Marie Torano | The Queen | 26 | Female | Mentions: Faust {dir}

Steam dampened the rosy hued cheeks of Marie, stray wisps of her tresses slicking to her rarely witnessed face of serenity. A small collection of handmaids flurried around the Queen as she daintily garbed herself in a robe, tightening it around her damp figure. The water trickling from her skin, and down the valley of her thighs began to form a small puddle at her feet - her toes impatiently wiggling in the water as the women around her moved about clutching their damp washcloths and buckets. It was only when a briskly moving female clumsily sloshed water from a bucket at Marie’s feet did the Queen’s dark orbs shift from their content.

“Apologies, My Lady. Do please forgive me.” The woman meekly uttered, terror swarming her jade colored eyes, her body tipping forward in the form of a pitiful bow. The coals that were Marie’s darkened gaze threatened to burn the woman to a mere crisp, her breathy laugh concealing a dark humor echoed off the walls in response.

“A cloddish woman you are,” Marie began mockingly, a tailoress traipsing into the room rolling in with her the garments Marie desired to wear for the ball she had called to order. “But I do not require you to beg like a dog for forgiveness. It is an appreciated source of entertainment, however.” The other hand maidens began to snicker at the expense of their fellow woman - all to please the Queen who surely was looking for her words to be acknowledged by more than sheepish whimpers from her victim. Marie looked away from the woman, as if she were a grotesque sight to behold, and allowed her tailoress to aid her in withdrawing the doused robe from her lithe body and further help her put on her dress. The dampened hair of hers fell to her lower back, her fingers threading through the locks before she allowed another woman to take the honeyed brown strands into their own - the woman weaving the Queen’s hair into that of an elegant, fishtail styled braid that cascaded down her back.

“Your perfume, My Lady.” The tailoress’ voice gently passed through Marie’s ears, the Queen’s hands taking the small bottle from the older woman and inspecting it with intrigue and delight.

“This is just lovely.” Marie’s voice raised in a lilted chirp, tipping her head up before squeezing the pump, and allowing the shattered droplets of the scented liquid to adhere to the exposed skin of her neck. The fragrance was that primarily of hyacinth, with a faintly muted yet present trace of mint. The single pump would surely last her the day. Passing the bottle off to the nearest handmaiden, Marie’s gaze lowered to admire her dress - her fingers unable to prevent themselves from drinking in the sensation of the silk, mauveine colored fabric as her fingers trailed down her waist.

“Did my pet receive his attire for the day?” She asked curiously, but a threat lingered in her tone. Being incapable of following through with the orders of the Queen was a sure fast way to finding oneself in Her Majesty’s poor graces. Especially when it came to her decrees involving Faust.

“Yes, My Lady.” Her tailoress assured. “Placed in his cell, just as you requested.” Marie smiled at the thought of Faust discovering his lavish gifts - a smile she felt comfortable to wear on her lips without the pet reaping the satisfaction of seeing her pleased reaction. A breathtaking squeeze around her abdomen reminded Marie of the irritating process of having a corset tied - and yet as her mother always chided, ‘beauty is pain’. As her tailoress swiftly tied the garment, Marie relinquished a sigh as her eyes tethered to her own reflection in a puddle at her feet. The woman was not one to sully her face with any trace of make-up, she admired her features as they came - despite her mother’s opinions. A rage bubbled in her throat as she recounted the passive, yet utterly aggressive, words of degradation her mother frequently muttered when helping ready the girl for various events in the past. She was truly the worst.

“Whatever your name is - fetch my stockings, and those shoes I like. You know which ones.” Marie spoke with a roll of her wrist, her gaze reeling up from the sight of herself and connecting to the puzzled face of her tailoress. Marie didn’t care to dilute the confusion, because in fact, she had many adored pairs of shoes in her collection of footwear. If the tailoress could not discern which shoes would match best with her elegantly purple dress, and the snow white stockings that would be primarily concealed beneath the long dress she wore - she was a fool.

Several moments later and Marie was nearly ready to leave her chamber to critique the decor of the ballroom - she insisted an advisor have free reign of the decor, but she already knew she wouldn’t adore what they had in mind. It just provided the Queen the ability to instill the fear of God within the man upon her public display of upset soon - it would thrill her so to belittle the individual beneath her.

“My crown?” She whined impatiently, turning her head to see what was taking her most favored handmaiden so long to retrieve the item. The older woman’s heels clicked faster in approach, lowering her head in silent apology as Marie huffed and turned her head forward again. The crown was gently placed atop her head - the older golden and polished artifact being embellished with diamond accents. “If I see a single one of your grubby fingerprints staining the quality of this crown I’ll have your hand mauled by mutts.” Marie grumbled venomously, the woman behind her falling deathly silent. It would have been less of a threat if Marie hadn’t been known to be so creatively cruel with certain punishments. But even a creativity like hers was easily muted by rash rage when provoked.

</////>

The Queen truly couldn’t be bothered to arrive on time to an event she herself was hosting - who was to comment on her timing though? The woman believed through and through everyone vastly deserved to wait on her - hand and foot, no matter their status. Marie calmly walked through the corridors that led from her chamber, descending to the palace’s designated throne room, and through the adjoining doors that connected the room to the ballroom - though every threshold of every doorway had been opened for her. As if she’d actually open a door for herself. As her figure emerged among the scene of warrior noble men and women - Marie was greeted with eyes, bows in an ode of acknowledgement, and various poised curtsies. She didn’t bother giving so much as a smile.

Rather, the Queen lifted the front of her dress enough to allow her regal stroll through the room. Very few individuals ever managed to be graced with the Queen’s audience, it being hardly a new sight to witness Marie picking and choosing whose existence she acknowledged. However, one unfortunate soul made the mistake of addressing her pet. She scoffed at the audacity unfolding before her from across the room. Though restrained not from inclining her head as her feet urged her into a stalk in the direction of the jester of a woman and Faust.

“Lady Verna,” Marie addressed coolly as she strode closer, despite her chaotic internal turmoil. The Queen was sure the red tint on the woman’s cheeks was no longer sourced from flattery - and Marie looked down on the woman, allowing her gaze to rake the woman from head to toe in a manner of mild disgust. “My dear, you’ve truly let yourself go - no wonder your husband fancies women at the brothel. Not that he’s to blame… it was truly kind of a man of his stature to marry such an unseemly looking woman.” Marie clicked her tongue, shaking her head in disappointment. “And that make-up does little to veil the age cratering your forehead, you know. Those folds upon your skin truly are an awful sight,” Marie sighed, the false sound of friendliness shifting in her tone as she turned her head to address Faust. “Silly man, you forget yourself. Pets are only to address respected members of society.” She spoke, as if scolding Faust with a wag of her finger.

“You’re excused now.” Marie then stated coldly to the woman, her voice a chilled demand. She had at least been courteous enough to only allow her voice to circulate through the closest of ears - though she couldn’t possibly help if anyone had eavesdropped. The Queen shifted her orbs down to the leash she had ordered to be made for Faust, her hand reaching out to find the tool in the soft grasp of her fingers. “You know better,” she commented, whatever was at the crossroads of jealousy, anger, and the sheer content she felt in being in Faust’s presence seeping into her tone. “My mood is spoiled now, it’s your fault - fraternizing with the individuals you know I despise.” In truth, Marie had probably not mentioned that she had ever loathed the woman that spoke to Faust… because she didn’t, not until she witnessed that woman’s giddiness when speaking to Faust.

The Queen made the effort to allow her eyes to tether to Faust’s as she spoke once more. “The outfit, it’s rather fitting for you. Don’t you think?” Marie was primarily referencing the collar and leash - as would be found on a pet. Though, some part of Marie sought to see that Faust adored the attire she put together for him. Maybe she desired to see approval, as well. Not that she’d ever admit to wanting such a thing, especially from Faust.

Tatsuya Iseul-Fraener Montcrioux

Nobleman | 23 | Male | Mentions: Marie [ind.], Faust [ind.]

He slowly placed himself in his marble bathtub. And he slowly began the process of cleaning himself , taking care of making sure that he got every single dirty spot cleaned, and that even under his nails were clean. Once he had finished that portion of the bath, he watched as the water was drained and then awaited fresh warm water with more oils and salts, and once the new batch of water was in his tub, he sat in a reclined manner in his bath, letting the steam and warmth of the water course through him and make his skin feel good and fresh. He sighed content to let the steam exfoliate his face and just stay in the warmth of the water. It was quiet and peaceful, and he could stay in his solitude for a while. A soft hum escaping his lips as he relaxed in his bath, the dimly lit candles added to the relaxed atmosphere and he was slowly drifting to sleep. He could close his eyes for a few moments, could he not? After all it wouldn't take him long to get ready for the event.

WIP

Faust Martinus ♡ Male ♡ Superior Thievary ♡ Civilian

The atmosphere of the ballroom was quick with change as the doors opened, and the man couldn't help but express a smile. Faust took a peek at the entryway, already knowing the reason for such an alternative. His orbs were glued to the queen herself, admiring both attire and the woman. As usual, Marie paid no mind to anyone else in the room, which nearly made the man openly chuckle. Of course, there wasn't a smile on her beautiful face, and Faust adored such behavior. Internally, he wanted to keep her smile to herself; selfish as it may sound, Faust rightfully deserved such devotion. It rightfully belongs to him. Everything about her is his. They all bowed, addressed, and curtsied, but it wasn't out of response but fear. They're doing it to please and not earn her ire, as it would cost their heads to roll. They feared her and were careful with words and actions, but not Faust. He didn't dread her presence and embraced it openly, only finding her an entertaining victim for his continuous flirting.

He kept eyeing her from across the room, heading on her regal and dignified strut, a satisfied hum in his throat as he ogled her lustfully. Faust couldn't help but convey lewd thoughts. I mean. Just look at her! She was a rose with unplucked thorns, beautiful yet painful, a flower that he couldn't wait to pluck between his fingers. Maire ignored everyone else until her eyes went to them and scoffed, Faust tilting his head as she briskly approached, hiding a smile with a content face. He noticed a fire in her eyes when she was close enough for him to view. Obediently, Faust stepped back from the woman who made the first move, folding his hands behind his back. Impatiently waiting for the Marie storm to begin, excitement coursing through his mind. "Hmm, what kind of creative tirade would my darling use?" Faust's gaze shifted between the two women, gleefully heeding the harsh words the queen was spewing.

"Lady Verna," that being Marie's first words as she finally made her arrival, her tone colder than ice itself, Faust finally cracked a childish grin. His eyes went to the other woman's face, watching a mixture of emotions and contortion with each word of slander poured from the queen's mouth. When Marie addressed him, Faust's smile grew, "I'm terribly ashamed of my poor behavior," he jokingly commented, giving her a mocking bow. Purposely, he moved closer to the queen, "and my forgetfulness. I sincerely apologize." With the queen's dismal of the noblewoman, Verna was angry and ashamed but didn't dare to return such cruelty. She only gave a curtsied and forced herself to apologize before hurrying away from the two. As she disappeared into the crowd, Faust felt guilty. . .for not having a drink in hand to enjoy such a scene further. A drink and a show would've made this party even livelier. Ah, he truly missed a glorious opportunity.

Faust watches her actions, interested to see where this would lead to. The queen's eyes went to his leash before she grasped it elegantly between her fingers, yet Faust didn't feel a sense of shame, only craving for more. He was respectfully quiet as she spoke, a foxy shine in his hues of pink as he detected the faint presence of jealousy. The queen envious? Very unusual yet so. . .delightful. "Oh, please, my darling. When isn't your mood never tarnished when you enter my presence? I may have spoken with one person you flout, but" he gently held onto the wrist that took possession of his leash, "my intentions were out of purity. I didn't mean to cause such distress." Her behavior made Faust curious, as he was positive she didn't know Verna well enough to perceive her as anything. The only knowledge she ever received of that woman was the rumors that Faust shared. As much as he was eager to talk about it, Faust didn't, as he wanted to discuss it privately.

When her eyes met his own, Faust charmingly grinned, wrapping an arm around the queen's waist to pull her in close. "Fitting is such a bland thing to say. . .I would say exquisite. Truly," he pleasantly countered, bringing his lips to her ear, "my rose has lavish taste in fashion and sweetness. You smell astonishing, honeycomb. Hyacinth with a dash of mint, I presume?" He brushed his nose along her neck, ticking the surface of her skin before pulling himself away. Luckily for him, his performance wasn't noticed, much to his dismay. Faust dramatically huffed, raking his fingers through his hair of pure white, "As much I want to smother you with my love, I guess I have to wait when we're alone." A familiar face was spotted in the crowd of attendees, and his whole demeanor altered, his jaw clenching immensely. "It's the rabid animal that spat on your name."

He was fixated on a tall, ivory-skinned man with a handlebar mustache with greying hair. He was wearing a pair of glasses and wore the latest fashion trend for men. Tennsley was in his mid-40s, which is apparent considering his wrinkling face. Faust forced himself to pry his orbs away from the adulterous man, giving Marie undivided attention. "Fret not, my love. I'm already working on gathering evidence to destroy his name," he raised a singular brow, a cheeky grin on his face. "Would you like to hear?" He stepped beside her, a hand on her lower back as he guided her around the ballroom, his eyes on the mass to catch something or someone acting suspicious. His movements were brisk and smooth as he moved Marie to walk aside the walls, away from the people bundled up in the center, not wanting her side to be exposed to possible threats.

When a servant appeared with a platter of drinks, Faust released Marie from his clutches and stealthily snatched the cups from the tray without the servant noticing. He sniffed inches away from the opening of one of the glasses before taking a small sip, swishing his liquid-coated tongue around his mouth to see if it's been poisoned. When it tasted normal, he passed the inspected beverage to Marie before drinking from his. "This wine is delicious. I might go for another." He sipped from the glass until the wine was gone, placing the empty dish onto a different servant's tray.

Evander Torano | Leader of the Wolves | 26 | Male | Darkness Manipulation | Mentions: Solaris {dir}, Yvonne {dir}

Curiosity and patience brewed together within Evander to construct an intense observation to settle over his features as his gaze remained stationary on the younger man before him. The Prince’s figure had yet to relent or alter in its already more reserved yet evidently poised stature, though he was a man dedicated enough to the art of perseverance to remain still for hours if need be. In some cases, such a practice was quite necessary for such an observant creature that preferred watching from the shadows. Though whether these qualities of his were ones he was simply born with or ones learned in his earlier youth evaded his knowledge - nonetheless, he was grateful for any quality he could count as an attribute.

Inquisition began to bubble into Evander’s every thought as he modestly refused to break the spell of silence between both him and Solaris. Silence itself was not an issue to Ev, as it was a dear friend to him, yet it was the tingle of suspense left hanging in the air that began to allow waves of want to wash into his eyes. Evander always wanted to know all that he had yet to learn, no matter how disheartening various truths may be. The Prince, perhaps, craved knowledge. Wisdom was a weapon just as much as it was a burden, he knew this to be true at a very young age. It didn’t change the fact that knowledge was more than capable of turning the tides in any fight, or in his case, a war against a figure that was too incompetent to understand the value of diversity and differences in the kingdom as of late. Multiple figures, it seemed. Just one though was the ringleader, the instigator, and the monster veiled under the guise of a ruler. Dear sister, he had revered her. Bane of my existence, he knew her to be now.

As Solaris’ voice resonated through the Prince’s ears though, his sterling gaze followed the gestures of the man’s hands as he explained. Evander had dually watched and listened intently, synthesizing the information he was given to compound a whole understanding of what Solaris was capable of. Though before he granted Solaris a response, Ev’s gaze flickered to the emergent figure of Yvonne. His gaze briefly trained on the female as she spoke in regards to what Solaris had just explained, and following her input, Ev spoke while his gaze re-tethered to the male. “Interesting.” Evander commented in admittance of his initial thought of what he had just learned a mere moment before. “Am I to assume then that it’s a craft you have yet to masterfully hone?” Evander asked. “Otherwise, I would have presumed you would have discussed it sooner with me.” Evander added passively, simply stating his breakdown of what he was gauging about what Solaris had shared. “Nonetheless, it’s a fascinating gift. Should you feel confident enough, I-” Evander paused, glancing in Yvonne’s direction, “-perhaps your peers as well, would enjoy bearing witness to you demonstrating such a feat.”

Evander was more or less silently insinuating that he would enjoy watching a reversal of stars, or constellations in the sky, as soon as possible. Ideally that would be on a clear night, and judging from the early morning sky he had allowed himself to glimpse far earlier - it just might be a perfect night to witness Solaris’ spectacle. There was a simple yet vastly adored content Evander experienced when darkness descended over the land. He didn’t think it had anything to do with his alignment to the shadows, either. It was peaceful, and calm. Similar to him in temperament in those regards. It was a nice thought to dedicate a brief period of time tonight to potentially witnessing Solaris use his ability - and yet, Evander was a more proactive creature outside of the Den at night.

Executions and burnings of Others were no longer as common at night as they once were even a few months ago, though that was in part of Evander’s work. After all, the name ‘Noctis’ was not one he had given himself, it was a name bestowed by the people after his recurring interruptions of various religious stunts against Others. It was important to Evander to not allow his identity as a disowned Prince turned rebel to circulate among the kingdom… yet. So he embraced the alias of the mysterious figure Noctis had become. Noctis was the usher of vengeance upon those who were cruel enough to kill Others and innocent marked people alike. Noctis was a force that claimed the lives of the religious and various knights that participated in unsanctioned and crude murders of the innocent. The persona earned its reputation well before Evander decided he needed to build his own force to take on his sister, and her supporters. It made for Noctis and anyone associated with the figure to be wanted in exchange for a generous reward by the crown - any and all were encouraged to report those suspected of aiding or abetting those affiliated to the Commanding Knight. A person Evander was particularly careful to stay just out of reach of.

Ev was not reckless in his actions, especially knowing the repercussions any of the Wolves would face if caught, and Evander was hell bent on protecting each member he trusted enough to be a part of his group. No matter the cost that protection could come at. But he wouldn’t allow anyone to pay the price of being a part of something he asked them to dedicate themselves to. His group, his sole responsibility. It was that simple to the Prince.

Solaris Starweaver - 19 - Wolves Member - Lunar Manipulation - Mentions: Evander Torano, Yvonne Ilisar, Other Wolves (indirect)


There was a few moments of silence after the echoes of his voice faded in the room, it seemed to be the more comfortable quietness rather than one charged with tension; suiting the nature of the conversation taking place between the two males. But while slower paced than what could be considered typical, it was not a lazy sort of exchange, one may call it thoughtful. Where at least one of the two were taking a moment to phrase his words correctly, for the most part not rushing or blurting a sentence that was not well thought out.

The man whose name is that of the sun's observed the other as he waited, posture relaxed and general being making it clear that he was not tense at all, a looseness present in him that completed the impression. There was also no impatience present either, although there was a kind of anticipation for the response that could be interpreted as it.

The stillness of the lunar manipulator was broken when a voice sounded from behind, the flicker of silvery eyes preceeding the presence of the young woman by a fraction of a second. Still the statement was enough to make him twitch, a minute movement that would have been more noticeable if he had not seen the prince's eyes move in that direction. He turned slightly in order to see who it was, he was met with the sight of the vibrant, reddish colored hair of Yvonne. He nodded to her in acknowledgement of both her presence and her words; about to speak in response to her when their leader started to talk and he turned back to him accordingly.

He tilted his head a slight bit to the side as he listened, interested in how the prince's response seemed to be going, the implications layered into the sentences. Normally he would be tempted to answer the question that had been offered, but he had enough knowledge of this kind of speech that he could recognize a more rhetorical inquiry, most of the time that is, it could be tricky to decipher if one is asking a true question or not. He went with his instinct and stayed quiet, albeit not without a nod as a response, in the possibility that he had been expecting an answer. The original assumption proved correct when the query was added onto.

The glance to the fire-wielding woman made him reflexively turn his head to her for a moment, also to gauge her response to this suggestion. It was not an unwelcome idea to the young man, a hum thrummed in the back of his throat for a second in consideration, while the idea of preforming the "feat" as it all called in front of other people prompted a spark of nervousness to bloom in him, it was not enough for him to consider declining. He was aware that he could trust the group and he did want to, they were all in for the same cause after all and were recruited for a reason, but he was still apprenhensive out of a more ingrained response to the thought; the only person who had actually seen him turn the sky back in time was his mother, and it was a miracle that she had not reacted to the accidental feat negatively.

Others were not looked upon kindly by the general populace for the marking they gained and the otherworldly powers they were in possession of. He had had enough sense in him to only try and use his powers in absolute private, even then he had not been able to do much. So the pre-emptive nervousness stemmed from that awareness, combined with the expected anxiety of doing something of that manner in front of other people; but he was not unwelcome to the idea. And while he was not one to seek attention from those around him very much, he could see the sense in the suggestion as well, it had been quite a while since he had tapped into that venue of his ability. It was not one of much practical use, but there could be situations where it might be needed, either for practicality of some sort or even dramatics; it would be good to remember how to wield this aspect and to practice it from time to time.

"If it is so, that if the conditions are right and that the others would be interested, I believe it would be a demonstration would be enjoyable." As the young man spoke, he slipped into the more formal speech that he had been taught without realizing he had done so. As he did so, he payed a glance towards Yvonne to avoid feelings of being left out of the conversation. "If I may speak honestly, it has been some time since I have used this particular aspect of my powers. But it is simple enough, and I should be able to preform a reversal with little difficulty."

He however, did not say that he had not used the reversal ability since he had discovered his powers. It had only been twice on accident, the first time when the full moon and those mysterious links that fascinated him then, and he had curiously taken hold of one of those strings and pulled back. To see the stars flow backwards in the sky as he manipulated the night sky had been startling, yet mesmerizing at the same time; if he were to be asked what it looked like, he would not be able to describe it easily. There had been enough motion to convey the feeling of those white pinpricks of distant light sliding backwards, yet the fiery glow of the setting sun had not appeared in that time; instead it seemed as if he had pulled the images of the vast sky back multiple nights. How he knew that, he did not know, as he had not payed too much attention to the skies the nights prior to the emergence of the powers, but there had been a bone deep knowing in which he could tell that it was as if he had flipped the night back multiple days.

He had only known the extent of the influence the next day, when he heard those in the streets conversing about the sppectacle of the stars moving across the sky in a unnatural manner. He could remember the adrenaline that had rushed through his veins upon hearing those snippets of talking, the tenseness that was hard to wrestle down enough to be able to act somewhat normally. He had been shaking for at least half an hour after he managed to get back home, the overwhelming fear and dread finally taking their toll on his emotional state for a while.

That had not been a fun time for him. But even as he was scared and apprehensive about the new powers he had gained, he had also been drawn to them in a manner. They were odd and what most considered unnatural and something to be feared, but they were also a part of him at that time and were quite fascinating. The link to the moon in particular had been a change, the allure of the silvery planet had drawn him from his bed to the outside more than once in that adjustment period, and he would just stand out in the light of the moon and look and think. He had never thought that the powers he had gained would ever lead to a situation such as the one he was in, joining with a group to overthrow the ruler of this nation; to the candlelit room with the disgraced prince of all people and in a manor of people who shared several things in common, one of the most obvious being the powers each of them possessed.

Nikos Sumner - 21 - Traitor - Animal Possession - Mentions: Lucious Bardot,



WIP

Valente ◆ 23 ◆ Male ◆ N/A ◆ Knight

Thump!

"Again!"

Thump!

"Damn it, Marvin, get it right this time!"

Thump!

"For the love of the Goddess! Valente, you do it!"

The trainer barked the order, ignoring the green-eyed man walking away while rubbing his buttocks. He received an exhausted and upset glare from Valente, but the trainer looked at the other knights and didn't notice. The tall man stepped into the training course, gazing at the wooden climbing obstacle, flexing his hands as he surveyed it carefully. Ugh. Just looking at it made his hands cry in agony. Valente sighed heavily on purpose, loud enough for the trainer to hear. "Watch yourself, soldier. I'm older than you," he practically snarled, yet one of the younger knights around Valente's age giggled, "Didn't you lose to him in a sparring match? You may be old, but you're crippling!" Another knight who looked exactly like him stood beside him and shook her head, crossing her arms together, "Leave him be, Marvin," she scolded him, her tone heavy with firmness, locking eyes with her younger brother and frowning.

"He couldn't help it due to his old bones," a grin on his lips as Marvin laughed, slapping her on the back of her shoulder. "Ha! Good one, Margo!" Valente watches them from the side, squinting his eyes at them to silently tell them to shut the Hell up before the trainer forces them to do twenty laps around the castle. "You know what!?!" Val tilted his head to the sky, praying to the deities to end his misery. He already knew what the older knight would comment next and was seeking mercy on his already weary soul. The other knights glared at the laughing twins, pissed that they made them do that training course. When they noticed the glares, they ceased their laughter and cleared their throat, but Marvin was still laughing and was trying his hardest to hide it. You can hear him pfft behind his hand, Margo clearing her throat loudly to cover for her brother's infectious laughter. "20 laps around the castle, 20 push-ups, 20 sit-ups, and 20 jumping jacks! Pronto!" He hollered, glaring daggers at the mischievous twins.

Valente now wished he could do the climbing course, taking such terrible thoughts of such a thing back into nonexistence. His body faltered as he approached the others. They were shuffling into a straight-line formation. He couldn't help but quietly remark when he stood by the twins, "Geesh, sir. Why did you use your age for our punishment?" Marvin and Margo heard that, and their smiles grew, which received the trainer's attention. "Did you say something, Valente? I couldn't quite hear you." His words were heavy with hostility, narrowing his eyes at the younger knights, "I'm sure you didn't. Your hearing skills are poor." Val shook his head, already wanting this to be done and over. Margo chortled, "Must be due to his age. How old is he again? 60?" Marvin elbowed his sister gently into the side, "Darling, sister. That's incorrect," he playfully examines the trainer, "he's got to be 86. Look at those wrinkles!"

"For your correction," the trainer shouted at the top of his longs, "I'm 40, and these wrinkles are from dealing with you buffoons!"

Marvin shrugged, placing his hands on his hips, "You admitted that you're pruning!"

"Yeah, thanks to you lot! You make my life more troublesome than it needs to be!"

Margo feigned a gasp, fake hurt withering in her eyes of green. She placed a hand over her heart as if a dagger was plunged into her heart, "Grandpa Peter, I thought you enjoyed having the youngsters around. I'm hurt," her lips trembled, "You promised to bake us cookies and read us a bedtime story today."

"Can none of you not use my age for your childish games? For one day!?!" Hearing him yell made them grow quiet, clearly brainstorming something else to tease the trainer about. "Hmm. . .your looks? It turns me to stone." Martin started with a shudder, raising his eyebrows as he looked Peter up and down judgingly. "Personality, perhaps? So uptight and sharp, very unpleasant, I must say." Margo added, lazily wavering a finger his way, ignoring the man's face, whose face became red from anger. Valente locked eyes with him, stiffly replying, "The way you dress? It makes the Sun want to vomit." Peter had enough of such insults and pointed at the three with a fire in his eyes of brown. "Since you three like to talk shit, you're scooping it! Clean out the stables!"

"Oh, no. Not the stables. How cruel of you!" Margo remarked and was the first to race off in that direction. Martin hid a laugh before chasing after his sister, silently cheering as they were far enough for Peter couldn't hear them. Valente hurries after them, not wanting to be the one to receive most of his heated words.

WIP