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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 25, 2018 15:23:02 GMT
For anyone curious, this is essentially a rewrite of "The Assassin and the Thief," but I'm changing the name a little to clarify which rp thread is which
He’d done it a hundred times, perhaps more. But sometimes he’d notice how quiet a room always became afterwards. Out of the chaos, so often plunged into deafening silence. It would be broken later, of course, when the scene would inevitably be discovered. For now the only movement within the room was the one man in black, wiping his sword clean against the fine cut of his target’s robes.
It had gone well this time, with only one man guarding the door to the room. He went down without a sound, only able to strike out once before being dragged inside. The target himself had only a chance to escape the bed before being brought down, but the heavy door that was supposed to protect him now sheltered the sound of his death. In the following stillness, the assassin found himself looking about even as he cleaned his weapon. The room itself was bedecked like that of a high lord, but it was merely the gilding of little more than a robber baron. It had been a competitor who wanted the sheriff out of the way, becoming too bold and openly cruel and thus attracting unwanted attention. The rest of the dead man’s ilk had wanted to prevent a closer look at their own actions. Of course, with any such target, proving who did the deed was always a tricky question, and a solution had been offered. With the weapons cleaned and sheathed, the figure knelt to pull the chain of office, gold gilding already beginning to chip and inlaid with polished but cheap emeralds. What was most striking about the necklace at the moment, however, was simply the splatter of red across the green and gold. The blood was not wiped off even as it was tucked into a pocket, a silent note to prove its real worth.
Once satisfied with the state of the room, the man slipped out into the corridor again, narrowly avoiding a passing patrol. Even as he escaped out the door and onto the roof, the same path he used to enter, it was in the distance behind him that a cry finally rang out. Curiosity about the missing guard had finally tipped towards bravery, and thus discovery by opening the door. By then, the assassin was well away, his proof safely tucked away. An hour’s run, and he relocated his camp, with tent, fire, and very unusual camper hidden within.
The giant white tiger’s ears flicked to attention as the other approached, sitting up with a stiff-backed stretch and a wide yawn. His pale coat and blue eyes stood out even in the dark of night, with the small fire providing only a soft golden-red glow. This light illuminated the man as he stepped forward, discarding the outer robe that was now speckled in blood. The tiger studied the man carefully for several long moments, silently, before speaking, his deep voice more reminiscent of a doting, worried uncle rather than a great predator.
“Ciaran… did they… hit you anywhere else?”
The man paused, making a face at the creature - and jumped, suddenly aware of the long cut that now lined his cheek even as he pulled his hand from the unexpected discovery. It was shallow, but bled freely enough and stung with every change in expression. “No, I’m fine,” he replied as he tossed the robe aside, contemplating abandoning it rather than trying to wash out the blood. It wasn’t like it would be too surprising a find after the night’s events. “All went as planned. We’re fine tonight, Cathal,” he added in an attempt to calm the old tiger, too busy tending the fire and campsite to see the ears flick back. As planned… well, at least this time the assassinated man was one who actually deserved such justice. It was a growing trend for the mercenary since meeting the tiger, to be more selective in his jobs. But Cathal still found it difficult to align with assassinations.
“Don’t forget it’s your turn tomorrow.” The comment brought the tiger back to the moment, a little smile tugging at his weathered face as his “cub” tried to be indifferent. “You get to earn your keep by finding that thief.” A thief who had managed somehow to sneak into the palace and steal a tiara belonging to the royal family. The reward for the restoration of the piece, and the capture of the thief, was a well known enticement to now have every mercenary after the culprit. Cathal had a distinct advantage over the lot. “Of course. I’m… still not sure how you managed to get a fabric sample from the room…” he replied, letting his words trail off with a silent chuckle as Ciaran shifted uncomfortably. “A few choice words with one of the maids…. who took it the wrong way,” he dismissed quickly, a hand returning to the cut as his expression changed. “Get that tended to, and get some sleep. I’ll keep watch,” Cathal offered, standing while offering a bag. Ciaran eyed the medicine bag for a moment before taking it with a sigh, pulling out a strip of cloth and a small bottle as the tiger settled down on the other side of the fire, studying the wood around them well into the dawn.
———
Had to be. It had to be a festival day. Ciaran didn’t like towns for simply having too many people. But a festival day… a harvest festival that brought in not only villagers but farmers, traders and of course, all manner of rogues, conmen and thieves. Unfortunately, it was also the ideal place to peddle off a black market piece of jewelry. Such festivals called in people from far and wide, making tracking stolen goods exceptionally difficult.
Ciaran had come close to arguing with Cathal when he first led them to the village, but he knew that the tiger’s nose was his best lead. There was no other way to try and track down thief or tiara by now, as it had been weeks since the theft had taken place. It had been three days simply getting from the sheriff’s villa to this town. After so long, such an item would be burning a hole in any thief’s pocket, so while being bumped and stalled he was examining every jeweler’s stall he could find.
Unfortunately, there were an awful lot of jeweler stalls.
His appearance earned curious looks at every stall, his own clothes high in quality but simple in design, and hardly the kind to be seeking decoration for himself. That, and of course the cut across his cheek, still red but healing well. Before anyone either mustered the courage or interest to ask him about the cut, he was moving on. At least his hunt was specific, limiting his time with certain stalls and certain sellers. The tradeoff was more time looking for another stall, however, and dealing with passerby. Trying to navigate the ever moving throng of people, and circling round the ones who simply stopped in the middle of the flow for a chat… Ciaran’s patience was wearing thin, his old soldiering instincts bubbling under the surface of his calm, cold exterior. As always, his eyes were masked, stormy blue yet ice cold, as expressionless as his face. A mask of calm that was close to being disrupted by yet another bumping into him.
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Post by Kelathi on Nov 19, 2018 19:27:07 GMT
Homely, was the best way to describe the hovel of a house, despite it's many shortcomings, and it was certainly no noble's home. The ceiling was in disrepair, despite many botched attempts at thatching; and as a result the floor had become in some places a bucket graveyard, where the damned things, after serving their initial purpose to collect leaking water from above, had become semi-permanent fixtures due to the idleness of the home's owner. The walls were the simple stone brickwork of any humble home, and the rug on the floor was faded from years of trampling feet. The small room had everything one needs for a humble existence; there was an alcove set in the back wall which currently held a lit fire and a bubbling pot above it, the walls were littered with wooden shelves of varying degrees of slant, laden with herbs and spices as well as trinkets from travels, the latter holding a thin layer of dust. There were two chairs, both by the fire, one holding a pile of blankets, neatly folded, and the other it's twin opposite, holding furs strewn haphazardly over it's back and seat as if the occupant had left in a hurry. There was a small, triangular window with cracked glass to keep out the chill, and a large, wooden door with iron hinges, probably the most sturdy thing in the entire house. On the other side of the room, a pale moth-eaten curtain that separated the bedroom from the rest of the house, and only area of privacy.
But emanating from every poky corner of the small hovel was the welcoming warmth, for the fire was never allowed to burn out, and constantly, night or day, sent splashes of soothing washes of colour dancing upon the ages walls. The company was good, in that kind of... Toothy, edged kind of way, and perhaps not quite as welcoming as the dancing flames. There was a certain love between the two occupants of the house, the kind of love that was harsh in some ways but also strong and unbreakable as an ox's back.
If a little... Bristly.
"Where's my damn food, woman?"
The voice may very well have come from a man, it was so deep and crackled with age. But should someone step a bit closer to the messy bundle of furs piles on the aged chair besides the fire, they would realise that it was not a bundle at all, nor a man, for that matter, but a woman probably as old as the hills herself, cocooned in a menagerie of bear and wolf pelts. Everything about her was as hard and sturdy as the wooden door, and just as capable to shut people out. Her wrinkly hands, now hidden beneath the folds of fur, would be a palm reader's dream, and her face was as etched and carved as a weather-beaten cliff side. The answer from outside was perhaps not as agreeable as she had hoped, for upon receiving it her face became creased in such a way that would have been comical had it not been for her striking eyes, able to fill with such resentment that it would make even the strongest wither beneath her glare.
"Where I damned well left it, hag!" The second voice was definitely female, and upon hearing it she seemed immediately to change tact, as if knowing that intimidation, here, was not the key to get what she wants. "Oh! Such a word to call a poor old woman such as myself, who can nay defend herself. O' cruel, spiteful child." She mourned, rocking slightly in her chair, making sure to be loud enough with the short tale of woe so that the woman outside could definitely hear her. She could swear she heard a snort of laughter as a response, but she did not break her facade for the moment. Soon after, the door swung open, displaced only by a well-placed shove of a shoulder, and the woman strolled in.
She was not a child at all, but compared to the aged woman in the seat, it might be understood as to why she had been referred to as such. Dark brown hair cascaded down either side of her face, framing ivy-green eyes and a lightly freckled face, as if someone had dusted only a thin layer over the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks, which were slightly flushed with the exertion of chopping the firewood she now grasped In her arms. A pretty face that had been the downfall of many, not helped by the fact that she had a relatively small stature, which seemed always to give others the wrong assumption that the woman was not a force to be reckoned with. But the old 'hag' knew better. She had seen the young woman fight like a wildcat, not to mention her... Other curiosities, of which the old woman had been lucky enough to experience only a few times. Although the younger woman had never openly confirmed such thoughts, the old woman had suspicions that the constantly burning fire was an attribute to the woman's presence, and she strongly suspected that it would only go out should the young woman leave for good.
None of these things bothered the aged woman in the slightest. They had built quite an understanding, the two of them. In her day, she had been prosecuted, and once, even driven away due to her gift with herbs, for she knew which were good for healing wounds, settling queasy stomachs, and even knew the secrets to the harmless delay of the onset of monthly female troubles. These abilities, although harmless, were often attributed to being examples of witchcraft. Now the young woman... She did not know any of these things, and yet, the aged woman still had her suspicions. For she had seen things she was never meant to see, and instead of being afraid, when it came for her to intervene she had found herself... Curious.
"Minerva, It's right next to you! You mean to tell me you've just sat there next to it and not bothered to help yourself?" The young woman chastised, dropping the chopped woods besides the fie. She crouched and began to feed it... Tenderly, Minerva thought. Without missing a beat, she was quick to wail, "I'm but an old woman and these wrinkled hands are so weak... Won't you be a dear and help a poor lady?" Her eyes were pleading as she beseeched the woman... Who merely laughed, standing and turning away. The woman's expression very quickly turned sour once more, -"And to think, I brought you under my roof, and helped you, and you won't even return me the favour by feeding me! Spiteful child, daughter of Satan!" She screeched, spitting out the words. The young woman shook her head, but reached for the small, stone bowls anyhow. Minerva's words, although harsh to any unfamiliar ear, did not even bite, for she knew why the old woman was so irritable. She had been gone for a very long time, and the older woman never quite forgave her when this happened, even if it was a common occurance, and was always sure to show her the sharp side of her tongue when she returned. Without a word, the woman approached the fire again, drawing a large ladle from where it hung on a rusty nail besides the alcove, and began to spoon the sweet-smelling broth into a bowl. The old woman's countenance seemed to melt immediately and as she accepted the bowl and spoke again, her words were honeyed. "Thank you, my dear. Rhea, I knew there was a reason I kept you." At that, Rhea laughed again, helping herself now to the broth. "As if you had any choice!" She retorted.
***
Returning to Minerva had been the best decision. It was far from the palace, and there was no way they could link her to this place, for she had been sure to cover her face. She had also been sure to try and cover her tracks, too, going from one village to another, even sometimes taking the risk to double-back on herself, effectively trying to lead any possible followers on a wild goose-chase. She was confident by now that she was not being followed, and allowed herself a short respite at this place she had begun to think of as home... Before she would need to be on the move again. She was still within time, but having spent two days back, she hoped to be on the move by tomorrow.
Which made the fact that today was a festival day just so much sweeter. She intended to sell some trinkets she kept hoarded about her person for a rainy day, some valuable, some not, in order to set herself up for the long journey ahead. She needed to raise enough to replace her sword, which, to her chagrin, she had managed to lose on her escape from the palace (although on second thought, it had been either that or her head, so she couldn't complain too much), which was never easy in places like this, where women were largely seen as tenders of homes rather than bearers of arms. Course, she could just steal what she needed... But after her recent stint, she didn't want to draw more attention to herself than what was absolutely necessary.
So, for these reasons, she joined the throng of people with a light heart and a spring in her step, with the edition of rather heavy pockets.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Nov 19, 2018 20:44:54 GMT
This whole trip was a mistake. Ciaran knew that now. It had been a wild gamble, that Cathal had picked up a scent while on their way to a doable job. Of course he wanted that reward - it tripled what he already carried on him, enough to perhaps even retire on, and keep Cathal safe from discovery as they risked with every new village and township, but after so long, it seemed more and more unlikely that the bounty would ever be collected for either thief or tiara.
As it was, Ciaran found himself once more making sure that the chain of office was still securely hidden in his robes, having finally moved it from his pouch when one younger man had tried to bump against that side. Not carrying his twin swords made Ciaran uneasy, even though his clothes hid a number of daggers and throwing knives. He didn’t want to look like anything other than a simple traveler, a little dusty from the road and weary from the journey. But he was beginning to lose patience for this job. And he had to turn in the chain soon, to avoid someone else trying to claim the payment.
Killing the sheriff had caused waves, especially as he had been feared and distrusted, making it no surprise to hear whispered conversations about it abounded in the festival between celebratory rounds of drink and arguments over the cost. But it hadn’t been a bounty put out; Ciaran had been specifically hired for his talent, as the mayor had once known him back in the army. He had been one of the wiser ones to not get on Ciaran’s bad side; wise, given what had happened to those who had thought their control over the assassin was absolute.
Didn’t mean someone wouldn’t try to take advantage of the assailant being unknown.
Ciaran began to make his way out of the throng to the wall, feeling the need for space he was not getting in the crowds. He was disappointed, and he wasn’t afraid to let a little of that soften his expression, but he wasn’t about to risk that blood-stained chain and the sizable payment it would provide…
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Post by Kelathi on Nov 19, 2018 22:40:17 GMT
It wasn't long before she located the first stall she wanted to trade with. Playing the 'young girl unaware of the worth of the treasures she holds' was an easy role to play, especially when most men's assumptions of her was that that she can't know much anyway, being a woman. They were all too easily fooled by glinting glass in the place of diamonds, and could no more tell the difference between a valuable jewel and a lump of some cheap mineral. Other stalls had owners who were not so easy to trick, and with those, she had to bring out the actual gold-plated lockets, or maybe the chain of silver with it's inlays of chalcedony. There was of course, that one item that could not be sold at any mere market stall, being worth all of the stalls here put together. But she would not, and could not even entertain such a notion, so it remained inside the pouch at her side. Ever since she had salvaged it, it never left her sight, and even when going about her day, she was conscious of her hand straying towards it, just to check that it was still there.
It was his stillness that drew her gaze towards him. In the bubbling crowd, his fixed form was like a beacon to her attentions. The thief's critical eye made the observation first; well-made clothes and an austere countenance meant he was most likely a noble, and therefore, most likely in possession of a few coins or choice trinkets... Then, the other side of her that knew she now herself had full pockets, noted afterwards the handsome face and the suggestion of disappointment, and even perhaps frustration, in his downcast gaze. It was because of her lightness of heart at that moment that she decided to approach him at all. Normally, she would approach a man for one reason, and one alone... To see how much money she could fleece from him before he even knew what was going on, and to leave him a little poorer than they had been before they came across her.
But right now, thievery was not at the forefront her mind.
Before he had probably even noticed her approach, she had sidled along next to him, back leant casually against the wall, arms crossed, about a foot of space between them. "You look fed up." She spoke suddenly, conversationally, looking out at the crowd, rather than at him. "Is the general camaderie a bit too much for you?" As she spoke these words, as she looked up to him, her ivy-eyes seemed to glint with mirth, and the small smile that tweaked onto her lips showed that she meant only to harmlessly tease.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Nov 20, 2018 0:19:08 GMT
He had indeed missed her approach, too focused on watching the crowds moving past, waiting for some event to open the streets and let him leave in peace. Arms folded across his chest, subtly pressing the chain securely against him, just in case anyone else decided to ‘accidentally’ bump him on the edge of a crowd rather than in the middle of it.
The voice was ignored for a moment, it seemed, before his eyes moved over to the speaker. Ciaran had simply assumed it was someone at a nearby stall having a conversation, but then he had realized the voice was rather close. A flicker of surprise lit up his dark eyes for a moment, settling into something unreadable as the woman looked over at him, continuing to speak.
For a moment, Ciaran wondered what about his countenance had invited such attention, rather unaware that it was a lack of wanting to be approached that had apparently interested her. Something about her look up at him seemed to make him pause, but he recovered quickly and rather easily, as if used to disengaging from those around him. A strange response, as he made no other move to indicate what his pause had been about. But her teasing smile provided an answer before he needed to ask, raising one brow with a not quite matching smirk. “You could say that,” he replied simply, letting his gaze go back to the crowds. His attention, however, was now refocused around him, keeping the woman’s motions in his peripheral.
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Post by Kelathi on Nov 20, 2018 0:35:31 GMT
His answer amused her, he had seemed unsure at first whether she was joking, or truly admonishing him. Either way, his smirk willed her to continue. Instead of continuing to mirror his stance, she let her arms drop to her sides, and then her hands interlaced behind her back, a subtle hint that she was relaxed in his presence, even if the feeling may not be mutual. "Crowds make quick work for pickpocketers." She commented, almost nonchalantly, unbeknownst to her that this had been his train of thought, but rather, it was a good guess on her part. She had seen that he was a noble, he'd placed himself away from the brunt of the crowd, and put what she thought was two and two together. "I hope your treasures are well hidden." She added, just as non-committal, with a sly glance in his direction, to see how he took this.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Nov 20, 2018 0:49:44 GMT
Her shift in posture was duly noted, but as she hadn’t come any closer he kept his posture loose and relaxed, wanting to maintain his low-key presence.
The nonchalant comment, however, earned a different response. Ciaran couldn’t help the momentary stillness her words caused, having hit the nail squarely on the head. Her second comment earned a soft, single, completely cold chuckle, still keeping his eyes ahead but clearly studying her from the corner of his eye.
“I wouldn’t worry yourself. They are most assuredly safe… I wouldn’t have brought them with me, knowing the crowds.”
For a moment, he quickly regretted not leaving the chain with Cathal out in the woods, but knew that even if he had realized how fruitless this task would be before going in, he still would have not asked. Cathal would have not responded well to seeing blood splattered across it.
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Post by Kelathi on Nov 20, 2018 1:19:09 GMT
Because she was studying him as closely as he was her, she noticed the sudden stillness... As well as a slight tension to his arms. Immediately the thought crossed her mind, left breast pocket, but she ignored it, at least for now. Even if she was curious to see what treasure he had hidden there, as aforementioned, this was not currently her goal. She craved conversation with someone other than Minerva or a store holder, even if just for a few minutes, and she wasn't going to spoil that chance by concentrating too hard on what she might steal from the stranger. "Well, that's a relief!" She announced dramatically. "I was worried I might have to use what little strength I have to rise to the occasion and defend the poor noble-man from such an atrocity." This was accompanied with a grin, as she looked up at him again, curious to see how he would take it, and wanting to watch every emotion play across his face. Would he be indignant that she was suggesting that he would need saving? Was it one step too far on his pride, and would he try to drive her away for such 'insolence'?
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Nov 20, 2018 1:34:02 GMT
“Noble?”
The question was one said accidentally in surprise, he finally looking back at her with his confusion clear. Surprisingly, he seemed rather unfazed at the idea of being rescued, but then again, she couldn’t have known about some of the… more embarrassing saves Cathal had made in the past, the worst being when it had been completely unnecessary and a complete misunderstanding of the situation.
But a noble? Ciaran hadn’t yet made the connection so often made between his quiet demeanor and trained posture, and so was confused every time it was mentioned. Which, to be fair, wasn’t very often.
Clearly, he didn’t trust her after that initial little remark about his valuables, but her grin made him pause again, as if unsure how to respond to the tease. This time, it was much clearer what was making him pause, as his eyes flickered over her before moving back to the crowds.
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Post by Kelathi on Nov 20, 2018 1:52:41 GMT
He seemed to fixate on a strangest part of what she had said, focussing instead on the word 'noble' rather than any suggestion of her rescuing him. Not even a snide comment as to her seeming lack of strength? Despite herself, she found herself liking this mysterious man even more with every second that passed... It also seemed, if she was reading him correctly by his pauses, that he didn't quite know how to react to her. Was he... Liking what he saw? The thought immediately raised both a feeling of excitement and a red flag in her head, despite the fact that she had been the one to approach him in the first place... It was just that so many times she'd been the object of unwanted attentions, that her immediate reaction to any attention was to be defensive. But this was a calm exchange with someone she had approached, and very different from bumping into some lecherous man in a bar. And so she felt rather relaxed, enjoying the odd glance from him, those short moments where he seemed to study her face, and drank in his attention. For, although he did not offer conversation forth, she could tell now in his glances that there was a reason he was not merely dismissing her.
"Have I offended you?" She teased further, although why anyone would be offended for being mistaken for a noble, she didn't know.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Nov 20, 2018 2:07:47 GMT
Ciaran was having rather the opposite reaction to the situation than the woman was, feeling his chest tighten as her behavior began to remind him of someone else, from years before. It had been a while since he had last attracted any sort of flirtatious attention, his quiet demeanor usually enough to discourage engagement. What had him most concerned, however, was his own reaction to her. He hadn’t felt attracted or drawn to anyone himself since her, and in his fear he was already steeling himself against such thoughts. Never again.
Her question was not read entirely as a tease, as his stiff response showed. But respond he did, trying to disengage his response from his inner turmoil. “Hardly,” he said, forcing himself to relax his shoulders at least, keeping himself from simply walking off and possibly causing an incident with unwanted attention. “But I find it odd to be called such when I am not one,” he finished, offering a neutral little smile as he glanced at her.
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Post by Kelathi on Nov 22, 2018 14:23:54 GMT
She had lost him, or, at least, said something he found distasteful. For although he denied offence being taken, she saw a subtle shift in his manner, even as he appeared to try to relax, she observed the very slight tells, unobservable to most, that showed him trying to unwind the tension from his shoulders. She found it all very curious, and she wondered if his wariness was down to her forwardnenss alone... Or, perhaps, it was to do with whatever valuable he had hidden on his person? She had the distinct feeling that if she pushed too much, he might withdraw at any moment. Well, it had been an enjoyable exchange, if short, and as she wished to end their exchange on a good note, she decided now was a good time to wrap it up. He was probably wondering why she'd approached him at all, with nothing of worth to say except a few choice teases... Then again, perhaps it was quite obvious. Either way, she pushed herself gently away from the wall, and turning to him, performed a mock bow, which was merely a tip of her upper frame, one arm behind her back and the other against resting her stomach. "Well, I hope you find what you are looking for." She announced with a smile, seemingly sincere were it not for the playful and mischievous glint in her ivy eyes. She had meant in regards to the marketplace, unaware of how ironic it was to have her say those words to him. If she knew what he was actually was looking for, she would hardly be wishing him well in his search...
She turned to go, heart still light, and only managed half a step before someone barrelled into her, hard. The man's shoulder connected with hers, effectively both knocking her off her feet and simultaneously spinning her, a small yelp of surprise tearing from her lips as she reached out automatically to break her own fall.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Nov 22, 2018 18:27:20 GMT
The fact that she was reading his discomfort like a book was lost on him, only doing what was necessary to keep from earning any unwanted attention. There was an unasked question as to why she had approached him in the first place, as it was his quiet and distant demeanor that usually kept others away, put off by what was often read as arrogance. But as she had already guessed, he was not comfortable with these crowds, and in the back of his mind was wondering how long a large white tiger would be able to remain hidden in a forest turning golden.
Not that it really mattered… she was already leaving, even if she was still teasing. But the he saw her back, and his attention began to move again. Even so, Ciaran couldn’t help the momentary mix of relief that she was going, and… what, regret? No… never regret. Not worth risking another-
It was all reflex, and in that he was close to regretting his actions. The woman was knocked back out of the crowd as quickly as she had tried to enter it, but not straight into Ciaran. Even so, he found himself shifting to the side and catching her, then quickly readjusting his hands to more respectful positions once she was balanced. Given where one hand had landed, he found it rather difficult to look her in the eye, instead watching the rude crowd that had managed to absorb the perpetrator back in… luckily for him.
Ciaran too, honestly… killing someone in the middle of a crowd for putting him in that situation would definitely cause a stir.
“Are… you alright?” Ciaran finally asked, waiting a few moments to make sure his voice stayed steady, looking down for a moment to see she was standing again but avoiding eye contact.
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Post by Kelathi on Nov 22, 2018 19:23:01 GMT
What had ended up breaking her fall had been the stranger she had been flirting with moment's before, which meant that what she had ended up grabbing to steady herself was the front of his clothes. She was momentarily surprised to find her fall broken so suddenly, his reflexes proving to be better than hers had been just a moment ago, but that thought was pushed from her mind abruptly as she felt a hand where one should not be, at least, not uninvited... Her head whipped up in alarm, but he corrected himself quickly, eyes not meting hers, and she realised in a rush that the touch had been accidental. Knowing now there had been no ill-intentions to his touch, almost drew a nervous giggle from herself, a strange reaction considering she was pretty sure she had never 'giggled' in the presence of a man before, but thankfully she managed to control it.
"Well... That departure wasn't as elegant as I'd hoped." She laughed, sounding a little flustered. A touch of pink was now colouring her cheeks, showing her embarrassment despite her easy response. Realising she was still clutching the front of him, she drew her hands away quickly, her smile apologetic, and his hands loosed her too, now she was right on her feet. "I didn't realise we'd be meeting again so soon." She joked, eager to get out of there and the awkward situation that left her feeling foolish under his gaze when it finally did meet hers. "Thank you..." And this time, when she turned to step away, she was sure to check she wasn't about to collide with anyone else, and the crowd soon swallowed her up.
She walked quickly to put some distance between them, but it soon became apparent that it was not just due to the embarrassment. For, pressed up against him, the opportunist within her had not been able to resist...
She pulled just a little of the trinket out from where she had slipped it into the sleeve of her shirt, and inspected it quickly, aware that it's glint would draw the eyes of passersby if she wasn't too careful. She had managed to remove it without so much as a clink, fingers feather-light and impossibly quick, it would not take the stranger long to notice the absence of it's weight, for she became aware that it was promisingly heavy, which suggested it's value. It was not the run-of-the-mill trinket some noble-woman would wear, it looked as if it was from someone important, and from the stranger's surprise at being suggested to be a noble, she guessed it no more belonged to him than it now did to her. There was a strange streak of red on the jewellery that messed up the pattern, which at first glance appeared to be a string of rubies, but upon closer inspection...
She stopped suddenly, feeling her gut drop. Oh. Hm. Okay. Did she just manage to steal from a...?
Something made her look behind her. She hadn't expected him to notice it's absence so soon, but she could practically feel his piercing gaze from across the crowd. What she did next was probably stupid considering she now had some idea as to what kind of person she had stolen from... But a thief is a thief, and she couldn't help herself. She lifted the trinket slightly, as if admiring it in the sun, then she met his gaze.
And winked.
And ran.
This time, she was starkly aware of her environment, and was quick to map out her route that would provide the least amount of resistance for her. She was sure to avoid any more burly men that might knock her off her feet, this time, as this time there was more at stake. Having the item tucked safely in her sleeve, her hand clutching the main pendant... No matter the circumstance as to how the stranger had acquired it, she had no intention of giving up such a prize so quickly.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Nov 22, 2018 19:48:13 GMT
The only response Ciaran managed to her following laugh at her not quite elegant departure was a not quite curt, “No.” As soon as she pulled away, he was able to resume watching her, as if making sure she wouldn’t end up falling again as she tried yet again to go. As soon as she had, his arms resumed their post, no longer trying to hide his tension.
But of course, things were not as they seemed.
Ciaran didn’t have to look down when his hand met empty pocket, his only reaction being his eyes widening with surprise. It didn’t take long to relocate her in the crowd, having not really lost her in the first place. Coming so close to her had been… well, his term for it was potentially problematic. But he was in a prime position to see her lift the chain of office, marked with his target’s blood, up into plain sight of an entire festival.
The wink was what made him snap.
As soon as she ran, he moved, but not unlike the man who had earlier run into the woman, Ciaran didn’t dodge people, ploughing his way through quite physically after her. He earned attention doing this, of course, but fortunately, he was only brushed off as being rude, no threat with no visible weapons and at as fast a run as he could manage. But he wasn’t quite so defenceless as he might look, for even as he ran his hands were at work, sliding out slender throwing knives hidden in his arm guards, just waiting for a chance to get close enough to use them accurately. Which was getting closer quickly, as following her lead opened up the path for him as well.
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