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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 13, 2019 4:32:55 GMT
To Ciaran’s surprise, Rhea turned as if ready to fight rather than continue to flee from him and Cathal. But as she swung her arm towards them, the fire that rose brought back memories he had pushed aside, of the battlefield… and of magic.
As his horse reared in shock, nearly throwing the assassin, Ciaran watched with wide eyes as Rhea once more took off, finally settling the horse enough to look at Cathal. The tiger had skidded to a halt as well at seeing the flames, pulling back several paces as he looked towards Ciaran, unused to seeing magic so prominently displayed. “Damn thief has magic,” Ciaran noted, bluntly and strangely emotionlessly, watching the flames before looking back to the figure retreating past them. “What do we do?” Cathal asked, clearly afraid in his manner, lowering himself closer to the ground in case he had to run in the other direction. “We don’t face off against magic,” Ciaran replied firmly, silently cursing the thief and wondering why she hadn’t used magic on him before.
Naturally, a moment later he recalled some of the trouble he had had with their campfires over the last several nights, and with a dark expression rode back to the castle.
---
The duke had been surprisingly supportive as the pair returned with the horse, amused that they had returned empty handed but well aware of the fire that created the column of smoke that still darkened the sky even as night fell. As if a consolation prize for having been eluded by the “witch,” the duke had offered them a room for the night, guessing correctly that even his hospitality was better than a night exposed under the same stars that someone with the ability to cast fire.
Ciaran was taking the shift in fortune well, already planning his next move. While turning in the tiara would have been enough to buy land immediately, he was still close with this last assignment. It simply meant another three or four jobs… and the duke had collected plenty of options to chose from.
Not for the first time, or even the tenth, the assassin’s eyes went to the fireplace, where the tiger was curled up on the floor, looking miserable. He knew something was wrong, but Ciaran wasn’t sure how to ask. Finally, he stood, walking over to the bed and sitting again, Cathal’s head rising at seeing him leave the desk and the number of wanted flyers that were currently strewn about it. At the human’s expectant look, Cathal sighed, ears flicking back.
“I’m sorry, Ciaran…” he began, his gaze dropping. “I should have kept a better eye on her.”
“She has magic enough to conjure fire. Who knows what else she’s capable of?” Ciaran asked, genuinely concerned as to what the woman was capable of, and genuinely confused as to Cathal’s response. The tiger’s gaze remained downcast, however, Ciaran watching him for a few moments before looking away. The sight of magic being cast so was all too familiar to him, from the twisted magicians who worked such magic on the battlefield to the torture chamber. But Cathal’s mood was worrying as well, and finally Ciaran sighed, rubbing his face with both hands before standing again, preparing for bed as he removed his belt and boots.
“Well. You should sleep, we have an early start in the morning.”
Cathal looked up again, still morose but curious. “Where to?” he asked, Ciaran calmly and casually looking over at him as if it was obvious. “While I don’t want to chase down a witch at night, your nose is the best way to track her down again.” The pale blue eyes blinked wide in surprise, ears finally moving forward again. “You… you want to track her down again?”
“Yes, of course. I want that damn tiara.”
“But… what about her magic? Those flyers…?”
Ciaran thought on this for a moment, more to find a plausible sounding reason than to reconsider his decision. “Like I said, I don’t want to track her in the dark. Waiting this long to follow means she’ll think we won’t follow at all. We can catch her by surprise, keep a bag over her head and her hands tied until we get the tiara off of her. But you found her the first time, so I’ll need you to find her again.” Ciaran wasn’t interested in taking Rhea along this time, for obvious reasons, and was less hesitant to use force. Even so, Cathal visibly brightened up, nodding seriously. “Of course,” he promised, grateful for the second chance as he laid out, still restless but finally settling down.
Ciaran watched him for a while, waiting until he could hear the tell-tale signs of the old tiger’s snoring. Once more his hands went to his face, trying hard to once more suppress the sounds of the screams from the use of magic from his head, the tactics used… and she had some similar abilities…? Well, that was certainly one way to distinguish her from Narisse.
The thought immediately made him rise and pace, his fingers returning to his neck, and hesitating when he didn’t find the charm he was looking for. She still had it, in exchange for the money pouch that still sat with his weapons by the table. Somehow, its absence was not comforting, in spite of the pain its presence brought.
Letting out a held breath, slowly and softly, Ciaran walked back to the bed, glad his pacing hadn’t woken the tiger. Sliding into the bed, he let out another deep, held breath, trying to calm himself with the thought of forcing the tiara off of the witch… and the charm.
---
It had only been a day since the witch had escaped, and Ciaran was still trying hard not to change his mind about catching her again. Cathal’s tracking proved as accurate as ever, not having any difficulty in following her scent as much as it wandered. Their progress had been slowed by the morning being mostly devoted to convincing the horse that the tiger wasn’t going to eat him, but finally the gelding was settled and proved a reliable mount. He was probably used to the smell of dangerous figures, as it was the maltreated animal of Fergus. Thanks to the duke, the animal no longer had an owner and was perfectly happy to gift it to his favorite assassin.
Cathal’s anxiety about having lost the witch was slowly decreasing as they came closer to the source, almost in spite of the fact that Ciaran had reassured the tiger that he was just at fault for losing the woman. As they approached a town, Cathal’s pace quickened with anticipation, the gelding trotting along behind, letting the tiger focus. Meanwhile, Ciaran’s focus went back to watching the woman’s hand swing out and set the ground alight. Was her power focused in her hands? But he didn’t recall any gesture whenever the fire sparked, and he wasn’t sure what had been normal campfire and what had been aided. But she had been facing the fire… like a normal person would.
Unfortunately, he had to recall what he knew of magic from others, from what he saw back in the army… watching a magician’s flank had been important, so perhaps if they attacked from behind, she wouldn’t be able to use her magic on them. And he’d bind her hands, just in case she needed them for magic… and because she certainly used them for her thefts.
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 13, 2019 19:36:26 GMT
Upon reaching the small town, Rhea was still constantly looking over her shoulder. Even with the use of her magic to deter the two, she was still not completely convinced that they would not just follow anyway. The magic itself was not something she often resorted to, or at least, in not such a prominent way as she just had. Little things like messing with a natural fire was easy, but producing fire from nowhere, and in such a quantity? These were things she preferred to avoid doing. Despite having had the knowledge of her abilities since she was young, she was still very much a novice when it came to how to use it, as well as having her own reservations about it- ones that, strangely enough, might not be too dissimilar to Ciaran’s.
Once she stepped past the boundary of the town and was amongst the houses, she began to relax somewhat, daring to believe that maybe her pursuers had indeed been deterred. But as one source of anxiety eased, another steadily began to arise as she began to seek out the settlement of the witch- the location of which always seemed to change every time she visited this damn place, the woman as indecisive and elusive as the changing winds. Eventually, Rhea was able to find the little caravan, set out as it always was, deceivingly, as if it planned to stay a while. The structure was small, the wood old and painted with white, the façade faded and chipped with age. Just before it sat a perpetually-burning fire, two wooden chairs placed either side of it, and all around, flowers had sprouted, such as _ and forget-me-nots popping up from the lush, emerald-green grass. The entire thing spoke of innocence, Rhea found herself thinking, bitterly. It was a shame that such a notion was far from the truth.
As she made her approach, her step noticeably slower as reluctance began to settle in the pit of her stomach, the door to the caravan opened. A middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, her lips quirking into a smile as she lay her piercing gaze on Rhea, the look unsettling but for no clearly discernible reason from the outside.
Inside the humble home, the space was clearly bigger than initially perceived, something that perhaps shouldn’t be surprising considering the magic fused into it, but always served to disorientate Rhea nonetheless. The woman motioned for Rhea to sit, an invitation which was pointedly ignored- the thief didn’t want to stay in here any longer than she needed to. The woman didn’t seem to mind, or else, saw little point in arguing, but seated herself, anyhow. “Have you got what I sent you for?” She asked, with a honeyed voice much like silk. Rhea opened her mouth to speak, but as she did so, she felt a gust of wind as something whizzed close to her ear, causing her to flinch slightly as the great black bird soared past, coming to rest on the woman’s shoulder. The raven’s dark glare was bitterly returned as Rhea recollected herself, but instead of speaking, she untied and opened the satchel at her waist. The woman watched in interest as Rhea pulled out what was inside, but did not speak as the tiara was handed over, merely turning it over in her hands with a thoughtful expression. Then, after a tense moment, words eventually did leave her mouth, but it was not the words that Rhea had been hoping for.
“This is not it.”
There was a pregnant pause as the words settled between them. The witch, looking disappointed now, offered the tiara back, but Rhea did not take it, finally finding her voice after being struck silent for a moment. “But… You said that which is most precious! That is the tiara of the deceased princess!” The witch looked unimpressed and unsympathetic to the thief’s outburst, her free hand coming up to casually stroke the ratty feathers of the raven on her shoulder. “This is not it.” She repeated, sounding somewhat bored, now. “You have to go back, and try again.”
“No.”
There was a tense moment as the witch regarded Rhea, clearly not expecting such an answer. “No?” She eventually echoed, sounding amused. “How am I supposed to do this if you won’t even tell me what it is? I’ve more than paid my debt to you, and it almost killed me to get into that castle.” Again, Rhea’s words failed to elicit some sort of emotional response, the witches’ voice deadpan as she responded, “It might also kill you not to do as I ask,” the thinly veiled threat was evident, but it perhaps didn’t get the response she wanted, as the thief merely raised her chin slightly, knowing that she was playing a dangerous game but unable to stop the defiance as it poured forth, as if a stopper had suddenly been removed. “There are worst things than death.” She growled, surprising even herself with the admission. Again, the witch looked thoughtful, something which she had come to learn was never a good thing. “You’re right.” She finally admitted.
Another tense pause, before the witch slowly rose from her seat. Rhea braced herself as the woman approached… Then suddenly, her hand whipped out, grasping the thief’s arm. At the touch, Rhea immediately crumpled to her knees with a cry of pain, the woman still holding on, her face as emotionless as she calmly spoke. “You will return to the castle. You will get that which is most precious to the King, and you will bring it to me. Every evening that passes that it is not in my possession will be fraught with pain. Pain that will steadily increase until you can barely even think...” Rhea had never felt a pain so intense, the woman's touch sending shockwaves up her arm, and she heard the witches voice as if from far away. Suddenly, she was released, the pain fleeing too, Rhea immediately grasping her arm against her chest, breathing hard as she tried to register what had just happened. It was a dull ache now, but she could almost sense the promise of a return as the curse hummed from the veins in her arm. Her eyes were shut tight, and when she finally began to regain control of her breathing, as she opened them she could see she was no longer within the caravan. Even the patch of grass was gone, cobblestones meeting her knees rather than Earth. After a few moments, she got to her feet, shakily, still clutching her arm. Now, the pain had dissipated completely, but she knew enough about witches to know that if she were to pull up her sleeve, she would see the mark of the curse, and she would remain branded until her task was complete.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 17, 2019 3:52:03 GMT
As before, the assassin and the tiger parted ways to avoid attracting too much attention, so as Cathal stalked around the edge, Ciaran made his way into the town. Fortunately, there were few people about and so Ciaran was able to make his way with little fuss, taking every step slowly as he surveyed his surroundings, waiting for even the slightest whisper that identified Rhea.
Taking his time, it was hard to say how long he spent wandering up and down the streets, lingering in the alleyways as the sun was beginning to set and so cast long shadows. But, in the end, his patience was rewarded. Down one alleyway, next to a horse, he recognized the dark haired figure. Leaving his own horse and drawing a dagger, he slowly made his way between the buildings, taking care to not even disturb the horse as she worked with its saddle. He held the dagger against his forearm so the light couldn’t glint off the metal.
For once, everything went according to plan.
In one swift, smooth move, the flat edge of the dagger was pressed against her throat, needing only the flick of a wrist to bring the razor edge into play. In the same move, he came up close behind her, just shy of pressing close, so she couldn’t move back and away from the dagger. He could feel her stiffen against him, his free hand moving to her waist.
“Cast a single spell and you’re dead,” he growled in a soft tone, the placement of his hand to steady her until he was certain she wouldn’t try to run and so risk cutting her own throat. Then, his hand went to the satchels at her waist, clearly squeezing to determine which one had the tiara.
He wasn’t bothering to ask her to hand it over this time.
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 19, 2019 21:34:21 GMT
He was good. Well, better than good… she hadn’t had even the slightest inkling of his approach, as if he had literally materialised out of thin air. She supposed it made sense, considering what he was. As she stiffened, her mind whirred, flitting from panic to anger. Despite the blade pressed to her throat, and the knowledge that he certainly would use it if needed, her panic was not for her safety but for the realisation that he was about to cease the tiara. This gave way to anger as she was reminded just as suddenly that the item was useless to her, and although Ciaran’s gain would harm her pride, it was not worth losing her life over. She had to admit, however, that she was surprised he had come after her after seeing what she could do. Most would run in the opposite direction…
Either way, she didn’t move, and merely seethed silently as he pulled the tiara out from her satchel, waiting in earnest for the moment she’d be able to put a decent amount of distance between them, inwardly recoiling with his close proximity.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 19, 2019 22:09:05 GMT
Rhea had little idea how close he had come to simply letting her go. As close as they were, she might feel how hard his own heart was pounding, still uncertain how her magic worked, wary of what else she might be capable of doing. His breathing remained soft, controlled, if only so he could hear any hint of her using her magic. But he was genuinely surprised; he had expected some fight, not this apparent surrender, especially as he felt about for the tiara.
With such a distinctive item, it didn’t take very long to find it. Ciaran’s fingers worked less smoothly than a thief’s in trying to untie the satchel, not wanting to take his eyes off Rhea and so the greater threat. Finally, he managed to open the bag, pulling the tiara out.
Then he hesitated, and finally had to look at his hand.
Once the tiara left the bag, it grew lighter, and as he glanced out of the corner of his eye he could see it dematerialize from his hand. A few still moments later, and his hand clenched, the blade edge being tipped ever so slightly into her neck.
“I said no magic!” he growled through gritted teeth, just barely restraining his volume as his hand went back to the satchel, finding it still empty. When did she cast that spell?!
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 19, 2019 22:51:30 GMT
At this angle, Rhea couldn’t see what had happened, her first inkling that something was wrong being the sudden sharpness against her neck. She lifted her chin in response and leaned back ever so slightly, the reaction to pull back from the knife instinctual, but unfortunately meaning she was pressed more tightly against the very man she wanted to distance herself from. If she couldn’t feel his heart beating before, she certainly could now.
Something had clearly occurred, and judging by Ciaran’s response, she had a pretty good idea as to what. In other circumstances, her immediate reaction might have been to scoff something along the lines of, "You’ve lost it already?” but the blade proved to keep her sharp tongue in check. To a degree, anyway. As he began to rummage in her satchel, more frantically now, she finally did speak. “Kill me, then.” It was merely a growl, uttered low but easily loud enough for him to hear at such a close proximity. Whatever had happened to the tiara was not her doing, but claiming so was hardly going to sway the assassin. She was sure that even if she were to explain her true circumstances, he would not believe her, and would just think it was her last-ditch attempt to save her skin. So why bother? If he was going to slit her throat, she wished he would just be done with it. She was tired of running, and although she certainly didn’t want to die, she felt a strange sense of calmness at the prospect now she was faced with it.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 19, 2019 23:19:13 GMT
“What did you do with the tiara?”
His growl showed his rising anger at this little trick of hers, but the fact that he had stayed his hand belied his threat. Even though he had assumed she had used magic, and she was challenging him, he hesitated on following through with it. Instead, he was waiting for her to answer.
Ciaran certainly wasn’t the type to hesitate. But neither did he back off, unwilling to give her room to use her magic and flee, unwilling to approach like this a second time, even if he was able to.
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 19, 2019 23:33:56 GMT
She was certainly surprised that things didn’t end right there, who’d ever heard of an angry assassin staying his hand? But it seemed that this was the case, as despite clearly having run out of patience with her, his grip on the dagger didn’t tighten. It was just short of nicking her skin, though, and although she wasn’t sure why he was hesitating, she was still vividly aware that things might change at any moment.
“I don’t know where it’s gone.” She managed to reply through gritted teeth, not quite an answer but still, she felt, sending the same message. The fact that the statement was true helped in adding to her conviction. Meanwhile, she was trying to keep herself as still as possible- it certainly would be ironic for her to slit her own throat by speaking carelessly!
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 19, 2019 23:44:40 GMT
“Don’t play games with me! It was in YOUR bag, and it disappeared as soon as I pulled it out.”
The growl didn’t stop, and the blade was indeed pushed into her throat… but it was the flat side. Once more, the edge was kept away, an attempt to scare rather than harm. As he held her close, to avoid her escaping and turning on him, his racing heart was now coupled with his breath softly growing more ragged, very much on edge.
This was not what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to have the tiara, he could get it, and then book it. Having to stay and keep hunting for the tiara… he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t just leaving already.
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 20, 2019 0:07:45 GMT
Still, he avoided hurting her... She wasn’t naïve enough to think that this meant he wouldn’t, after all, her track-record of dealing with men suggested otherwise. However, it did mean that she might have more of a chance of getting out of this alive than she had initially thought. But, what else could she say to his demands, except to reiterate a truth he wouldn’t believe?
“Search me, then! I don’t have it!” She argued, exasperated, and perhaps as frustrated as he was, by now.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 20, 2019 0:34:58 GMT
It was probably a good thing that Rhea wasn’t able to see his expression, to see the twitch in his lip at her exasperated retort, his expression momentarily losing its anger to be replaced with… something that looked remarkably embarrassed.
This.
Was.
Not.
The.
Plan.
“Fine,” he growled sharply, his hand moving from simply holding her waist to sliding down along her hip then towards her stomach, aware only that her choice of clothes limited where she could hide something as pointed as the tiara. His touch was gentle, one could say, even though it was firm enough to feel through the fabric. The farther his hand went, the more his eyes moved up, managing to keep a blush from creeping across his face. But as his hand moved up, he felt her move. Ciaran hesitated as his hand pulled back a little, unsure if the jump had been because he was close to finding it, but that hesitation gave him the moment needed to recognize what it had been. She had flinched.
His dagger earned uninvited argument from Rhea. How had his hand earned a flinch?
For a few moments, his hand simply hovered, uncertain how to proceed. Only one thing could explain her flinching at such a touch, and he quickly found himself at a loss. “Fuck,” he growled to himself, letting out a held breath that was audible only because of their proximity. Surprisingly, Ciaran pushed in closer, but the reason became clear as he reached into the saddle bag of her horse, who had clearly been trained well enough to wait for its rider as it hadn’t moved away.
“Hands out front,” he ordered as he pulled out a rope, keeping the flat of the blade against her neck to keep her from running off even though his other hand was occupied.
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 20, 2019 0:57:45 GMT
She probably shouldn’t have been surprised that he had risen to her challenge, especially considering how she had so boldly searched him before- this was his perfect chance for payback. However, when she realised he was actually going to go through with it, her body stiffened and uncertainty flashed across her face. Having his hands, or the hands of any man for that matter, on her, was the last thing she wanted, and upon realising she had been the one to invite this… she inwardly cursed her runaway tongue. Of course, she regretted her words immediately, but pride made her unwilling to let him realise the true extent of the panic now welling up inside her. As a result, she kept herself still as his hand began to search. Inwardly, every instinct told her to run, to try her chances with reaching up and knocking away the blade, to do anything other than just stand there and let this happen. Her common sense, however, pushed against this, reasoning that he was just searching for the tiara, as she had suggested. Simultaneously, she tried in vain not to focus on his touch or to give in to the urge to recoil and shy away from him. As his hand began to rise, however, she could no longer hide her fear, and she had flinched, her breath catching and her body immediately pulling away, even as that meant she pushed back against him, with clear disregard to the knife at her neck.
There had been a pause. And then to her great surprise, instead of continuing, he had pulled his hand away.
She was too relieved to focus on the 'why' straight away, so as he ordered her to lift her hands, she responded immediately, happy to oblige him if it meant he would stop touching her. Only as he began to wrap the rope around her wrists did she realise what kind of predicament she was in now… In an attempt to regain some ground, and his actions being clear enough now that he had no intention of killing her, she spoke up. “You don’t give up easily, do you?” the statement, spoken in such a curt manner, was much more fitting as to what was expected of her, as opposed to the flinch.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 20, 2019 1:35:28 GMT
To his surprise, she offered her hands as ordered, offering no argument. That was the part that surprised him the most. Clearly, he had little experience in tying people up, awkwardly working with just one hand, realizing he’d have to finish the knot with both hands. Grabbing both of her wrists in his free hand, he finally pulled the dagger away, sliding it back into his belt before working on the knot, still not letting her move away to more easily access the rope. At least with two hands he could actually tie a knot.
Ciaran’s work paused momentarily at her remark, earning another growl as he finally finished. “Says the one who doesn’t know when to give up,” he replied darkly, clearly unhappy with having to take her along. Curiously enough, even though he had kept her pressed close to him to work, his hands never once went back to touch her unless necessary and in places that wouldn’t be as objectionable, in spite of a new problem. While his breath had evened out, his heart was still racing, knowing he’d have to actually face Rhea sooner or later. It wasn’t like he could travel with her pinned to him…
Awkwardly, keeping his hands on less sensitive areas such as her shoulders, he kept a grip on her even as he came around towards her front, now able to more comfortably hold onto her by handling her bound wrists. Finally his gaze met hers, obviously unsettled. Not just because she had magic, but to earn such a flinch from his touch… to using such a touch when he had a weapon in his hand… he wasn’t that type of man. His discomfort at the mere start of such a situation was proof of that.
Not that he tried to defend the move, instead gripping the trail of rope he had left as a makeshift leash on the thief, allowing him to stop touching her altogether. The way he pulled back continued to reveal his deep discomfort, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with her.
“Come on. As I said, it’s either you I turn in… or the tiara.”
Grabbing the reins of her stolen horse, Ciaran walked back towards his own horse, preferring to keep both horses in the same hand so he could keep Rhea on her own. Once more Ciaran found himself grateful for the mostly deserted streets, as no one questioned his walking a now obvious prisoner out of the town.
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Post by Kelathi on Feb 20, 2019 21:21:47 GMT
Rhea, on the other hand, seemed pretty much back to normal, even glaring at Ciaran with distaste as he gripped the rope leading to her wrists. She noticed his wariness, of course, but had stocked it down to her use of magic rather than anything else. Needless to say, she was less than pleased with being his prisoner, much less so being led on a leash like a horse! But then again, a few moments before she had been pretty sure she was going to end up with a slit throat, so she didn’t kick up too much of a fuss.
She considered his words as they began to walk- his mention of the tiara suggesting that he had suspicions that it would turn up again. Rhea reasoned he was probably right, she wasn’t sure if the tiara had disappeared because there was still some kind of magical residue left around after being in such close proximity to the witch, or if it had been some kind of trick by the witch herself. Either way, she thought it would not likely be gone for long. Knowingly or not, the witch had ended up complicating things for her rather than helping her, Rhea thought to herself bitterly. Why were things never simple?
“I do have the ability to walk without being led, you know.” Rhea spoke up in clipped tones, lifting her hands to give a small tug at the rope to prove her point. She begrudgingly understood the bound wrists after the runaround she'd given him, and not to mention her use of magic, but was the leash really necessary? Not that her bindings would do much to stop her casting, her pause in using magic being due to the fact that she had temporary exhausted herself in that respect by conjuring up the wall of fire, but he didn't need to know that...
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 22, 2019 1:15:21 GMT
Ciaran merely glanced back at Rhea’s annoyed remark as she tugged the rope, one eyebrow raised. “I know you do,” he replied, but didn’t move to change the situation as he resumed walking.
“You also have the ability to run off.”
It didn’t take long for Cathal to catch up, Rhea’s horse a lot less happy with the tiger’s presence than Ciaran’s was. He was visibly relieved to see them, although for more reasons than one. Rhea was safe, Ciaran was safe… and there was no visible smoke trailing from behind them. But why was she with him if she had magic?
The tiger was visibly wary around Rhea, ears moving back as they approached. “So… I presume the tiara is missing?” Cathal asked, Ciaran shooting Rhea a dark glance at the question. “Misplaced,” he replied, confirming Rhea’s suspicion that he was very confident that she hadn’t lost it, but also confirming that he was a bit stuck in that regard. Until she handed it over willingly - and without magic - she was their only link to the damn piece of jewelry.
Ciaran glanced up at the darkening sky, letting out a short, irritated sigh. “We should find a place for the night,” he noted sourly, looking back to the village. “There’s an inn not too far from the edge,” Cathal offered, just as hesitant about setting up an open campfire with a witch who had already demonstrated considerable fire-related magic. “Fine. We’ll get the usual,” Ciaran replied as he began walking again, following Cathal as he led them around the edge of the village. The usual what, they didn’t explain.
As expected, Cathal was left on the edge of the town as the humans and horses walked towards the inn, Ciaran leaving the horses with the stable and putting a blanket over Rhea’s hands, not wanting to be asked questions about her bound hands. At least it also meant he didn’t hold onto the makeshift leash, keeping instead a hand on her shoulders as he led her inside. The barman greeted them with a warm smile, one that faltered with Ciaran’s already moody expression.
“Welcome to the White Swan. What are you looking for?” the man asked cheerfully, clearly not that unaccustomed to less than friendly customers. Ciaran looked about the first floor, which was dedicated to a tavern with tables full of food and drink, two staircases against opposing walls leading to the upstairs rooms. “We’ll take a room,” he said, pulling out coins from the pouch he had gotten from the duke. “Facing the outside,” he added, finally answering the question of what Cathal should expect as the usual. The man nodded, sweeping the coins into his hands. Ciaran hesitated after getting a key, his eyes constantly shifting over to the food and drink being served. “How much to have food and wine brought up to us?”
The man smiled easily; “No additional charge, if that’s what you mean. What would you like?”
“Four of your special.”
“Four?” The man was clearly surprised at the large order, glancing at Rhea; would she be able to eat two dishes? Obviously, two were meant for Cathal, but there was a reason the tiger wasn’t in the inn with them. At Ciaran’s continuing steady glare, the man nodded, shrugging off his question. “Of course. Anything to drink?”
“Yeah… whatever’s strong enough to take the edge off,” Ciaran replied as he put more coins on the counter, unintentionally being more honest in his words around Rhea than he would have wanted. The man nodded, a strange smile forming on his lips, as if amused at something. “Of course, sir. We’ll have it all up to you shortly,” he said, taking the new coins and moving to collect the order.
“Come on,” Ciaran told Rhea finally, not having moved his hand from her shoulders during the entire conversation. He directed her up the stairs and to their room, ignoring the curious looks sent their way by some of the patrons at the tables as they went up. It took a minute to find their room, but as soon as they were in Ciaran went to open the window, but made no other move to mark it out as theirs. Evidently, Cathal would have to track that himself.
After locking the door, Ciaran set down their belongings next to the chairs at the table, a moderate piece of furniture set in the middle of the room. Apparently, they had paid for a suite rather than just a room; through an open doorway to the side was a second room that actually held the bed, providing plenty of room for them to move about. And of course, avoid each other. Ciaran didn’t sit down immediately, preferring to watch Rhea with wary eyes, remaining stiff even though he had kept her prisoner status a secret.
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