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***Nero*** · **08-06-2014, 03:56 AM**

"Mmmhhmppm!"

Nero glanced at the source of the noise in irritation. The Highlander had woken up and started struggling against his bonds, the chair making a rhythmic clack clack clackÂ against the floor. Casually, the Midlander smuggler walked to the other side of the room and with his foot, shoved the chair-bound Highlander over. While the tall Hyur continued to struggle, at least the chair had stopped making that insidious clacking noise.

"Bit of a noisy sort, your bodyguard." Nero remarked. "He ought to learn to relax a bit. Take life slowly, you know?"Â

At the back of the room, bound to another chair, was a middle-aged Lalafell garbed in gaudy clothing and jewelry that indicated his status as a wealthy merchant. Unlike the Highlander, the Lalafell was the picture of calm, as if expecting himself to be teleported to the security of his estate at any moment. Nero and the Lalafell stared at one another in a long silence that was punctuated by the occasional shuffling of the Highlander.

Finally, the Hyur sighed. "You're making this much harder than it has to be." Nero exhaled, the exasperation showing on his voice. He tousled his hair briefly with one hand, placing the other on his hip. "You know, the fact that we're both doing something technically illegal is supposed to make this easy. Surrender full control of the route to me, and I'll pay you a stipend. Nobody else has to know. There is absolutely nothing you will lose from this besides a single route out of fifty. Besides maybe a bit of pride and a few hundred thousand gil." He paused, expecting a reaction. When none came, he knelt down to the Lalafell's level, his earrings jingling softly. A cocky grin curled the corner of Nero's lip.

"Give me this one route, and you'll get to go home safe and sound, and I'll be able to go to the Bismarck in time to make my reservation."

"I will not condone the trade of illicit goods," the Lalafell wheezed in a somewhat hollow voice, as if he were reading off a script. Nero snorted derisively in response, standing up, his cordial expression replaced by a sneer of utter contempt.

"I'm fairly certain your bosses in the Syndicate ship more illicit product in a day than I do in a year. Please don't try to defend this on moral grounds, I can only take so much hypocrisy in one sitting before having an allergic reaction." His face evaporating back into an eerily cheery smile, he spread his arms dramatically. "And need I remind you of exactly how much product you were stealing from your employer with that route? I mean, I could have just sold the info to them, but being the paragon of generosity that I am.." A soft bump was heard as the Highlander apparently made contact with the wall during his struggle. Nero rolled his eyes.

"Stop struggling, you're only going to hurt yourself." It seemed to work, for the noises of the Highlander's epic struggle with the ropes and the chair ceased. Turning his attention back to the Lalafell, Nero crossed his arms, icy blue eyes gazing directly at his captive.

"Well, if you won't accept my very generous offer, maybe I'll just let our mutual friend Pepesha accept it." At the mention of that name, the eyes of the middle-aged Lalafell widened, seemingly synchronised with the widening of the Hyur's grin. "After a judicious application of persuasive force, obviously." The Lalafell seemed to freeze, but beyond that made no reaction for several long seconds of quiet, a habit that Nero was getting rather tired of.

Nero's grin drooped slightly, an eyebrow furrowing. "What I'm saying is that I'm going to hit her. A lot. As in, with my hand. Shaped like this." He held up a fist. "And it's probably going to hurt a lot. Unless you turned her into an iron golem or something. In which case the joke would be on me. You know, I wouldn't even be mad if that happened."

The Lalafell did not appear amused by the idea.

Nero sighed again. "Look, friend, really, one of three things are going to happen before this day is over. One," his mouth spread into another Cheshire-esque smile of faux affability and he clasped his hands together,"you accept my proposal and we all go home happy. Two, I throw your body," the Hyur jabbed a thumb at a nearby window, "out of that architectural orifice, and lean on your pretty daughter until sheÂ accepts my proposal. Or falls madly in love with me. One of the two." He paused.

"The third is that I get bored and forget about you. Maybe take a week off in Costa del Sol. Then I consider early retirement and spend the rest of my days being fanned by lovely Miqo'te girls in colorful swimwear."

Nero sighed wistfully, then glanced at the Lalafell, his hands on his hips again.

"Between you and me, that's the most unlikely one."

Another long silence, hopefully the last of many, passed until the Lalafell croaked out an answer. "How do I know you aren't going to sell me out anyway?"

Sensing that the Lalafell was close to caving, Nero's expression lit up into one of glee, and performed a mocking bow to his captive. "You have my word as a liar, scoundrel, smuggler, and honest-to-gods good for nothing ruffian," the Hyur announced dramatically.Â

With a smile still cresting his face, Nero tilted his head towards the Lalafell. "By which I mean, you don't. But it's not as if you have a choice now, do you?"

"And my daughter?" the Lalafell's voice had broken down into a whisper.

"Will remain safe and sound...probably. If you cause trouble for me, we'll need to have a little chat with her. And her husband." The Hyur had no intention of doing any lasting harm to Pepesha or her husband--his information said that the couple had a child on the way--but that didn't mean he couldn't make the older Lalafell sweat a little bit.

In an exhalation that seemed to amalgamate into a cross between a wheeze, a sigh, and a cough, the Lalafell slumped. "Take....take the route, then."

Nero spun around, clapping his hands, his widest smile yet adorning his face. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Warren Castille · **08-06-2014, 09:50 AM**

Moonlight pooled through the window and illuminated them in each other's arms. Menphina was spying on her handiwork and if the full glowing face of the moon in the sky was any indication, she was looking intently.

Warren looked back in quiet contemplation before shifting his gaze from one heavenly body to the next. Her face was gentle and relaxed in the weary hands of restful sleep and her arms had long since stopped squeezing against him but remained fast around his sides. The tears had ceased and Warren's heart sang songs while looking at her like that; Peaceful and innocent, a young woman basking in the glow of the moon. It was with this picture in mind that Warren struggled to quell the fires stoked within.

She'd told him, of course. He had always wanted to know whatever he could about her investigations, and she complied with his wishes possibly more intently than she would normally be permitted to speak with someone not officially Sworn. When she returned on the verge of tears, her face tense with the struggle to remain composed, he had immediately set the book down on the endtable and gone to her. He looked at her face as she slept on him and kept it framed while he remembered how she had come apart in his arms and told him of the conversation she and Alabrous Tane had that evening.

He had offered loving arms and gentle words, a kind ear to listen and warm lips to soothe. She needed him to help steady herself, and she'd cried and sobbed and poured her heart into his hands and he'd kept vigil over it as he had over her, but now that she was asleep something within him was stirring. Alabrous Tane. Conniving, insufferable rogue who laughed in the face of respect and authority. A man who listened to gil above all else.

He'd referenced that in Ul'dah, gil and power were interchangeable. He'd made clear that, regardless of your station in life, money would get you things. He'd made certain she knew that while he was spending money, to her he was mightier than the Twelve. His gil spoke for him, and it said he was master.

Not any longer.

Those days had long since passed. The woman he thought he had lorded over, had broken, did not belong to him, or any other. She had become something fierce and faithful, not despondent and miserable. Alabrous Tane thought his history would spare him the burden of needing to acknowledge who she was now.

Warren thought perhaps he needed to clarify things for Alabrous Tane.

***Nero*** · **08-08-2014, 03:22 AM**

To call the sight "sorry" would be to say that a rampaging Morbol at a wedding was a mildly unwelcome presence.

The sight in question was that of a Roegadyn and a Hyur collectively slumped on a table like used napkins that had been left after a banquet. The Sea Wolf's mint green skin had adopted a worringly pale pallor, while the Hyur's face glowed with a flushed hue that could not have signified intoxication more unless a bottle-shaped sign constructed of fiery letters were suspended above his head.

The Drowning Wench was unusually quiet that night, and Tenfingers, the proprietor, was nowhere to be seen, leaving nary a soul in sight. The moon shone high in the sky, its argent gleam contrasting with the warm pub lights, and the sound of the sea lapping at the docks carried gently through the mostly empty establishment. The vacancy was something of an anomaly, as Limsa Lominsa's most popular pub could, under normal circumstances, only truly be considered "empty" when there are one or more dead or unconscious bodies in it.

As it happened, not only were there no dead or unconscious bodies (that could be seen, anyway) but the furniture was intact as well. Several bottles lay strewn around the pair's table, a clear enough hint at the revelry that had taken place, and a wordless explanation for their undignified position.

Occasionally, something between a groan and a sigh would be traded between the two, with the Hyur's resembling a blacksmith's bellows and the Roegadyn's resembling the same pair of bellows but with a particularly loud bag of rocks stuck inside it. Their exhalations and variations thereof were the most significant communication the pair had traded with one another in what felt like years.

One of the bottles rolled off the table and clattered to the floor, another unfortunate casualty of the festivities. The noise provoked a jolt of movement from the Hyur, who lethargically lifted his head to scan his surroundings. A tarnished pair of elaborate earrings jingled as his head moved, with bloodshot eyes the colour of ice slowly attempted to remember how to properly perceive an environment.Â

"Mayhaps....I spent too much, Satz..." Nero wheezed. With both hands he held his head, soot black bangs crested with streaks of orange falling around his face. The Roegadyn provided his valuable insight to the Hyur's statement by promptly falling off the chair with a mightyÂ thudÂ that would have squashed a steel ingot. A rumble escaped the Sea Wolf's lips that at this point sounded more like an extended grunt than a groan or a sigh.

"Ye have....nev'r been one t' hold back..." Every word the giant uttered seemed to take a titanic amount of effort. The corner of Nero's lips struggled to form some semblance of a grin.

"Because...we could all be dead tomorrow, and we have...to spend that time well...or something.."

The silence that followed indicated that philosophy was not welcome in the current situation.

"I...I may be dead right now...tell Garalt that 'e still owes me money..." Another heave of the rock-filled bellows resonated from beneath the table. "Ooh, a century be too long 'fore I see the Wench's floor again..." Satz rolled over like a log, the Roegadyn's blocklike face resting squarely on a floor tile.

"Have..have you ever thought about that?" Nero asked, one hand still holding up his head as the other hand fished around in his pockets for nothing in particular.

"I'm not inna position t' be thinkin' about anything 'sides me impending demise...." came the response which Nero either ignored or didn't register, with the latter being more likely.

"Why...why does Tenfingers call this place the 'Drowning Wench'? I mean, has...has he drowned a wench before?"

"Yer too loud..." the floor complained. Nero lay the side of his head onto the roughly cut wood of the table, staring out of the pub's entrance, his earrings jingling once again and his eyes blearily opening and closing like they had temporarily forgotten how to blink and were trying to recall the motion from muscle memory.

"Did a wench once drink so much here that...she drowned? Why would...why would you name your pub after that?" The Hyur's bizarre inquiry to nobody in particular continued. "Wouldn't that...be like naming a smithy 'The apprentice who burned to death inside the forge'..?"

"Lad, right now yer voice be as pleasant as th' sound o' coeurls mating," was Satz' contribution to the incredibly fascinating question.

"Did the...the wench drown inside the building? On the building? Around it?" Nero flopped his arms over the side of the table where they dangled like vines. "Was it really a wench? Maybe it was a barmaid or a fishmonger's daughter..."

"'E prob'ly named it after 'is wife.." The Sea Wolf's voice had evolved from rocks in a bellow to rocks being smashed together.

The deliberate opening and closing of Nero's eyelids took ten long seconds.

"...Tenfingers has a wife?"

Another groan emerged from the floor.

The night continued.

C'kayah Polaali · **08-08-2014, 01:13 PM**

"You want me to what?"

C'kayah sat uncomfortably on the edge of his chair, holding a too-hot cup of liquor and frowning at the dark-skinned Matriarch perched before him.

"Take Rhaki in", she replied. Her face was calm and composed, her voice smooth. She'd aged in the years he'd known her, a streak of white contrasting to her dark hair, the lines at the corners of her eyes deeper than when he'd last seen her. She still carried the same easy air of authority, however. The same confidence that he would acquiesce, that his objections were merely part of the ritual they must go through.

"Why Rhaki? Why us?"

"She's restless", Farih said simply. When he didn't reply, she continued on. "She wants to make her mark in the world, and she doesn't think she can do it here, at home. I was the same way, when I was her age." The Matriarch smiled then, pleasure shining in her pale eyes.

"That answered my first question", he said, holding the tiny cup of heated liquor under his nose and inhaling its sharp scent. "Not my second." Inwardly he shook his head, though. He knew what she would say, and she didn't disappoint him.

"She's still ignorant of the larger world", Farih stated softly. "She needs someone to watch over her while she learns. Someone we can trust. And youâ€¦"

"And I owe you", he finished, nodding.

"And you owe me", she agreed.

He sipped the liquor, hissing a little as it burned the back of his throat. Her faint smile widened slightly. She knew what his acceptance of her hospitality signaled.

"Alright", he said, gazing flatly at her. "I'll take her in. Keep her safe."

"And teach her your business", she added, the tip of a sharp fang flashing against the dark skin of her lips.

He nodded, exhaling. "And teach her my business", he agreed, a note of defeat in his voice.

"Good", she purred. "Now, about those reagents you wanted to buyâ€¦"

***Nero*** · **08-12-2014, 03:59 AM**

For the average citizen, there are many essential social skills that one would do well to learn thoroughly. Among those essential skills are knowing how to ask questions, knowing how to appear interested, and perhaps most importantly, knowing when to disengage from a conversation that can never go in a positive direction.

There are several clear indications as to when the aforementioned conversational direction is crashing harder than an airship made entirely of smelly cheese and wishful thinking. One such indication, one that had unfortunately passed over Nero's head like a gentle breeze passes over the face of a cheerful baby, was his first mate Daegsatz Traggblansyn responding to Nero's initial question with the comment "Lad, that be racist."

"I'm not being racist!" the Hyur said, puffing out his chest indignantly.

"Nay, yer bein' racist," Daegsatz replied. "What ye jes' said be th' epitome o' racism, an' a microcosm o' society's ignorance that we all mus' contend with an' conquer in order t' secure a prosperous an' more equal future fer all." The Roegadyn's elaborate statement--his thick Lominsan accent contrasting heavily with his unnecessarily flowery vocabulary--was punctuated by the hull of the Second Forte smashing through a small wave; an accurate visual representation of the current debate as the frigate cut through the Strait of Merlthor.

"Oh come on, Satz, that's like saying Lalafell are short. That's not racist or ignorant, it's an objective observation about the physical aspects of a race of people!" Nero waved his arms as if such a wild and irrelevant gesture illustrated his point with greater clarity. "Would I want a Lalafell to be a bouncer at a tavern, or to haul granite to build a castle? No, and that's not because of racism. It's because on an objective level, Lalafell are less physically capable than the other races!" Daegsatz snorted disdainfully.

"Ye hear yerself? That sentence there. 'Lalafell be less phys'cally capable than th' other races'. That be racism. An' even then, what if th' pint bouncer be a thaumaturge?" The Sea Wolf questioned, his eyes narrowing and his arms now folded across his chest. Nero's icy blue eyes nearly rolled straight out of his head and into the blue-green ocean below.

"A Lalafell who can manifest aether into the form of destructive energy that can obliterate his enemies is still a Lalafell that I can punt. With my foot. A foot covered in a boot. A boot that may or may not have metal on it." The Hyur jabbed an index finger at his legs, apparently under the impression that a tangible representation of generic footwear would lend additional credence to his argument.

"Th' point ain't whether o' not ye can or can't punt a pint, lad, the point is yer denyin' a perfectly capable indiv'dual a certain profession 'cause o' 'is species," Daegsatz sniffed. "And that be racism,"

"Satz, you can't refer to them as a species and then call it racism! Your inconsistent terminology is clouding the issue. It'd be speciesism!" Nero argued. His evident failure to come up with a logical counter argument lead to him attempting to divert the course of the conversation in his favour with a frivolous correction of the Roegadyn's choice of words.

"Racism, speciesism, it all be th' same word for discrim'nation! And discrim'natin' be exactly what yer doin' wit' that fool question ye be askin'." Daegsatz growled, the features of his block-shaped face scrunching together in collective irritation.

"I wasn't discriminating!" Nero sighed. As he began to speak, his rate of speech accelerated and his tone gradually grew more indignant. "Look, it's not as if I had a full, current line of potential candidates to be my potential chef, and I was explicitly denying one of them the position because of their species--"Â

"'Cept," the Sea Wolf interrupted, "that that pacifically be the point o' yer question that be startin' this mess. 'Why would anyone hire a Miqo'te chef if they might shed fur in th' food?'" Daegsatz' quote of the Hyur's decidedly ignorant question was mockingly accompanied with a lilting, whiny tone and upwards inflection. If the Roegadyn's normal voice sounded like someone rubbing two rocks together in a fashion that suggested complete illiteracy in the skill of firestarting, then Daegsatz' imitation of his captain sounded like someone taking two boulders and dropping them on a fully manned string orchestra.

The Roegadyn snorted. "That's not ev'n considerin' th' fact that fer one, catfolk only have fur in th' ears and tail, and that two, Hyur an' Elezen and Roegadyn and Lalafell also need ta worry 'bout sheddin' hair into food. So in conclusion, unless a catfolk be cookin' with their tails 'stead o' their hands, yer question be comprised of a completely flawed an' still racist premise t' begin with."

Nero clapped his hands together in front of his face and audibly inhaled. "First, Satz, it's 'specifically'. Not 'pacifically'. 'Specifically'." It was seemingly Nero's hope that the infamous and ever-reliable "mundane and trifling grammar correction" debate strategy worked on the second attempt.

"Oh, now yer jes bein' petty," The Sea Wolf scoffed. Clearly, it didn't.

"Shut up. And second, never in my question did I state that nobody should hire a Miqo'te chef or that Miqo'te are somehow inherently less skilled at cooking at other species, just that a Miqo'te as a chef might pose more problems because by nature, they have more hair and a furry tail, in the same way that a Lalafell chef would need a box or several in order to properly reach the appropriate level of a stove." The random movement of Nero's arms ceased to resemble waving and became more closely associated with the term "flailing".

"Th' way ye phrased th' question made the implication that a potential employer should discrim'nate against catfolk, which be speciesism," Daegsatz insisted. "Followin' yer logic, a Sea Wolf ship would nev'r consider takin' on a spindly pink Hyur like y'self, because regardless o' the Hyur's personal skill outside of th' limitations of 'is species, Â 'e would lack the phys'cal and racial inclination fer sailin' that a Roegadyn'd have." He glared out of one eye at the Midlander, apparently content that his point had made itself.

Nero remained silent before despondently lumping himself on the railing of the ship, allowing himself to be slapped in the face with sea spray as if the ocean itself were sneering at him.

"Fine, fine, I worded it poorly, but I think my point still stands," Nero muttered sulkily, brushing a hand to wipe the seawater off his face. Now it was Daegsatz' turn to sigh and roll his eyes. "Lad, Cap'n Vail might o' raised ye into th' fine an' respectable man ye be today, but yer still childish in so many ways," the Roegadyn said, rebuking Nero in the same way an exasperated pet owner might reprimand a puppy that had been found with blood in its teeth for the fourth day in a row.

Silence fell upon the pair as the frigate gently pushed its way through the waves, the Roegadyn occasionally barking orders in lieu of his captain ostensibly having some kind of disabling mental epiphany that combined the subjects of his intellect, the nature of racial inequality, and the current state of dinner. Daegsatz' tranquility over not having to humour his captain's petty arguments was broken when Nero lifted his head and stared sedately at the bow of the ship.

"Do you think Elezen became so tall because they kept trying to hug big trees?"

Dogberry · **08-12-2014, 09:55 AM**

An falling-out with Endemerrin, damn near another brawl with Tausenadel, and a break-up with Dhemgeim.

Not a good night at all, Dogberry thought. At least Xenedra and Castus, good friends through and through, were there to keep him from doing anything stupid. So many bridges burned tonight, it was time maybe to take some personal time to regroup. He put on his Limsa Lominsan Officer's Coat and tricorne hat, and stepped out from his cabin aboard Syldra's Revenge.

"All hands on deck!" He bellowed, and the call echoed with the voices of the other officers, passing the order below deck. Within minutes the deck contained the whole crew.

"I want to thank you all for a fine voyage," he began. "I hope this was a profitable endeavor for all of you. We've a full compliment of oil aboard deck, and enough trade that I dare say many of ya can feed your families for the next six moons. Or if not your own families, then those of your favorite ceiling inspectors."

The crew laughed.

"That's why I've decided t'quit while we're ahead, lest Llymlaen guide us to Nymeia's misfortune. When we roll into Vesper Bay, you'll be paid out for your work and be free to seek out what you will. I want to take a moment to thank all of ya for bein' a pleasant and able crew. Should any of you lot decide to come back to Syldra's Revenge I'll be happy to have you."

He turned and went back into his cabin and began to pack. Some time in Ul'dah would do. As he packed, he heard the crew begin to sing.

Oh the times was hard and the wages low
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
And the grub was bad and the gales did blow
And it's time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny, leave her
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her
For the voyage is done and the winds do blow
And it's time for us to leave her

I thought I heard the Old Man say
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
You can go ashore and take your pay
And it's time for us to leave her

Oh her stern was foul and the voyage was long
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her
The winds was bad and the gales was strong
And it's time for us to leave her

And we'll leave her tight and we'll leave her trim
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
And heave the hungry packet in
And it's time for us to leave her

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her with a grin
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
For there's many a worser we've sailed in
And it's time for us to leave her

And now it's time to say goodbye
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her
For the old pierhead's a-drawing nigh
And it's time for us to leave her

Warren Castille · **08-13-2014, 10:59 AM**

Less than day from then he would be back into the frozen north, but for a few more hours Warren Castille was soaking in the warmth of his last morning spent in Thanalan. It must have been a bit of a strange sight for those unaware that he spent time at the Grindstone; The normally rigid knight clad from neck to boot in heavy armor was strolling through the courts wearing what amounted to a pair of sturdy boots, a shoulder pad and a skirt. Those in the know would have considered it gladiatorial but to anyone else, it was preposterous.

His night and his morning had been uplifting. He couldn't have thought of a better send-off than spending time with those most important to him and there were still hours left of that before finally setting into the grim business that awaited. He wasn't going alone, however. Warren and Howl both knew of the risks they were incurring and while neither of them had any intentions of returning in anything less than whole, they were both aware things ultimately weren't going to be decided by them. Warren was taking things with him to provide strength, reasons to fight. He was carrying pieces of those who would protect alongside of himself into the frigid tundra, and he would not fail them.

The favor was obvious; It was given to him by her first, and at a time when he needed something to cling to. A spark of hope to carry him through what he thought were his darkest time, the white cloth had helped him through until he once again was welcomed into the light. Wrapped inside of it was the lock of blue hair. It had only come into his possession through sheer coincidence and he didn't feel entirely comfortable keeping it. It wasn't given to him of her own accord but he didn't feel right leaving it in the hands of a raving lunatic who didn't deserve it, either.

Alongside of those items was the flask Howl had given to him. He was going to make sure to fill it with the strongest drink he could find just in case he or Howl needed a moment to think back to home, and he fully expected them to. The words that had been inexpertly carved into the side meant more than the gesture. Warren could derive strength from those letters.

And then there was the ring. Warren knew enough of its history that he could tell it would not have been given under light circumstances, and he carried that information with no small matter of respect and pride. It was a meaningful heirloom that had been rendered onto him to, like the others, provide him strength and keep him fighting for what was important. Warren was going armed into the future with something more valuable than any masterwork weapon or legendary suit of armor, he was going into the northlands with the primordial fire that had driven man since creation.

Warren Castille was armed with hope, and he would both shelter it and be sheltered by it.

Faye · **08-17-2014, 05:17 AM**

A letter! Such a joyous occasion! At least, when it wasn't a bill, or a check, or some junk mail, or some other paperwork to add to the mountain of parchment piling up on the desk of her office in the Mist. But letters, those were something she found she received too little of, and she beamed with delight every time she found one in her mailbox. Yes, it brought tremendous joy to the Hyur with the disposition of a housewife somehow rolled up with that of a coeurl. This letter she found today brought her terrific happiness in particular, despite how taken aback she had been to find her name scribbled upon the envelope in that all too familiar, horrendous hand writing.

She settled in at the padded chair of her desk, reaching for the envelope opener to carefully slice through the top fold of the sealed envelope. She pulled out the paper inside, unfolding it and laying it out across the mahogany desk to a take a look at its contents.

"Der feh,

i luv u cuz ur eyz r bloo
n cuz ur hart iz troo
n u liek mi a lot
evn aftr wi fot
ur smil is gr8 n i luv u so
bby plz alweys b mi ho
wzwyf
i luv u bby nevr cheng,
Vahl"

Her nose wrinkled with some hybrid of a vibrant smile and the same baffled expression she always got when she tried to decipher his lackluster spelling and sloppy penmanship. She smiled, giggling silently to herself and shaking her head as she stashed the letter carefully in a small drawer, safely adding it to the precious collection.

Melodia · **08-18-2014, 12:47 PM**

Melodia grinned, looking in the mirror and straightening the jacket slightly. She had found her outfit, had made the preperations with the other Jackets, and had gotten good intel on who the woman was and where she'd likely be tonight.

The blue outfit matched her hair and she thought she looked good, which was not her normal reaction. With a smile she donned her Cavalier's cap and straightened it upon her head. Sliding the dagger into her pocket she took a deep breath.

"Now.....time t' meet this 'Kink' face t' face." She said it aloud, took another deep breath and stepped out of her apartment and headed to the Drowning Wench, praying to the Twelve the Jackets were in their places.

Val · **08-19-2014, 01:41 AM**

"So.. that's th'whole thing wi' th'wolf tribe," the Seeker had finally ended after what was a thoroughly lengthy speech. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch. He'd never taken the time to tell someone about what had happened to him so long ago and, more importantly, what he did to put him where he was today. Now, here he was telling the one person he'd hoped would never find out for fear of losing her. That fear rose when she did not respond and, instead, stared down at the floor in silence.

"I only started out that way though. You've changed me," he added almost desperately, "Yer somethin' I knew I wanted but 'til now I didn't know how much I really needed ya. S'cause'f you that I'm helpin' people an' ain' bein' all horrid an' shit like I was. ..An' now if I lost ya, Idunno what I'd do. I can't live without ya an' I ain' wanna put m'arms 'round no one but you. I just wanna be by ya an' hold ya an' love ya an' all that stuff. An', ah.. .. I guess that's why I'm all protective'f ya. S'cause yer this perfect thing t'me that I have an' I need ya an' I can't stand th'idea'f losin' ya. T'anythin'."

"And you're certain I'm not just a replacement?" she questioned, her words barely above a whisper.

"F'course I am! I ain' never loved no one. Didn't even know I could. Wasn't ever taught it t'be honest an' I thought everyone else here were bitches f'doin' it. Always thought it was pointless an', well.. then y'look at me wi' those beautiful eyes'f yers an' y'put yer arms 'round me an' y'kiss me an' y'smile. It.. makes me feel all weird. Idunno how t'describe it, but m'stomach feels all empty an' light an' stuff an' it feels like 'ow I felt th'first time I saw ya. That's.. what I always hear those dumbasses sayin' love is like, so, ah.. .. I know I love ya, Princess." He took the time to reach across and place his hand over hers, partially in order to appease her and mostly because he wanted to feel her touch.

Faye allowed the motion, threading her fingers through his and tilting her head up to offer a gentle smile. "I love you, too, Val. Thank you for telling me all this. I, ah... I don't think differently of you because of it. The past is the past. The only part of who you used to be that matters is that it helped shape who you are today... which is the man I love dearly, my husband, my one and only."

As she spoke, everything that Val had described came full circle. His heart melted and his stomach felt as empty as it had ever been. His hand squeezed hers and his eyes lit up. He leaned forward to rest his forehead to hers while his free hand lifted to brush across the pale skin of her cheek. "I'm only this 'cause you've allowed me t'be, Princess. Y'gave me th'chance when ain' no one else bothered t'care. Yer th'most precious damned thing in this world t'me, an' I'll kill every person in it if it means gettin' t'see ya one last time."

"I'm not going anywhere, Val," she replied as she nuzzled the tip of her nose affectionately against his, a soft smile gracing her pink lips. "I'll be here, every day for you to wake up to."Â

The two continued to nuzzle and whisper sweet nothings to one another, something that they'd certainly never be caught doing in public. Val of course would have always been afraid that it meant he was soft and weak, while Faye never considered such acts appropriate for public display. However different their views and mannerisms might have been, behind the closed doors of his office it was clear that the two were very much alike in private. Val would echo again his love for the noblewoman, and she the same for her ruffian. They would laugh, smile, tease, and continue to enjoy one of the few precious moments they had to be truly alone together.

B'ren Lyrgh · **08-19-2014, 02:41 AM**

"B'yurt. Pray this finds you, somehow. Things haven't gone so well over here and I need advice. I need any help I can get, things have gotten so out of hand I don't think I can pull myself out of this alone. I went home, I'm sure you've heard about it on the winds like you usually do. But it's different this time.

I'm afraid and shaking in fear right now.Â
Please stop hiding. Your brother needs you.

-B'ren"

Melodia · **08-19-2014, 09:29 AM**

Two of the other Jackets were following her as she stormed out of the Drowning Wench and they continued as she had walked passed them without a word, mumbling under her breath. As they tried to stop her to find out what had happened, she turned, her eyes red and moist. "Go back t' yer posts...d'ye hear me?" The men stared at her looking unsure and she snapped at them. "Would ye piss off!? I've already told ye yer orders....now do it an' leave me be!"

She turned without another word and headed to her apartment. Once inside she slammed the door with brute force and screamed, throwing her hat across the room. Stalking to the table she threw everything to the floor with another enraged scream and slammed her fists upon it and then collapsed to the floor on her knees, weeping. From her pocket she drew a small chain locket and held it tight as her tears streamed down her face. In a sobbing voice she spoke.

"Th-they feckin' embarrassed me, Tomas....they feckin' treated me like I was no' even there. I could ha' slit their throats.....I still want t'." Her body was shaking as she tried to catch her breath and kissed the locket with her tear stained face. "Piss on this shite job, Tomas.....piss on it t' all o' th' hells."

Leaning back against the sofa she clutched the locket in her hands and closed her eyes, weeping and trying to decide what her next move would be.

Melodia · **08-20-2014, 09:18 AM**

-One Week Following Drowning Wench Encounter-
Melodia laid the knife onto the table with a straight face, missing any expression of glee, fear, or otherwise. She looked at the assortment of instruments there and wondered why Ramsay's influence was still so strong when she had hated him so much.

Small to medium sized hammers next to two different daggers and a small asortment of knives. A chain sat at the end and she stood from her kneeling position, looking at herself in the mirror, adorned in a black tunic and dark gray pants. Not the typical uniform for a Yellowjacket.

But tonight she was off duty and was no Yellowjacket. She was her old self again. The woman she'd left behind on that beach among the dead. And tonight she was going to show Kink that she was not some pushover in a bar...not some confused woman with an addledÂ brain.

With that, she stepped out of the apartment, prepared for her second meeting with the runner.

Coatleque · **08-20-2014, 03:06 PM**

Long curtains were drawn back from the thin, wood-framed glass doors. Coatleque slowly opened them and stepped onto the small balcony. There was a breeze tonight which caught her gown, blowing it sideways. The glow of the streetlamps below reflected off glassy eyes. To anyone who may have seen her silhouette against the darkness, she may have seemed as some mournful spirit high above. It had been over a week since he had left for Coerthas. Days since she had heard any word.

She had moved her room at the Inn to the northern side, and also paid a little more now for the privilege of the balcony overseeing the gate below. It was a small overlook, with barely enough depth for one person to stand, let alone the small chair she had placed there as well. Upon this she sat as she leaned and looked over the ledge towards the gate until her eyes became heavy.

Still no news. No messenger. Nobody came. Her arms crossed each other leaning on the ledge as her forehead met them in prayer. She offered her supplications on his behalf once more, as she had done each night since his leaving.

To Halone, to keep the chill of Coerthas away from his heart.
To Rhalgr, that his enemy would meet its end swiftly at his hands.
To Menphina, that he would not forget her words at their parting.
To Llymlaen, that she would guide him back safely to her.
To Althyk, that she would herself be able to bear the toll of days.
And to Nymeia that their story would not end here and now in tragedy.

Not till she had finished did she allow herself to drift once more to sleep. Still sitting, vigilant, waiting for her love's safe return.

Kage · **08-21-2014, 11:13 AM**

Putting on the surcoat was like a fantasy but it still felt as if his dreams were far and large away. For some reason it felt as it did before... before when he was a Blade.

Nothing was the way it was before. Back then. Was it always going to be like this? This sense of longing and forlorn? Even when he thought he was happy with his personal life, he still felt empty. Even now. Just as he had when he was a Blade.

Clenching his eyes, Kage took out the linkpearls of which he seldom ever used. He pinched and rolled them between his fingers contemplating what he felt.

"What's the point of having these? Just to be reminded that I'm just an outcast in the groups? I don't belong..."

His thoughts ended as he opened his eyes. With a deep inhale, he gently set them on the floor. Standing up he crunched the pearls underneath his boots.

It did nothing. Nothing about how he felt changed. Letting out a sigh, he got a broom and dustpan, proceeding to clean up the mess. He needed to get to his post. Whether or not he had the company of other Sworn or Paladins, it didn't change his feelings. His sense of forlorn.

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