only saw it as another reason to keep a close watch on him, ignoring the patient protests that ran along the lines of "Stop hovering? Please?" with little more than a "humour me" thrown in when Derrick tried to turn the 'adorable younger brother' look on.

One day Derrick would remember he could pull rank on him. As far as Sandor was concerned, the further away that day was, the better. Bad enough that the longer those things went the more tempting it was to just listen and make his escape.

Or that Derrick knew to read him all too well.

"Get out."

Frown, stare, cross arms unimpressedly. Eye brother. Pretend not to notice the grin undermining the abruptness of the words.

"Your glaring is making everyone nervous."

"...so?"

"So I happen to know for a fact that you've got about four people in the crowd keeping an eye on me--" "Five, actually" "--everyone who's come in this room has been checked" "Always room for error" "--and I'd like to remind you I'm perfectly capable of defending myself, as I've proved last time we sparred and I beat you" "I let you win" "Shut up. Aaaand I know you and know you'd rather be elsewhere. So go."

And just like that he was turning away, ready to slip back into the mass of frills and brocades, only stopping for a second to turn back. "Say, have you seen Garis around lately?"

Little brothers: making life difficult since times immemorial. Sandor pictured a still-not-completely-recovered Garis vs the man whose death he'd faked, remembered mentions of it being painful, took into account his friend's smart mouth, met his brother's eyes and managed a noncommittal noise. Derrick shrugged, made to leave again. "Coronation tomorrow. Be there. And no more hovering. Now go worry somewhere else."

Well, when he put it like that. With a last scowl aimed nowhere in particular, he made his way out, nodding at the guards posted around the room and the hallways. No more killing would be nice.

Derrick was alive, and soon to be king. Garis was alive and not missing any limbs. Better than nothing. The question left was, how long would it last?



[[I did get it done by morning? If morning starts at 7am? >.>]]