| |
Darkseeker
|
Esmeralda fixed a chilling stare upon the male, her steely grey eyes practically boring a hole into his skin, though her face was still polite- if a bit stiff, considering her proverbial feathers had been left ruffled by the insult. After all, she had just talked herself down from going berserk on the vendors who posed themselves as Ehilaani travelers, so this… lanky, pale, yellow-haired fellow had certainly caught her at a bad time. She merely hoped she could keep from becoming too angry, though the reddish hue of frustration beginning to form on her cheeks was beginning to betray her, "You needn't pity me nor my purse, kind sir," she began with a slight bite accentuating the final words. She rolled a small, cheaply-made ceremonial medallion back and forth along the knuckles of her right hand, before catching it between her thumb and forefinger and tossing it back onto the pile it had come from, "Not that it's of any concern to you, but I wouldn't spend a single copper on this entire shop, let alone the thirty silvers they're asking for a single hunk of nickel. These pieces aren't worth their weight in sand, anyone with an eye for the arts can see that. No Ehilaani would buy this rubbish." Her nose crinkled slightly again as she looked at the wares, attempting to wipe the faint greenish stain on her fingers from handling the copper and nickel pieces onto her dress. The air within the stand had started to stink of metal as the afternoon grew warmer, "As for my gods," she purred, a devilish, almost humored grin on her face as she took a few steps towards the strange man, "They've always been a bit too brutish for you Easterners and the polite-society spiritual fare you call religion. I pity you, kind sir, should you ever encounter an Ehilaani that's less… palatable than I- I know many who have cut throats for less than what you've said." This list included herself, but he didn't need to know all the messy details. It simply felt nice to let out a bit of frustration, albeit in more proper and delicate sort of way. Her gods were warriors, first and foremost. Success in combat was a sign that the gods had blessed you, though the times of waging war had long since ceased across the continent. Nowadays, "combat" consisted of boxing and wrestling matches- sometimes hosted by the Temple- or a common street fight. Nothing generally too serious, but there were always stories of people turning up dead weeks after going missing, with Isyr's scale carved over their hearts. This was a signal of a wrongdoing being repaid in bloodshed, and often overlooked by the Ehilaani people as divine justice. |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
Seeing how he successfully gained the attention of the female, Mal’s eyes gleamed with a subtle spark of delight. Warmer hazel hues collided with her colder grey gaze, and what can only be taken as the start of a devilish smirk tugged at his lips at the notice of this woman’s faintly red flush accompanying her cheeks. As she spoke, Mal was certain even the deaf could pick up on the less than friendly undertone to those final words, ‘kind sir’, she called him. Instead of being taken aback by such a tone, rather Mal mildly tipped his head to the side, almost in an encouraging manner for her to continue. Only briefly did his eyes flicker to the coin she allowed to roll back and forth along her knuckles, and before she caught it and tossed it back to where it rightfully belonged with its rubbish friends, Mal’s eyes had already re-tethered to the woman. Her voice filled his ears once more, his smile remained, and he waited for her to briefly cease in speaking before he threw in his two sense. “I believe it's a combination of common sense, keen eyesight, and deductive reasoning that would prevent a sensible individual from buying this garbage. But for your sake, we’ll run with it being ‘an eye for the arts’.” He mocked, throwing shade now at the Ehilaani, just for good measure to know he’s really striking a nerve. The blonde had no quarrel with the Ehilaani, no reason to lean too heavily with admiring or denouncing them, they were just merely another misinformed people devoted to entities they foolishly believe dictate the world around them. It’s much easier to blame one’s acts on behalf of righteous piety as well, is it not? As long as one is ‘doing their gods right’, who are they to be at fault? But of course, a man of no faith is merely selfish, or misled at best. Whoever first spurred the idea of entities behind why the damn sun would rise and fall day after day -and more idiotic declarations-, was surely dropped on the head, and yet managed to get their insane preachings to fester and blossom in the minds of others. And the foolery ran rampant from there. Soon enough religion turned into a trade of making money off of devoted believers, places of worship were constructed -because apparently supreme beings need people on their knees offering praise and servitude in order to feel special-, and it just turned into various congregations of inept individuals making small sacrifices in their names. Or whatever it is people do to appease the gods. The woman surged a few steps towards Mal, with the male raising his brow in intrigue as she fared closer to him. Ah, a silver tongued sweetheart. Biding his time for a moment until the woman relinquished herself from speaking, Mal took the opportunity to release his own sweetly spoken words. “Bold of you to assume I’m a man following any kind of moronic sense of religious fares, polite-society included. I suppose I should be of the utmost grateful I encountered no such typical Ehilaani so devoted to following in the footsteps of brutish creatures you deem worth worshiping though.” Pressing his lips momentarily together in a grinch of a smile, a few more words spoken from Mal then further graced the air between the two. “I must humbly reject your pity should I find myself in rougher circumstances with a varying Ehilaani, however. I would find such an encounter too amusing, and thus, your pity would be put to such a shameful waste. Pocket your pity, my lady, and bestow it to an individual truly in need of such a thing.” Mal smirked, parroting her proper delivery with sworded undertones, although Mal certainly was a bit more aggressively straight forward in word choice. The blonde’s demeanor, however, had actually enlivened amid their interaction. His hazel eyes cast away towards an adjacent stand as if he had just grown bored, but consider this to be a further jab to attempt to incite a reaction from the woman worth gathering the eyes of those around them. Mal truly had a sickened sense of love for being in the limelight, no matter how he got there. It certainly made his occupation strenuous at times, for he couldn't boast about his great feats. The young man has managed to keep some semblance of a grip on his mouth though, even if it doesn’t appear so. What should scare anybody is knowing what he isn’t saying, because truly what he omits is far worse than anything he dares utter out loud. |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Perhaps it was a rather cliché turn of phrase, but Es couldn't deny that she was seeing red as the man blathered on and on, her blood practically boiling and bubbling beneath her skin and causing the flush of crimson on her cheeks to quickly spread to her ears as this utter stranger continued his blatant attempts to antagonize her. She would be ashamed to admit that he was getting his way, that his words had so easily dug into her skin, but her gods were not to be disrespected- especially by a man without any such faith at all. Sure, she perhaps would have understood if a local follower of a different religion had decided to pick a fight with her over which path to an eternal life was the correct one, but this was an outrage in and of itself. How could one who believed in nothing tear down something they could never comprehend? Perhaps it was a mistake, a momentary slip in the carefully-crafted act she had put together, but Esmeralda hadn't even noticed that she'd slapped the taller blonde man right across the face until an ever-familiar sting had settled over her right palm after it had already returned to its place at her side. In any other scenario, she likely would have apologized, but not now, and certainly not here, surrounded by cheap talismans that practically turned her entire culture and people into a joke. Her steely gaze was fixed upon the man, her full, rosy lips pressed into a thin line and her jaw clenched. Her slender fingers traced along the deep blue fabric just below her hip, rolling the material between her fingers as she attempted to compose herself. She could tell from the whispers floating on the air around the stand that she had just made a scene, and she felt the weight of the many eyes that had settled upon the two of them. Es admonished herself in her head for being so careless with her temper, though she knew it was a bit too late to slip into the shadows and escape the situation now. They had themselves an audience, now- and Es was certainly the type of lady who could carry on a show. "Do you often make a habit of skulking about these stands, mocking people and their faith because you've too much pride to believe in anything beyond yourself?" She practically scolded the man in front of her, as if he were a petulant child, "Perhaps I should pity you, kind sir, if disrespecting others is how you choose to spend your free time." Es, in her hot-headed display, kept enough sense to attempt to end the discussion there. This strange man was not entitled to her presence- especially after his blatant display of disrespect- so she managed to skirt past him in the narrow aisle of the stand. She held her chin high as she exited the shop and avoided meeting anyone's gaze as she made her way along the crowded street once more. Es put a tawny hand to her cheek, feeling its warmth with a twinge of disdain- she needed to find some place to cool off before she returned to the inn to change for the masquerade ball this evening. Thankfully, she likely would never encounter the infuriating kind sir for the rest of her journey- Dainem was a big country with a big, busy, bustling Capital, and with any luck, she'd only be here another night, never to return again. |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
It truly ignited a sense of genuine joy to see his attempts to irritate working so well. As they should be. He doesn’t go out of his way to piss people off just to be left with no reaction. No, where would the fun in that be? The redder this female grew, the more enlivened Mal had become. It was just too good. When he had developed this sick desire to rile others up just to spark confrontation or retaliation. . . Mal was unsure, but this was a lust he’s had for years. It just so happens to be easier to make others angrier than it is to make them happier, and it’s also rather invigorating to see how far people’s limits go until he steps on just the right boundary to send them over the edge. While Mal had turned for just a second to let what he said grow on her, as soon as his eyes flickered back to the female he was met with a -familiar- sting to the side of his face. While Mal didn’t so much as step back, of course his face had turned to the side with the slap. If this were a man, Mal would’ve slapped back without hesitation. Not out of rage. No, no. For fun, to have a nice little slap off. Well, unless his opponent pulled a weapon, then Mal would have to bow his way out. That was due to his inhumanly fast healing though, and he couldn’t risk that being seen by a gathering of people. This ability is also the sole reason Mal’s face wasn’t currently crimson tinted in the mark of where the woman’s hand had connected with him just a moment before. Mal got exactly what he wanted though, a scene. And his smile reflected a prideful enjoyment in this entire situation. At the woman’s question, perhaps an attempt to make him question whether or not he had learned anything from this, Mal simply raised a brow and gave a light shrug. Will you slap me again if I tell you the truth? Being scolded or reprimanded had no effect on Mal, and his show at biting back a laugh was evident that this woman really wasn’t getting anywhere with him. She was an object of his amusement, and that was what his overall stance made clear. As she finished speaking, throwing in her lovely use of kind sir once more -which irritated Mal more than he let it show- the blonde turned to watch her fleeting figure for a moment before he spoke loud enough to try and make his input the final words of their encounter. “What, no second slap for the road, my lady?” Mal certainly is petty enough to want the last word in most squabbles, so that was his attempt to feed himself that satisfaction. Despite the various eyes and already mumblings between people on the street, Mal clutched his newly acquired weapon closer and began to walk back in the direction he had originally come. That was probably enough of a show for today, or at least on the streets of Dainem. The woman was fairly out of sight, out of mind now though, and naturally Mal’s focus was already shifting to what was to come later. Perhaps if he had the money he’ll be getting for this job, he would have bought out the entire stand in front of that woman just to spite her… and to throw a few wares at her, just to really send her flying into a rage. Now that would have been funny. Fun aside though, Mal knew it best to get mildly serious about preparing himself for the ball, and for the precise assassination of the host. |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Esmeralda had to practically restrain herself, mind, body, and spirit, to keep from rolling her eyes as the man shouted after her. She paid him no mind, however- at least she tried to, but there was no mistaking the curses she uttered under her breath in her mother tongue- and continued onward. While her plan had once been to meander towards the Archduke's residence to get a closer look at the preparations for the masquerade ball that evening, Es felt uneasy in the streets of Dainem's Capital after her rather unfortunate and untimely outburst at that poor excuse for a merchant's stand. She cursed the oh-so kind sir in the atrocious blue vest that had accosted her in the shop, whatever his name may be, for rousing her anger so quickly. Maldyra could gorge herself for millennia on his ego alone, and Es found comfort and was able to calm her jittering nerves at the thought. Admittedly, it amused her and brought a smile to her face. However, with her display of anger also came unwanted attention, and Ehilaani people attracted enough of that as it was- and there were very few of her kind among the western countries. She needed to make herself scarce, now, so as to not draw any more wandering eyes upon her. ••• Es made it back to the inn on the outskirts of town, thankfully without any more fuss. It was a bit later in the afternoon, though it was still early enough in the evening to watch the sky change color through the window of her private room as the sun set over Dainem. It was a pretty sight to behold as she bathed, and while the water had long since chilled, she didn't mind as her skin was practically hot with excitement for the evening that was to come. As she dressed and readied herself, Es thought of the many ways that she could kill the Archduke- poison in his drink, a knife to the throat. Hell, she could grow petunias in his chest cavity, if she felt so inclined, though that would likely be the most discreet and viable choice. His plate and his wine would be well guarded at an event such as this, and as The mysterious One character had written in his letter, there would only be a slim chance to get the nobleman alone- unless she managed to seduce him, but she didn't fancy the idea of his grubby hands anywhere near her, or her expensive dress. The dress was a deep burgundy red, form-fitting, with a slit in the right side of the skirt that came up to her mid-thigh. The fabric of the skirt fell just above the floor when she wore her black 3-inch heels. There was no seam between the skirt and bodice, the fabric seeming to flow smoothly from one section to the next as it hugged her curves. However, she wore a silver dress chain-belt, the links each facing the same direction and studded with rubies. The off-shoulder neckline was decorated with ornately-cut diamonds of varying shapes and sizes to create a floral pattern that wrapped around her bust. After the tailor had given her the dress, Es had sewn in a small sheath that would sit dead-center just below the inner neckline to conceal a thin 4-inch blade, should she ever come to need it. The sheathed blade was tucked securely between her chest and the fabric, and completely unnoticeable. The long sleeves of the dress were of the same fabric as the rest of the garment. They fit snugly against her arms- just as her royal blue dress had- to conceal her tattoos from view. Esmeralda secured her dark curls up into a low bun, just above the nape of her neck, and decorated it with floral diamond pins, similar in shape to the gemstone flowers on her dress. A few loose curls framed her face, which she had applied minimal makeup to- a bit of smokey black khol eyeliner, and a lipstick a few shades darker than her natural lips. Most of her face would be covered by a mask, after all, so there wasn't much need for anything drastic. The mask itself was a simple dark red Colombina-style mask, with the same diamond floral shapes adorning it as her dress and hair pins. She then quickly spritzed herself with a perfume of her own making- vanilla and honeysuckle- before it was finally time to leave for the ball. She took one last look in the mirror, adjusting her hair and mask for a moment and adding a few silver rings to her fingers, before grabbing her invitation and red hand-fan, then stepping out into the night. ••• Es arrived at the Archduke's residence at an almost alarming speed- though, when one traveled in the shadows of rooftops, foot-traffic was nonexistent. She watched from the roof of a nearby building as guests began to arrive in droves, the ball now in full swing. She waited for the crowd to clear before slipping down into the dark alleyway and joining a congregation of party-goers as they approached the gates. She presented her invitation to the guards when it was her turn in line, shamelessly batting her lashes at one of them- perhaps she would've tried to woo him in an alternate timeline, one in which she were not trying to kill his employer, but that's neither here nor there. As many ladies could attest- there's just something about men in uniform. She piddled about the luxurious ballroom for a good while, circling the room, drinking champagne, and charming small groups of people as they came along. The host sat on a faux throne on a platform at one end of the ballroom- typical- watching the party and stuffing his face with food and drink, but not joining in on any of the fun. Once the self-serving banquet table was mostly crowd-free, as many of the guests were now on the dance floor, Es approached it and placed a small bunch of grapes on one of the tiny guest platters. She scanned the room as people danced about the center, smiling as she occasionally popped grapes into her mouth. "Excuse me, my lady," came a deep, velvety voice from her left. She put on a saccharine smile as she turned to face the man that had approached her. His voice sounded familiar, though it was dampened by his Bauta mask, and she almost instantly recognized his large, muscular build. She offered him her hand, and he took it in his own coffee-colored one, politely kissing her rings and leaning in so only she could hear his words, "It seems as though the jaguar stalks at night." Esmeralda's smile grew more mischevious as he continued to hold her hand, waiting for her response to the Society's code phrase for identifying fellow assassins, "May he never go hungry," she said, her voice sweet as honey. The two chuckled for a moment, and the darker gentleman released her hand, "Well well, I didn't expect to see the infamous Spider tonight, but it's a welcome surprise. Might I ask what you're doing here?" Es rolled her silvery eyes, though her smile remained. This man was one of the few in the Society that knew her true identity, and one of the fewer that she considered a friend, "I'm here on a job, of course, what are you doing here, Deryk?" The larger man paused, seeming quite puzzled at her answer, even behind his mask, "If I may ask another question- who, pray tell, is your mark?" The woman raised a quizzical dark brow, though took a sip from her champagne before answering, "Our gracious host, why do you ask?" Deryk straightened his posture and cast a glance at the Archduke across the ballroom, before settling his dark brown eyes upon Es once more, "Because it appears The One invited me here to do the same." Esmeralda froze, though tried to keep a friendly smile on her face to keep up her façade as her heart practically thudded in her ears, "I see," she managed to say, her voice almost faltering- almost. Could this have been a mistake? Could The One really have sent multiple invitations to the Society? Surely this mysterious employer must have known he'd get multiple assassins to show up this way- unless… that was the point. "Deryk," she said, her steely eyes scanning about the room at all of the guards before fixing her gaze upon the larger man, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" There was almost a twinge of fear in her voice, though she kept her composure and took a final sip of champagne before setting the now-empty glass upon the table. The male nodded solemnly, keeping his eyes trained on Es, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am." This was a trap, and there was no telling how many other Society suckers had fallen for the promise of so much coin, and gods only knew which one of them would make a move for the Archduke… |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
One has never known prissy until one has been in Mal's presence when he is putting effort into dressage. Pity the tailors he does hire, for his tongue does not relent in sharply critiquing their every stitch and embroidery work if it’s not up to par with his lavish standards. And Mal’s standards are quite high. It’s his mannerisms of how he goes about criticizing though that would almost suggest he’s more of a diva, and perhaps he is on the verge of being one. And for this ball? The young man was actually relenting from clothing himself in attire that would put even the most well dressed royals in all of Dainem to shame. Sacrificing his standards for money is truly the only exception he had for this kind of thing, and thus he settled for the subtly flashy wear he had brought for his ball attire. A thinner, but smooth and gently textured black button is where Mal had started. The collar was neatly folded down, and was accented with gold embroidered touches. The pebble sized buttons were a subtle rose gold in color, mostly to accent the embroideries on the button down and the jacket he had specifically to match this shirt. While the jacket itself was also thin, it also hugged his figure in a complimentary style, while still retaining a loose enough fit for him to easily maneuver in. Which as a swift assassin, he found to be a rather important aspect of all of his clothes to have. The jacket itself was the eye candy of his outfit, however. Simple, but regally styled golden embroideries also lined the folded back opening of the jacket, as well as on the sleeve cuffs, and hem of the waist. If he weren’t planning on having his daggers concealed on his person, he would have left it completely open. However, Mal buttoned the midpiece of the jacket together to better hide the lethal blades he was toting. One carefully tucked at the left side of his waist due to a nice additive to his black, perfectly fit tailored trousers. And the other dagger, sheathed in his right boot. These boots being sleeker looking, in a well made black leather lace up style, where they came to a stop at his mid-shin. Other than the mild grooming of his blonde locks, which was almost always neatly slicked back anyway, the last of his attire were the accent pieces. A variety of differently styled silver rings were spaced out between the fingers of his right hand, with in all, there being seven complimentary jewelry pieces on his hand in all. Then of course, by now he couldn’t resist a thinly made two band golden ear cuff that was placed on his left ear. It wasn’t greatly noticeable, but it was just a bit of personal pizzazz in Mal’s opinion. Then of course, what would a ball goer be without their mask? Mal’s just so happened to also be designed to match the theme of his black and golden embroidered jacket, with it being a narrower styled mask, but one that definitely pulled his entire look together. It took quite some time for Mal to reach the fabulous state he was currently in though, mostly because he needed his outfit to be perfect. Stunningly subtle, and don’t think the blonde didn’t check himself out a bit before he began his ascent up the capital streets to reach the Archduke’s home. Mal didn’t mind this kind of crowd, as with most of them, he was able to conform enough to easily slip through. It also helped to get a look at the competition of male ball goers, you know, so he can rip off their clothing styles later and design something far better to have made for him. Oh, and Mal was already eyeing a gentleman with a beautiful black and red vest… having one of a similar fashion made was certainly on his to-do list now. And with the currency he should be receiving when the lethal deed is done, perhaps he'd get that gorgeous vest made quite soon. Coming upon his turn to hand his invitation over, it took a single flick of his wrist to dip into his jacket, and within his forefinger and the middle, was the invitation he showed with a carefree flick of his wrist to the guards. This snobbish nature was expected of most higher class individuals, so not even a second glance was spared in Mal’s direction before he proceeded to saunter forward. Funny enough Mal didn’t have to imitate the higher class to come across as a snobbish wealthy man, he just had that prissy flamboyance to him naturally. Upon entering, Mal’s gaze deceivingly admired the entirety of his surroundings as he examined the space around him. A pace of a gentleman engorging his eyes on the awe-worthy ballroom was the facade he wore, and one that suited him well. Admittedly Mal wasn’t much of an enjoyer of alcohol, so he merely continuously stirred around and fake sipped from the same champagne glass for some time. Several times he would cast a casual glance to Archduke, studying his mannerisms and what he was doing. Nothing would exactly be easy in terms of killing him, as it would take quite a bit of work for Mal to deceive so many eyes in this room with his illusions. But no one notices the help. Mal had already eyed a few manservants and attendants to the Archduke that get close enough for them to have the window to kill, which was all Mal needed. Or perhaps the disguise of one of the guards would serve him best. The One mentioned an opportunity, but did they mean an opportunity given, or one meant to be found? Mal wanted to believe his thought process was leading him to make the correctly spurred decision. He just had to lure at least a guard or two, maybe an attendant, away long enough for him to take their place with an illusion so he could get close to the Archduke. It would be easier to do a large scale deceit of his illusions to cover a kill if he was within feet of the Archduke. And of course, slipping away would be an art in itself, but it was doable. Scanning his immediate area, the plan laid itself out for him. Nearest a table with drinks was a louder, but larger group of chuckling individuals, which Mal was going to use as a part of his ‘lookey, lookey over here’ idea, in order for him to attempt to pull strings elsewhere. Approaching beside the group, Mal had his back turned while giving an older gentleman the illusion he had tripped over something with one his steps back, which sent the gentleman to stabilize himself at the expense of Mal knocking into the drink table. Just missing any alcohol being spilled onto his clothes -luckily-, Mal watched as glasses had fallen over and champagne dripped from a stream to the floor. “Excuse m-” The older man had started in apology, with Mal turning on his heels in narrowed eyes, cutting him off in a louder manner. “You’re damn right you better excuse yourself, sir. I would keep in mind that everyone here has manners, so it’s rather rude to be carelessly stumbling around and bumping into others.” Mal hissed, his raised tone drawing eyes from the immediate area. Shoulder checking the older man as he went by, with the older man’s voice following after him with a string of curses, Mal gained enough distance to observe which attendants left their Archduke in an attempt to tend to the mess, seems as how the guards were watching carefully versus moving. Mal observed them all from the safety of a crowd, where he was fairly unnoticed to them. I’ll have to open a new window for myself. Mal decided, glancing around the room for what he would need to spur a scene bigger than the one he already made in order to get the attention he needed, without allowing the guards to escort the Archduke away… unless, Mal was able to slip in as an escorting guard under illusion. That could work. And yet Mal could still hear that older man ranting, and upon glancing over, the man was still gesturing in Mal’s distant direction. Which wasn’t what he needed, so further to the opposite side of the room Mal walked to gain a better vantage for his next small opportunity, while still keeping a careful eye on where the guards attentions were, and of course, his eyes were on the Archduke as well. |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Deryk and Es watched as the scene unfolded, as did many an onlooker, their attention torn from the countless guards standing watch over the gathering- as well as scouting out the event for any familiar figures among the parygoers. Es merely rolled her eyes at the spectacle, and returned her gaze to the taller man that now accompanied her- though his own dark irises remained fixed on the squabbling buffoons. She could have sworn the blonde fellow's voice was familiar, and her mind was immediately drawn to the memory of the yellow-haired fellow that she had made the misfortune of meeting at the merchant's stand. Her eyes closed for a moment, attempting to cool the rising heat of anger that bubbled within her. Of course the oh-so kind sir was here, it all made sense, now. He definitely had the attributes of a noble young bachelor- crude, repugnant, antagonistic, arrogant, godless. She should have known that the gods would challenge her by throwing him in her path once more, so with her newfound anonymity and the distance between them, she simply chose not to acknowledge his presence any longer. She would not let Maldyra tempt her to rage- certainly not here, where the stakes were already high enough without this man's folly involved. Es quirked a neat black brow, a grin gracing her face once more, "Oh, come now, darling," she said, delicately trailing her hand down the length of his arm as though they were lovers- a coy alibi to disguise their conversation from spectators that had wandered over to their end of the serving table, "I know the party has hardly started, but surely there's more entertaining things to do than gawk at a couple of drunken lords." She sounded so sweet when she said it, but what she really meant was: We need to focus on the task at hand- why the hell are you so fixated on these idiots?? Deryk smiled, though it was hidden entirely by his mask, but his eyes were convincing enough, "I do believe my dear friend Robert is among them," he said, a hint of worry flashing over his eyes, "Perhaps I should tend to him before he makes a fool of himself." Es looked back at the two lords that had been bickering, the blonde having already turned his back to the older gentleman- who was now cursing the younger fellow up and down- before returning her questioning gaze upon Deryk. Surely he didn't mean the kind sir, and if he did, surely this didn't mean that this arrogant prick was a member of the Society, of all things. Her teeth gently gnawed at the fleshy bit on the inside of her cheek, in another attempt to steel herself and temper the anger bubbling in her veins as Deryk sauntered off into the crowd. It seems as though the Gods were testing her resolve, after all. She only hoped that the outcome would prove to be in her favor. ••• Deryk moved through the mass of moving bodies and long bedazzled dress skirts like a giant shadow- light and swift on his feet, which seemed impossible for a man of his size and stature. But, his ability to manipulate the very air around him granted balance and a kind of gracefulness to his stocky stature. His dark umber eyes remained fixed upon the sly, spindly creature he had come to know as Malachi during their many run-ins at Society-friendly inns and taverns all across the continent. They had a friendly rapport- or, at least Deryk had no real qualms with the fellow- even if Mal was more often than not a bit weaselly. Deryk certainly would not wish death upon the man, or any Society member, really. The large man finally closed the distance between himself and the blonde, though Mal was turned to the side and likely hadn't noticed him from how quietly he moved. Deryk placed a solid, meaty hand upon the man's shoulder and quickly whispered into his ear before another classic, overly-dramatic Mal display could take place, "Friend, we are not safe here. It seems that The One has lured many of us out of hiding, tonight." |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
Now that’s a pair of boots even I could appreciate. It wouldn’t be the first time Mal thought about taking a trophy from a victim, it just so happened to be in his favor that the Archduke sported quite fashionable footwear. You can’t really steal from the dead though, as Mal has come to the conclusion of. And who would he be to let those darling things go to waste after the pitiful man of power becomes nothing more than a motionless meat sack. His lusts were all rather pointless if he couldn’t get a grasp on the right opportunity to make the kill though, of course. The sudden sensation of a hand being heavily laid on his shoulder earned the blonde to tense, but he relented from lashing out -both in venomous words and his abilities- as a familiar voice smoothly trickled from an entity Mal considered a comrade. Tilting his head to the side enough to eye the man that practically towered over him, a mildly quizzical expression engulfed the visible features of his face. “What?” Malachi questioned, turning now to better face Deryk, and to judge his demeanor. No, what Deryk said made no sense. None whatsoever. Yet Mal’s eyes briefly bounced from entity to entity within the grand room, deciphering whether any faces looked familiar in the slightest. Deryk’s tone insinuated he suspected that this was a trap. But Mal refused to believe he was being swindled or lured. And if he was… there had to be good reason. “How many of us?” Mal inquired quietly, a subtle glint of vexation festering in his gaze now. Not at Deryk’s presence, per say, but at the thought of being tricked. He is an infamous trickster, but he did not enjoy being on the other end of deceptive actions. And if there were several society members in attendance, Mal was torn between two thoughts; viewing them as competition for financial gain, or seeing this situation as a very bad thing to be in the middle of. Years of successfully laying low could easily be blown tonight, if this is a trap. But who would have the means? Why? How? Mal had too many questions, and not enough answers, and he didn’t like it. The blonde clenched his jaw and shook his head, trying to justify that what they are perceiving as their reality is a grander scheme, one that still ended in gain. “Maybe it’s a test.” Mal spoke, confident of the plausibility of the hypothetical scenario he made up in his head. “What if -and hear me out- this a way to see who is the most successful of our kind? If someone had the means to gather several of us in one place, maybe the point is to spook off the more cowardly individuals in our Society. And whomever the victor tonight is… well I haven’t figured out that part yet, but as a master of deceit and games, I have a gut feeling that there’s something greater at play.” Mal elaborated, having weaved the illusion over his voice to any external listeners -void Deryk- that Mal was laughing off his dispute with the other nobleman. As a man who can alter people’s perception, he wanted to believe there was a game being played here; he just had to learn the rules, and then he could win. Or maybe it was his dire thirst for money that clouded his own perception, but he wouldn’t admit to that. Rather, he looked to Deryk to see how he took to the situation at hand. From what Mal had come to understand about Deryk, is that he’s a relatively trustworthy fellow. A bit of a bore to the blonde, but someone whose vocalizations should be considered. Coming from anyone else, Mal would have brushed off what Deryk had approached him with. But if Deryk was concerned, it did spark a sense of fear into Malachi as well; which only pissed him off further. Fear was something he liked to strike into the hearts of others, not be another mere victim of its grasp. But if tonight was a trap, what was the end game? To see the fall of ability wielders? It seemed too simple of a desire to be the reason behind this all. Or maybe Mal was kidding himself, he was struggling with deciding where he stood on the matter. |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Deryk listened carefully to Mal's musings, contemplating the possibilities the man conjured to try and justify all of them receiving the same letter from the mysterious One, though could not seem to convince himself of any of them being valid. There were too many doubts in his mind, all of which could spell doom for them and any other Society members in attendance if they weren't careful. "So far, it's me, you, and The Spider," Deryk began in a hushed voice, glancing about the room, scanning for the woman's familiar frame. Once his umber eyes settled upon her, he found her speaking to another male figure, "Though she may have found another. Either that, or she's just entertaining that fellow. I can't be certain from here. We only just found out, ourselves. I was lucky to have spotted her when I did, or our host would already be face down on his plate, and I'd be gone." This was true- he had been just about ready to pull the air from the Archduke's lungs, when he'd caught a glimpse of her familiar smile as she entered the room. One couldn't forget such a smile, especially one paired with such piercing eyes. Well, it could simply just be that he couldn't forget, or rather the part of him that still pined for her- but that was neither here nor there. His gaze returned to the shorter man, and though only his eyes were visible through his Bauta mask, they seemed to hold an almost saddened weight to them as he shook his head, "If this were a test, or competition, surely The One would have mentioned so in their letter. How would they know which of us had done the job? If I had done it, what's to stop you from claiming the reward for yourself? What's to stop any one of us from doing so if he were to perish right now? There are simply too many of us who could kill him without even laying a finger on him, it would be almost impossible to tell…" His thoughts trailed off, contemplating the situation they now found themselves in. Glancing about the room at the guards. If he didn't know any better, he could simply dismiss the amount of eyes he found fixed upon them, but it seemed far too likely now that they were being watched, "They may know who we are, already," he thought aloud to himself, gaze flitting to Es momentarily before patting Mal on the back in an outwardly friendly gesture, "Come now, friend," he said, his baritone voice a bit more confident and warm, "My lady is likely wondering where I am by now, and I'd be honored to have you meet her." With that, Deryk began walking towards Esmeralda, motioning for Mal to follow him. His stride was long, though he made an effort not to walk too fast through the still-growing crowd of partygoers. ••• Esmeralda smiled and nodded along as the stranger in a royal blue suit and mask spoke to her, his attempt at flirting abysmal at best- though perhaps it was because he was well in his cups at this point and could hardly string a decent sentence together. Her silvery gaze flitted back and forth between the oaf in front of her and Deryk, a small bit of anxiety pooling in her gut as her friend spoke to the yellow-haired man. Every once in a while, she would scan the crowd nearby in search of any familiar features, but came up short every time. The woman continued to nurse her drink and play polite to the gentleman before her, resisting the urge to roll her eyes every time he slurred his words. Es was practically thrilled when she looked up to find Deryk approaching, her steely eyes practically screaming save me from this fool. "Ah, my dearest," she said, cutting off the man in front of her in the middle of his drunken spiel, "I was wondering where you had run off to." She closed the short distance between them, giving him a hug- much to the disappointment of the man in the blue mask, who began gloomily stumbling away. She tilted her head upwards to whisper to him, "I've not yet found any others," she began, "Leave it to assassins to be in hiding when you need to find them." |
|
|
Spring 
Night Weather: 
Heavy Rain Moon: 
