Fantasy An Adventure Fit for a Queen (Closed)

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

The entirety of the castle was in an organized panic. Every servant, maid, adviser, guard knew what had to be done and they were doing it yet it felt as if every moment was fleeting and nothing was actually being accomplished. Mai'vyrn had grow accustomed to the sensation of overwhelming panic. It seemed that every day there was something to new to prepare (and panic) for. In the recent weeks, however, the intensity had reached a peak she had never seen before. This ball was to be her first introduction to the public since her coronation.

And, much more was at stake with this ball than with her coronation - apparently. Vaeril had lectured her again and again on the importance of a queenly presence. Every time he passed her in the halls or found her lazing about, he reminded her that "everyone will be there." But, the more he droned on and on about politics and diplomacy, the more she found her mind drifting. As it was now.

"Even if we don't find an appropriate suitor, letting them into the castle is a significant tactile move on our part," Vaeril remarked from the other side of a divider where he couldn't see that Mai'vyrn had stopped listening entirely.

One of the maids was assisting Mai with her dress that she was supposed to wear for the ball, a white dress with sparkling bodice and an obscenely large skit. As the maid tightened the bodice, a surprisingly strong yank caused Mai to give a surprised "oh," which prompted Vaeril to continue on, believing that Mai was actually interested in what he had to say.

"Yes. 'Oh', indeed. That is why everything must go precisely to plan. The ball is more like a representation of who you are so we must highlight all your best qualities. In that way, this quite nearly requires the same level of strategy as a war plan."

"Oh, I can't breathe," Mai remarked with a hand on her chest. She was starting to feel lightheaded and dizzy. She had hated the dress to begin with and this was only causing her hatred to grow.

"I know. It is breathtaking," Vaeril answered with a grin. He almost sounded excited for once, but Mai couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Vaeril, don't be ridiculous. I can't breathe." Turning to the maid, she demanded, "Loosen the damn thing!"

"Language, my queen," Vaeril scolded as he rose from the chair he was sitting in. He could hear the frantic fumbling on the other side of the divider. He was uncertain whether he should attempt to assist. His better judgement suggested it might be an invasion of privacy.

"I am dying, Vaeril," Mai spat. The maid was trying her best to loosen the corset as quickly as she could, but the anxiety was clearly impeding her motor skills. Mai shouted an expletive, finally deciding to reach for one of the knives sitting on a nearby vanity. She almost always carried something of the like on her, simply for the sake of security, but she had to remove it to try on this retched thing. Without hesitation, she began carving down the front of the bodice.

She might've stopped as soon as she could breathe fully again if she weren't in such a bad mood, but she instead had the intention to tear the monstrosity in half. If only Vaeril hadn't come around to the other side of the divider.

"Mai'vyrn--!" She looked up, seemingly unfazed by Vaeril's dismay. She hesitated but dropped the knife, nonchalantly remarking, "I'm going for a ride."

She stepped to move past Vaeril. Despite all that had happened in the last few moments, Vaeril was annoyingly persistent.

"Tari, you must understand that we--"

"We? This is not a we thing, Vaeril," She snapped, motioning downward sharply to the torn dress. "I've tried on my whole wardrobe on at least seven different instances. My hair has been styled in every way imaginable. I am told about my complexion, my eye color, the thickness of my hair, my height, the width of my feet - all things I cannot change! I've been poked, prodded, examined, judged, styled, dressed, undressed, redressed, and have lost countless hours of sleep because of it. I am treated like a glass sculpture yet my hair is tugged and my clothes ripped off like a child's toy. I've been bathed in lotions, oils, ointments, elixirs, and perfumes. And, I am tired of only speaking to the same five people I've been talking to for the past eighteen years of my life. "

"This is a me thing. And, me will," She shakes her head with an exasperated groan, realizing the grammatical error. "And, I will go for a ride whenever I damn well please!"

With that, she didn't wait for whatever rebuttal Vaeril would manage to conjure up, storming down the hall to her room which housed a far more comfortable variety of clothing. Tearing off the horrid ballgown, she changed into something more subtle and flexible. She paused a moment to look down at the ballgown. It was torn beyond repair, surely. The bodice was completely split down the middle and she had just begun to cut into the skirt. For a moment, she felt some sort of semblance of guilt. This dress might've been someone's livelihood. She shook her head. It was his fault for putting her in that thing and lecturing her about politics.

She raced down to the stables before Vaeril had a chance to collect his thoughts and hunt her down. She hopped on the first horse that was saddled and ready to go. Picking a random direction, she started off without a second thought.

As she got farther and farther from the castle, it occurred to her that this had been a blessing. She had never gotten the chance to roam freely this far away from the castle before. It would be a waste to simply turn around and go back. Surely, she would never get a chance like this again. She would have to make the most of it – just for a day or two. Vaeril might not even notice her disappearance. With all the preparations he was consumed by, he might just chalk it up to her sulking and leave it be.

Besides, even if he did notice, he could hardly punish her for it. The worst he could do was watch her more closely or restrict her free time to “queenly activities” only, nothing he hadn’t done a thousand times before. The more she thought about it, the more excited and confident about her decision she became.

She was so focused on putting the most distance between her and the castle that she hardly realized she had ridden until nightfall. Glancing around, she noticed a sign that stated she was only a short distance from the nearest town: Mariene.

The streets were quiet but the sounds of laughter and music floated down the street from several of the local taverns. She stopped at the first inn she passed, tying down her horse.

It was a peculiar feeling to enter a room and have nobody stare or greet her immediately. Here, she was a nobody. She was thrilled. She could do whatever she pleased without judgement or stern looks.

“I’d like a room,” She stated with a confident nod, approaching the innkeeper at what must have doubled as the front desk and bar.

“It’ll be 5 silver pieces a night,” The innkeeper remarked offhandedly, decidedly more interested in wiping down the area and cleaning glasses.

“Alright,” She nodded again, expecting the innkeeper to reach for a key or something of the sort.

“Upfront,” The innkeeper added, clearly growing disinterested in her as it seemed less and less likely that she would actually be taking a room.

“Oh,” Mai remarked, momentarily feeling for a coin pouch before realizing she left the castle with absolutely nothing in tow. This didn’t discourage her however. As she added, “I’m afraid I will have to repay you. But, don’t worry. My word is as good as silver.”

The innkeeper just laughed, hardly even gracing her with another glance.

“If I let every hooligan that wandered in pay with their word, I’d be out of business. If you have nothing to offer, get out.”

“I think you misunderstand. I’m a queen,” Mai chuckled. Surely, the innkeeper would be quite embarrassed at this realization.

“A queen, are you? Well, I’m the king – king of this inn and I say get out.” Mai didn’t move at first, only chuckling nervously as she thought he was joking. When the innkeeper’s grim expression didn’t change, she realized that he was entirely serious and quickly made her way outside.

​

 

[folie de grandeur]

A final puff of dust settled atop an immaculate pile. The debris gave off the distinct impression that the home had not been cleaned in a long time--an improper one as, for as haggard as she looked, Celeste Covinsmith prided herself on keeping up appearances. Satisfaction curled across her wrinkled mouth; alas, not moments later, the corners of her lips tumbled toward her drooping jowls as a distinct footprint disturbed her perfect pile of imperfections. Her gray gaze, narrowed to daggers, scratched upward with a loud clatter: served purposefully by the broom as it fell to the floor.

“Careful Covinsmith!” Chided her dirty culprit. He caught the fire in her eyes, but judging by the slump of his shoulders as he spun to address the now airborne particles of dust and resignation, his concern lied in places other than her temper. It filled the air not unlike flour--both the dust and the little old woman’s rage. It caused the much taller man to cough (albeit dramatically) into the crook of his arm, amusement glittering his downcast gaze. “You’re making a mess, you know.”

If not for her age, she would’ve pounced on the bastard, then. Instead she seethed in place, jaw straining with the force of her vexations. “When was it you said you were leaving, again?”

A hand swept across the man’s chest, her own pity as faux as his offended frown. “I’ve not been here long at all,” he argued incredulously. “In fact, I’d say that I’ve only just arrived.”

The elder snorted in response, ignoring the twist of pain that crawled up her brittle spine as she snatched the broom by its dust-coated handle. “If that’s what you’d call an entire moon phase! You’ve been here since the beginning of Gagavr!” Neither the woman’s snap nor the angered hiss of the broom as it resumed its task swayed the man, his shoulders shrugging almost thoughtfully, one palm finding purchase in the nicks and blemishes of Celeste’s dining table.

“That long it’s been? But I’ve still got so many things to sell, Celeste!” His exclamation was one derived from perhaps a less truthful place, but the woman seemed uninterested in the boy’s tone. It was his words that piqued her interest, as they rarely did, t was something worth note. Her scrutiny shifted to his aforementioned merchantry. He always kept a collection to his name--to his person...or jacket, really--he’d had them from the day he’d wormed his way into her warm, dry home. Maybe not the same things, but that only increased her suspicions. She squinted. “I’ll be out of your hair soon,” he promised coyly. “You know how much I hate traveling with full pockets.”

His statement stole her attention away from his questionable assortment of gadgets and collectibles, focus shifting to the room around her as though to address an invisible audience. She, after gathering her wits, finally hissed in a near stammer, caught entirely off guard by his inconceivable statement. “No, I don’t know!” This, above all else, offended her most. Or at least it seemed to, the elderly woman’s entire face having shifted from its ghostly hue to something that resembled more so a tomato. “I don’t know you, young man! Or what you have in those fiendish pockets of yours, for that matter!” She spun around to finally address him with a pointed finger, he having seemed to drift elsewhere in the midst of her ranting.

Alas, the only thing to greet the poor woman was the slam of the door. Her brows had furrowed in a mixture of anger and confusion, voice dying in her throat as she realized she no longer had anyone to yell at. It wasn’t until she cautiously returned to her duties that she realized it wasn’t only he that had disappeared. A burlap of bread and produce had been swiped from the dining table entirely, and in its place sat a single, feeble silver piece.

---

“I’ll be out of your hair soon--” or what of it she had left “--you know how much I hate traveling with full pockets.”

Much sooner than she had anticipated. And he, as well, apparently. The chill of the evening caught him by surprise as he twisted away from the breeze. Distaste had crawled across his features, tanned leather and fur grazing his finger-pads as he hiked his garb closer to his body. The pockets jutted away from his figure, wide and deep but not left to waste, as each one was full of its own pleasantries. This, he decided after a walk that lasted all of four minutes, was unacceptable. He was not spending his night on the streets of Mariene.

The gutters of every establishment smelled of rot as spring had begun to fade away, leaving leaves and flowers to wither. And the streets--oh they smelled of the worst: horse manure and the piss of half drunken men--though only nearer the pub where the young man seemed to trudge miserably. The guffaws of inebriated laughter only furthered his bitter mood. Perhaps if he had foreseen his altercation with darling Celeste he would’ve saved some of the pieces he’d gambled away the night before. It looked like neither alcohol or a warm bed were in the near future.

Or it seemed that way until he caught sight of her.

Pretty little lady, he wouldn’t have missed her on her own two feet. But here--no, she was much harder to ignore. Or, rather, her steed was. The inn was a short jog from his position, one that seemed to rejuvenate his high spirits.

He had been hoping to catch her on her way inside, alas his luck was numbered. The last thing that the man had was a good relationship with any of the shopkeepers--from Mariene to Kasa, he’d soiled them each in their own unique and unpleasant ways. He sighed, leaning haphazardly against the building. He had perched himself just beside the door, not only to catch the woman’s attention but also to better escape the wind: something neither he nor his hair appreciated. To catch her eye was his intent, but it was an unneeded effort, as she was quick to make her way back outside. It was only partial conversation that he’d caught, and it was unkind to his ears.

Celest was a shitbat, but this chick… A queen? The prospect would’ve made him laugh, had his mind not been running a second track. His brother had always told him to keep his extremities to himself--and to refrain from sticking the more precious ones within women of questionable mental stability. But he’d never said anything about exploiting them and their money!

Discrepancies aside, the man readied himself. A silent ruffle occupied the inner folds of his jacket as he retrieved a piece of property all his own: a blade--or, rather, a dagger. Not meant for poking holes in people so much as it was making aforementioned people barter off their money to insure such a fate would not affect them. In that case, it was extremely effective, as worn as it were.

The man was as patient as he was morally questionable, poised and silent as he awaited the woman’s company. Perhaps she hadn’t any silver to her name, but valuables were a different story. She had to have something of worth--perhaps even something that trumped the other shit he had on his person. Such an idea excited him, even thrilled him to the point that he’d forgotten his qualms altogether. If luck was on his side, he’d be sitting pretty in a room all his own. Perhaps, even with a warm meal and a bottle of something strong to his name.

it wasn’t.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

Anger was boiling up inside of Mai’vyrn as she left the inn, slamming the door shut behind her. Her adventure was quickly going sour and she began to wonder if Vaeril was right about the whole idea - and that only exacerbated her anger. Vaeril right? She could hardly even imagine. She had been so consumed by the fantasy of riding into town with the royal guard in tow just for the sake of the innkeeper’s anguish and regret that she hadn't seen the shadowy figure approach her until his knife had caught the light. Her anger quickly faded to shock as she let out a startled gasp. After briefly collecting herself, she could only manage a laugh as the figure demanded her valuables.

“Oh, go on then! Put that butterknife away. You’ll only end up hurting yourself,” she laughed at his pitiful attempt to be threatening. If only he had known he was staring down a Bannighymn with a tiny dull blade. Perhaps then her wouldn’t have persisted.

“What? You want a dress and a horse? I would hardly take you for that kind of fellow.” Again, Mai chuckled at her own witty remark. Feeling as if there were no need to push the conversation further, she made to step around him. He, however, continued to block her path, still wielding the knife as if it meant anything to her. Her teasing deameanor dropped as she realized the conflict wouldn’t be so easily resolved.

“Listen, here,” Mai started as her arms dropped to her sides, fists clenched. “I’ve had a terribly rough day. I am far as I could get in a days travel from my home. I don’t have a single copper coin to my name presently. I have nowhere to sleep, no clothes to change into, and not an ally in the world. So, if you’ll excuse me, I will be taking my leave.”

She again moved to step around him. He took another step toward her. Regardless of his intention in persisting, Mai had entirely had enough. It seemed that there would be no resolution found in words so she resorted to fists. As such, she didn’t hesitate to land a punch square on his nose and pick up the knife he had dropped as he made to cradle to bruised and bleeding area.

“Now. Do you have any more demands?” Mai questioned, crossing her arms again. Tight-lipped and now armed, she was prepared in case he didn’t get the message that she was not someone to be taken lightly.

 

[folie de grandeur]

There were three phases to Cyr's very first interaction with the mysterious woman that had somehow trumped his own entire foot of height.

The first had been robbery. This was a phase he was very accustomed to and well-versed in. When one's entire survival is pinned on the gift of theft, it can only be imagined that there is a niche for such behavior. Cyrev wasn't in the niche, he owned it. The young man knew the craft better than he did his own heritage, it was all he breathed. Taking advantage of a girl's property was something he'd done a hundred times in the past. It was effortless. This was effortless--or it should have been. "Give me all your shit," was rather blunt as a demand, but it got the point across. It was a point that she, as a psycho bitch, probably didn't first understand. The knife alone often served as a bargaining piece: the bargain being 'give me your stuff and I won't stab you,' that is. She wasn't interested, apparently.

Such a souring and embarrassing response as her own had caused the poor man to fumble, brows furrowing before one arched in abject confusion.

This brought upon the duo phase two: dubiety so thick it may as well have been malleable. One couldn't blame Cyr, really. It isn't often that one's dishonest attempts turn up such fruitless results. This wasn't fruitless--it was depraved. And no sooner than he had pounced on the woman did he have to protect his own fragile ego. It was with wide eyes that he regarded the woman, mouth twitching in response to her venomous remark. Humility was a foreign concept to the man, and it wasn't one he intended to take lightly. A 'harmless' mugging was no longer his goal--not as he gripped the meant-for-props dagger between fingers so constricting that his knuckles began to resemble bones. Being humiliated by a woman was one thing, but being humiliated by a loony, tiny woman was another. He was offended to his very core, and as he stepped in front of her, he came to learn of an entirely new level of indignity.

It was with a kick to the teeth (or, rather, a fist to the nose) that he fell on his ass. Straight atop phase three, as it were. Groveling. The clatter of the blade beside him sparked the flush of red that met his cheeks. The same color had begun to leak profusely from his nose, which he'd dropped the dagger to shelter from the cruel fist of the woman. In his attempts to recover himself, he'd only tripped. A sour ass was about to join his list of ailments, a grunt escaping his lips as a mixture of pain and bewilderment. "What the fuck?" He hissed under his breath, unsure if he was seeing stars or just his soul leaving his fucking body out of mortification. Either way, his gaze quickly flickered to the face of his culprit, hatred dancing in his eyes.

It was here, as it was always intended, that he realized just how pretty she was. Psychosis aside, it turns out her face was much prettier than the back of her head. Who'd've known?

Little more than a drawn out groan was supplied in response to the disgruntled hissing of the woman, Cyrev unable to conjure a proper reply to the conflicting emotions he was feeling in that moment.

"Tirasea's sake, lady!" It took him a few moments to recuperate both his physical and spiritual forms, both of which continued to profusely spew precious life fluids. But once he had, he couldn't help but be taken aback by the extremely intriguing (and mildly intimidating) woman. "Where're you from, anyway?" He didn't know of any place that taught a woman both to take on a man in a knife fight and waltz into unknown territory without currency.

He didn't know who she was or where she was from, but in that moment, as he wiped the blood from his hands onto his pants, he'd come to the conclusion that he definitely wanted to find out.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

"No, that isn't the right question at all. I think who am I from is the question that would give you the answer that you're looking for. Which is a long, long lineage of warriors, warriors that aren't intimated by..." Here, she paused to toss the knife in the air. She watched it flip over and over before catching it by the blade and extending the handle toward him.

"Butterknives," She finished nonchalantly, glancing upward to him expectantly. When he didn't make a move to take the knife, she jabbed the air between them with raised eyebrows, which then caused him to jump backward. She rolled her eyes, deciding on a more direct approach. Grabbing his hand, she placed the knife in it and closed his fist around it.

"There," She remarked, patting his hand gingerly as if she weren't the same woman who had just given him a bloody nose. She dropped his hand and, looking rather proud of herself, remarked, "Excellent. Now, I've done you... Oh, three or so favors so I'd say you are quite indebted to me. So! The first thing you should do is, most obviously, find me adequate lodging for the night. After that, some sort of weaponry, I suppose. I'm sure, if I've attracted the likes of you, then bandits with more brains and much worse than butterknives will attempt to take advantage of me as well. It's far easier to fight someone off with an actual weapon... as I'm sure you'll come to figure out when you eventually arm yourself properly."

"Thirdly? Oh... I suppose I should keep you around - street smarts and all that. Have you ever served as an escort? Never mind. That was a silly question. You tried to rob me with a butterknife. Of course you haven't any sort of formal training. Nevertheless... you are a distraction, at the very least, I suppose. You look tougher than you are so it's likely vandals will go for you first, believing you to be some sort of threat. They will leave the field entirely open for me to take care of anyone who might actually of some semblance of skill. Perfect."

"As for further repayment," She waved a hand in the air vaguely, turning back toward her horse. "We can arrange something, I'm sure. I hardly want you to be indebted for life so I'd like to be able to call this even in the near future."

Untying her horse, she glanced over her shoulder back at him, "Well, come on then. I haven't got all day."

 

[folie de grandeur]

"You haven't any day, actually...it's nearly night."

That was the first and last thing that he had said. For all the responses in the universe he could conjure, it was the only snide thing he could think to provide that wouldn't further salt his already stinging wounds. His lips curled in distaste, but all the same he followed suit, slipping the decided upon 'butterknife' back into his pocket. Once a prized possession from his elder brother, he was now having second thoughts on it altogether. Maybe he could trade it for a splint for his broken ego.

All through out her elegant ranting, the young man seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. It wasn't until he'd reached her side that he finally took a deep, unrelenting breath. His brows had furrowed once more, the fingertips of his pointer fingers rising to lightly brush his lips. "Look," he began, almost cautiously. (Definitely cautiously, though he'd never admit it.) "I don't know where you're from or--" he added the next bit with a very mature tone of disgust "--who you're from...but it isn't here." For all the things that he was, an advocate of Mariene wasn't one of them. "This is low brow, lady. Bottom of the barrel. Cheap steals and cheaper accommodations." What he said was, for the most part, true. It was middle ground. Nothing of the more humble cities nor did it share the wealth of Kasa or the elegance of Londoress. It merely existed in his eyes. It was an easy stop--one of few places he could lie low without getting personally involved with city politics.

This was no place for a self-discerned warrior of any caliber...mental stability aside.

He wasn't sure if it was morbid curiosity or pure, unadulterated boredom that drove him to comply with the woman, but he did so. If not hesitantly, he took her demands into consideration with little a complaint in response. Indebted for life? He'd have snorted if not for the fact that, moments earlier, he'd been struggling to breathe. The chick was a total loon, he was under no impression that she meant a word she spoke. Her finger tricks and his bleeding nose were testimony enough to the fact that she could hold her own. But anything else she implied had, more or less, blown into one ear and out the other, leaving a smug grin of 'oh, sure, whatever you say, lady' on his face.

That is, until he laid gaze on the horse once again, sights shifting between her expectant stare and the dead-eyed expression of the steed. "Oh-ho, no." He shook his head, scoffing at the prospect. "You don't have a single piece of copper to your name and you want to ride that thing into the heart of the city? Lady, if you want 'accommodations' you'll have to be a bit more inconspicuous than that." Wherever she was from, it was run very differently than this. "Giving every shopkeeper in Mariene a bloody nose to get your way is not going to work. You want my help, fine, but I'd prefer to keep from being jailed."

They'd have to take this one step at a time, and if she were agreeable, he'd lead her first to a stable and secondly to an inn with traffic that surpassed that of the city's limits.

He didn't have an alternative plan, and in such, he waited all too expectantly for the mystery woman to relent.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

"Thing?" She inquired with mouth agape and brow furrowed, clearly offended by his word choice. "Have you no respect? Fera here has more honor in one of her hooves than a lowlife like you could ever hope to achieve."

Her horse snorted and Mai nodded if she agreed wholeheartedly. She swallowed thickly, her brows still furrowed together. Perhaps she had made the wrong decision. This was meant to be a fun adventure, an escape from the mundanity of queenly life and here she was arguing with some stranger about her horse. Her expression softened as she stepped into one of the stirrup's to climb onto Fera's back, sitting sidesaddle so that she remained decent. Looking down on the stranger, she remarked coldly, "I don't need you at all, you know."

"You were going to be a charity case, if anything. I mean, look at you. And you think you're in any place to lecture me on how to handle myself?" She scoffs, lifting her gaze to Fera's mane. She swallowed thickly again, but this time due to a sudden and unrelenting guilt. Was she even listening to herself? How had such conceded statements so easily worked their way into her vernacular? That was the like of something Vaeril would say. She would never even have the thought cross her mind to say something like that with sincerity.

"You are having a terrible effect on me," She stated pointedly, her attention again shifting to the stranger. "I am a kind person and look what you've done to me. All insults and injuries. You have a very bad aura about you.... Come to think of it, I'd like nothing to do with you. I'm sorry for whatever has done this to you, but I cannot stand to be around it."

She started off down the street, keeping Fera at a steady walk. She had no idea where she was going. In fact, she had no idea where she even was. The altercation had gotten her turned around and she couldn't remember if she had come from this way or that. However, she was certain Tirasea would guide her and lead her down the right path, whichever that was.

 

[folie de grandeur]

"Thing?"

Ah, shit. He’d offended her. Great. Cyr refrained (only barely) from rolling his eyes as the woman berated him for his ill conceived word choice. The man was rarely an apologetic one, and this was no time for exceptions. He only watched the woman with eyes half lidded in disinterest. There was a trill to her voice--one perhaps jarring to hear at first, but the less he focused on her actual dialogue, the more her speech fuzzed together. That, alongside the melodic lilt of her tone (one that was foreign to the likes of Mariene), met in his ears like a rather pleasant cacophony of sound.

He had deduced that she was, in most likelihood, from Londoress or the closest surrounding regions. He’d always traveled around the capital, preferring not to test his fate within such a high brow city. Still, the travelers he’d met--the ones that had experienced the life within the heart of the city--they carried themselves not unlike the mystery woman before him. Sure, they typically had money..and supply...and common sense when it came to the outer regions of Raeyllis. But they also weren’t so dignified and strong suited as this woman. Close, but not quite there.

This, if not the tirade of insults, cemented the woman on the shit-list of Cyr. He had no interest in getting wrapped up in the antics of a Londoress loon. He was a fool to have attempted to rob her in the first place. Cleaning the filth out of the surrounding cities wasn’t something that the capital did often, but it was still something of a possibility. And he’d just given the woman a very extensive look at his very pretty face.

She’d be able to pick him out of a line up, and the longer he dwelled on the prospect, the more he began to realize the absurdity of her entire being. The lack of money...visual vulnerability. Experience in combat and defense. None of it added up to anything good. This was a sting. Shit. He attempted to remain calm, even despite the cold shiver that ran up his spine. His expression still carried disinterest, but even this was rather forced as his eyelids jolted from their lazy droop.


“...You were going to be a charity case, if anything. I mean, look at you. And you think you're in any place to lecture me on how to handle myself...?"

Cyr blinked slowly, struggling to combat the anxiety coiling in his stomach with the indecision of whether he should feel humored or offended by her statement. It ultimately escaped him as everything else she had said had...and would. His face had paled almost significantly by this point. From the perspective of the woman, perhaps it was in due time for her stinging insults, though in truth there were fewer things Cyr feared more than imprisonment. Execution. He didn’t really know what took place in the capital of Londoress, but he knew it was nothing good. And judging by the rumors that often spread throughout the lesser cities, it was not life sustaining, either.

“...I'm sorry for whatever has done this to you, but I cannot stand to be around it."

If he was supposed to be relieved, he didn’t feel it. He only felt tense as his gaze ghosted across the dimly lit streets of Mariene. First looking for any other sore thumbs like the woman, but his brown eyes ultimately settled upon the back of her head as she disappeared down one of the many arteries of the city. He swallowed harshly, a sharp breath kickstarting his respiratory system as he slumped back against the wall. If it truly were a sting operation that had infiltrated the city, he was in no place to stick around. Still, he had unattended business. Like trade and profit...and women.

He shook his head, rubbing the side of his face with a cold palm. He was getting ahead of himself--first and foremost, he needed a room. What was it she’d said--something about his aura? As much as he detested the bullshit concept, he was beginning to think she might be right. The cloud of confusion and unease was beginning to suffocate him, and he didn’t care for it one but.

All the same, he collected himself and what few thoughts had survived his miniature fit of panic before setting back onto the streets. Any business he had intended on pursuing could wait, he needed to let his nerves settle. And, as he tossed eight silver pieces toward an inner city innkeeper, it seemed something of an honest strife had encapsulated his character. Digging into his reserves was not something Cyr did often, but if it meant avoiding trouble with the law, he was in no place to test his luck. Not over a room--one which he snatched the key for with little patience before scurrying from the lobby.

Once inside, he could finally rest. His breathing steadied from the bated-in-anticipation gulps he’d been providing himself. He shed his heavy coat before collapsing atop the single, rickety bed. There he only lay, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat begin to fade as it, too, calmed.

It was quickly replaced by a new sound. One unfortunately far less pleasant than the rhythmic thrum of his chest. Cyr groaned, rolling onto his side as to escape the murmur on the streets below. He wanted nothing to do with it. Or he didn’t. Not until the protests of a woman joined the mix of brash demands and taunting.

He hesitated to shuffle to the window, but he did so all the same. The streets below greeted him unkindly, several undignified men having surrounded a figure he couldn’t quite make out below. He groaned, a feeling of obligation beginning to build in his chest. One for the woman, or himself? He couldn’t quite say--or perhaps he only wished not to admit.

Still, he reasoned as he made his way to the door, nothing bad could come of this interaction. Mariene was his turf--and the local crime syndicate, as frail and small as it was, knew this. He’d have little trouble in warding them off--the rowdy bunch of drunken ne’er-do-wells. If the woman was part of this conspiracy sting, then he’d find himself in good graces. If not... maybe he’d get a lay. Frankly, he felt he could use a distraction. And it was with this final thought that his sway of confidence returned to his gait, shoulders square and smirk ever-present across the smug, uncaring face that the darker side of Mariene knew all to well.

Cyr greeted the chill of the night with little a protest as he made his way--quickly, but without sound--toward the disruption of silence that had only grown in volume and venom. He kept to his own, as though a passerby that lingered only a bit too long in the shadows of the street. Though he probably *could* make his presence clear to the men with little consequence, he had a preference for playing things on the safer side when a woman was involved.

And so he watched, waiting to make an entrance worthy of the attention of both the hoodlums and the woman.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

She really hadn't gotten too far down one of the shady streets of Mariene before being approached by a trio of thugs, all burly, smug creatures that looked as if they had just pulled themselves from a nearby swamp. Their intentions were clear: They wanted whatever she had to offer. If that wasn't coin, then it would be something else. They seemed far more eager to pounce on her than her previous attacker and far more determined to not leave empty-handed.

"I really think you ought to reconsider..." Mai answered one of the men's persistent 'invitation' with uncertainty. She could easily take on one thug, even if he were well-equipped. But the trio posed a threat that she was fairly certain she wouldn't be able to neutralize, without some battle scars at the very least. She might've been able to make a run for it, but that put Fera at risk for whatever onslaught they had prepared.

"Funny. I was abou'a say the same to you," One of the bulkier men smirked, stepping toward her. The moonlight cast stark shadows on the men's faces, making them look far more menacing. The three men continued to close in, glinting metal catching the moonlight. This must have been enough to scare Fera as the horse reared, dropping Mai on the ground and busting through the men.

Mai was silent for a moment, watching Fera disappear into the darkness. So much for making her escape. Her anger was slowly becoming overwhelmed by fear. Nevertheless, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She could hardly imagine the news that would travel back to the capital. Vaeril would curse her stupidity and her grave.

"And if I say no?" She questioned with as much confidence as she could muster at the moment. She got to her feet once again, brushing off her dress.

"Then, I think you'll find we can be rather convincing," Another man answered and they continued closing the distance between them and her. She was prepared to fight... if they hadn't been interrupted by a familiar voice.

 

[folie de grandeur]

An easy lay was quickly becoming a much harder job. One that Cyr was beginning to feel less and less comfortable abandoning. As few morals as he had, he was a decent enough human being to distinguish the smarmy from the depraved. And this was quickly turning into a situation derived from the latter. Stealing property was one thing--this was something on a level far beyond that, and for a second time that day, he was trumped as to how to handle the situation.

Two of the three men would be easy enough to do away with--or they should have been. Not only were they their own kind of ‘indebted’ to Cyrev, they also knew better than to meddle in his business. Not genuinely, as the duo were far better equipped than he, but there were fewer things than protecting himself that the man knew better. And sometimes, that meant building a fake reputation for yourself. This was something that he had successfully instilled into the meager circle of crime that occupied Mariene. Appearances were easy to keep up when an air of mystery separates you from the mundane. And Cyrev understood this.

It was one of the benefits of frequent travel, and many had the impression that he ran things underground. Mariene was his, and a genuine appearance was a rare enough occurence that he could maintain the facade.

Unfortunately, this only worked if those around him were both stupid and familiar with his practices. This was something that the biggest of the three men seemed not to be. And that made Cyrev rather nervous. It seemed the lackeys had upgraded in the realm of henchmen, something Cyr couldn’t say he was all too well versed in. He’d be best off returning to his room, really--as he felt that luck wasn’t on his side at the time being. Still, he stayed.

He stayed, and he also spoke, hoping to disrupt the nefarious activities that were about to take place within Mariene’s dirty streets. “Sirs, I believe that you’re terribly mistaken.” He swallowed, maintaining the strut of confidence that he didn’t rightly possess as he stepped closer to the festivities. The woman’s back was to him, and though she felt a familiarity, he wasn’t in the right state of mind to place exactly where he’d seen her. The lack of a horse certainly wasn’t aiding the situation. Still, he gestured to her figure as the eyes of the men shifted. Hunger and savagery swam in their beady gazes, offsetting even Cyrev, who it most definitely was not directed toward.

One of his fists clenched in an effort to negate the urge to card his fingers through his hair. He continued. “The lady isn’t one of easy virtue, I’m sure you’re aware. I ought to also inform you that she reigns from Londoress. Mariene is reeking of the type tonight, and I’m doubtful that you’re in any condition to ward off the kingdom’s finest guardsmen.”

He was 100% talking out of his ass. He’d taken a superstition and blown it out to be an entire operation. The lesser men would take the bait--especially as it was Cyrev that had informed them. It was their newfound leader that he eyed with a scrutiny that only barely disguised his nervous anticipation. “Let’s leave it be for the night, shall we? I’m sure Londoress will find its interests elsewhere...assuming its women are left unharmed.”

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

"He-hey, Cyrev," The largest of the gentlemen chuckled nervously. Mai let her shoulders relax, getting the feeling that the situation might be resolved amicably. Thankfully, it seemed that the attractive stranger was better at talking than he was fighting. Mai cocked an eyebrow listening to Cyrev make what must of been his best attempt to defend her honor.

"Londoress? Maybe we ought'a..." One of the lesser men mumbled and jabbed a thumb in the air away from Mai. The boss of the trio glanced back at him before narrowing his eyes at Cyrev.

"Yeah, we weren't looking for trouble or nothin'..." The second of the smaller goons chimed in, taking the smallest of steps back toward the safety of the shadows. The biggest guy looked for a moment that he might not have bought what Cyrev was selling before his expression softened. He must of thought it better to play it safe.

"Yeah, it was just a bit of fun, right miss? Just a couple of laughs?" The bigger guy offered with a nervous laugh, hoping he might lighten the mood. Seeing no change in Mai's sour expression, he signaled for his buddies to head off with him. Mai watched with brow furrowed as they stumbled off, waiting for their chatter of 'games' and 'jokes' to fade into the night. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shivered slightly. She wasn't certain if it was due to the chill breeze in the air or the sudden realization that she now had absolutely nothing but the clothes on her back. Almost as if she had predicted the future, she swayed to the side slightly to avoid the stranger's touch and turned her head away from him as him stepped to the side of her.

"That is not the next step in this encounter," Mai mumbled under her breath in response to whatever line he decided to try. She was too consumed by her thoughts to have genuinely heard it. He must have been disappointed to find that the woman he had made an attempt to save was the same that had punched him in the nose only moments ago. His gasp marked a blend of surprise and disgust, of which she felt the same.

"No, I don't like this at all," Mai murmured as if speaking to a nonexistent third party. For Mai, it was the gods. This was the path they had sent her down, determined for some reason to pair the two of them together. She was convinced of it. Surely, something to do with the balance, the harmony of it all.

"Once is coincidence. Twice is purpose. And, I don't like that all," she mumbled again, her words seemingly not meant for him. She finally looked in his direction. Though her expression was still sour, her features were softer than they were before. She no longer seemed upset with him, but with something else entirely. He, however, just so happened to be poking the bear with a stick. "Were you following me? What do you want?"

 

[folie de grandeur]

HIs hand had sought purchase in the soft fabric of her dress, though it found only air as the woman pointedly evaded his attempt at both easing her and making a formal introduction via a brush of the shoulder. He stumbled for a moment, arm sliding forward as the air provided little resistance to his foolish action. A hiss of surprise escaped his lips, and for a moment he was grateful that the poor lighting would hide the flush of his face. But that was only a momentary feeling, as he was soon cursing every lamp that lit the barren streets. For, surely, lighting was the reason that he'd failed to realize the woman to be one of such unpleasant encounters as the one that still stained his shirt in dry droplets of blood.

He stumbled and choked upon the few words of his smug introduction that had managed to slip from his lips before the nearly incomprehensible realization had been made. The millisecond long break in dialogue was enough for the woman to brush him off. Rather harshly, at that, as Cyr suddenly felt the need to grasp at his chest. A sting could be felt there, one as sharp as the punch he'd received to his nose. Though this was an internal throb, one he cared not for in the mix of exhaustion and humiliation that was driving a scowl across his lips.

To regain and have his confidence stolen away so swiftly was an entirely new experience. It was one that left his stomach aching and his temples on the verge of pain. He had neither the time nor the patience for this. Luck not only was not on his side, but actively looking to fuck him over, it seemed. Her rambling was lost on him, Cyrev more interested in collecting the pieces of his self-respect that still littered the ground. By the time he had finally mourned over himself, she was speaking to him directly.

The shift in her disposition caused his eyes to widen, body jolting to attention as he took a wise step backward. His hands flew into the air, a demand of his innocents in whatever she was implying. He was genuinely insulted. "I--you think--" He struggled to speak a proper rebuttal, resorting to insult instead. "I have better things to do with my time than follow the likes of you." He hissed like a petulant child, the flush ever-present in his cheeks as he seethed. "I don't want anything, lady. My deepest apologies for having the gall to help you. Which you undisputedly needed, by the way." He, perhaps in some attempt to preserve what little self respect he had, turned pointedly away from the woman. And with a crude wave of his hand, he was on his way back to where he belonged: in a bed, by himself, sleeping. As far away from the Londoress brat as he could put himself.

"I see you've got yourself handled. Even took my advice with the horse, I am very flattered. May Tirasea light your fuckin' way, my lady."

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

With a sigh, Mai started after him. It seemed with every step she had to double her pace to keep up. He was clearly make an effort to put some distance between the two of them. Although Mai took no pleasure in pursuing him, she was certain that if he found his way onto her path for a second time, he would have no trouble doing it a third.

"As much as I would cherish the thought of being rid of you, darling, it seems to be the gods have decided otherwise. I am sure the certainty of that decision is not lost upon you. You-- Surely, you-- I am talking to you!" Never in her life had she have someone so blatantly disrespect her. It was an entirely foreign concept to her and she wasn't certain how to cope with it. She reached out and grabbed his arm, spinning him violently 'round to face her. Now, she was mad at him.

"You are terribly rude, you know. First, you attempt to rob me then are mad at me for protecting myself. Then, you 'heroically' save me, have no subtlety in your intentions, and yet do not wait for proper gratitude, which I was getting around to, by the way." Each of her last words was emphasized by a prod to his chest. She had been so caught up in the lack of formality of the situation that it had yet to dawn on her the ridiculousness of her being mad at him for not allowing to thank him.

"You insult me, you insult my property, yet so happen to be around to protect me from hoodlums - the likes of which I am sure you are familiar with. Then, you storm off because I am unlikely to partake in exactly what you were saving me from. If that is your heroism, no wonder you have trouble with women.... And, look! I am trying to make amends and you've gone and made it worse again! Oh, you are impossible!"

 

[folie de grandeur]

Never in his life had Cyrev been angrily pursued by a woman. He wasn't sure what to make of the situation, but it was no good and he hadn't a single shred of intention to be swept into whatever insanity the woman radiated.

In Cyrev's mind, he didn't owe the lady anything. And by the same extent, she didn't owe him anything either. If anything at all, he'd prefer if they put their dues aside if only for him to escape her presence entirely. Gorgeous and dignified as she was, he was not so interested as to get involved in her bullshit-ery. So he ignored her, as any polite man would, deciding it the most effective to outright ignore her than pursue an argument. He had nothing to gain from her, that much had been made clear over the course of the last few hours.

He was disgruntled, surely, but it wasn't until he'd been seized by the arm that a look of anger crossed his own features as well. Disbelief swam in the warmth of his brown eyes, lips cracking apart to allow a sound of contempt to pass from between them. Perhaps the worst part of her words was the truth they held--perhaps it was undue of him to hope for an exchange for her 'rescue', though in his defense it had more so been a hope than a demand. That is, until he recognized her, by which point he would've taken back any implication of his attempts to woo her.

"I'm impossible?" He snorted, shaking the woman off of his arm, all the same she soon found it proper to assault his chest with a single finger. His gaze had flickered downward to follow the furious pecking of her hand, a manic chuckle finally bubbling up from between his lips. "Listen, lady, the only 'wo-man' I'm having trouble with is you." He did feel a twist of guilt as she reiterated his not-so-heroic efforts but that could hardly be taken back. And instead he was finding himself becoming defensive again. "Not to offend, but my interests lie probably anywhere but in making amends with you."

He wanted nothing more than to dismiss and forget this abhorrent interaction all together. He knew the Londoress people were an entitled bunch, but this experience was entirely new. Entirely unsavory.

"I don't know who dropped you on your head as an infant, but no Gods in their right minds would find yourself compatible with me. Why don't you do your pretty self a favor and find your way back to Londoress where you belong? Mariene isn't exactly a place of 'Harmony', princess."

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

She was trying her best to be civil, but this thief was making civility impossible. She hardly wanted to leave the situation feeling that she owed him. She absolutely wasn’t doing this for his sake, she was doing this for her own. For Tirasea’s sake, all she wanted to do was thank the man and he was acting as if she were asking him to drop to his knees and kiss her feet.

“Tell me, what is it like to have an ego so large that you think it is any match for a god’s will?” She begged with mock desperation as if he held to answer to all questions in the universe. She couldn’t believe that he so genuinely believed that the gods had no sway in what had transpired. If he wanted to act as if he could run away from destiny, that was on him. She wouldn’t be surprised when their paths crossed again. Rolling her eyes, she paused for a moment before continuing with sincerity. “All I ask is that you allow me to express my gratitude and then you can be on your merry way. Is that too much for you?”

It was at this moment that the realization that she had nothing of value on her. She was so accustomed to having something valuable within proximity at a moment’s notice to repay her gratitude - whether it be coin or material. She decidedly untied her handkerchief from the sash tied around her waist. It consisted of the royal colors and was hand-embroidered with the Bannighymn coat of arms. Its quality suggested that there was no possibility that it was a fraud. It might’ve not meant much in Mariene, but it would certainly find higher value in a city where nationality ran strong.

“I know it isn’t much but it is all I have,” She remarked sheepishly, showing genuine embarrassment for the first time in front of Cyr. Extending it toward him, she glanced to the ground. With his hesitation in taking it, she added, “I will properly repay my gratitude when I am in a position to do so.”

 

[folie de grandeur]

"It's great." Was the response he would've used if he were immature. Which he was. So he did. It was a lazy retort, but the ramblings of a Londoress woman were nothing to get his feathers ruffled over. There was no coincidence in his trying to rob her. Nor the fact that he was decent enough to prevent the woman being taken advantage of. Frankly, having his efforts be left to the Gods was a tad insulting. Still, this was not the issue at hand, for he was still being followed and chastised by a stranger whom he didn't even know the name of.

Cyr had turned his back to the brunette once again, though her words caused him to stumble. An expression of gratitude was not in order, not in his books. Perhaps it had been moments earlier, but he had no interest in pursuing Crazy. Still, this--whatever show of dignity it was--was important to the woman. And if fulfilling it meant her piece of mind and his solitude, he was willing to spare her a moment of his time. Not that he had much of a choice in the matter. As he was thoroughly convinced that the woman would continue her tirade until he agreed.

He sighed, slowly turning to face her, as though in defeat. It was almost too much for him. She had established very early on that she had nothing to offer him. Words were meaningless to the man. As was the woman's 'show of gratitude.' At first glance, that was. He had almost laughed in her face, hands twitching in anticipation to rise as he was about to reject her offer. "I appreciate the expression but I don't want your sno--" the colors were the first thing to catch his eye. The royal colors were no foreign concept to the whole of Londoress, but such colors were expensive to obtain in ink, let alone as a dye so pigmented as the colors that glittered in the low glow of the lamps. His gaze had widened some as he cautiously accepted the cloth. Her sheepish response only further cemented its authenticity in his head. Perhaps it held little value to the hooligans of Mariene, but Cyr was a distinguished merchant as much as he was a thief. To witness the woman provide it in such a disheartened manner was beyond intriguing to him. It sparked a sense of hope into him, only fortifying his beliefs of its worth.

He knew value when he saw it...

And this made his heart accelerate, even before he unfolded the softer-than-silk fabric. Staring him in the face was the immaculate embroidery of the Bannighymn coat of arms. He nearly choked on his own spit, then, instead electing to cough so violently that he had to spin away from the handkerchief in some attempt to preserve every thread it was worth. He cleared his throat, wincing at the sting that occupied it for only a moment as he gathered himself. He gingerly folded the fabric, not daring to crumple the embroidery. Cyr eventually realized how obsessive his behavior was becoming, and quickly shielded the kerchief behind his back as though it wasn't the woman before him that had gifted the item in the first place. Perhaps he'd misheard the taunting of the innkeeper. Had the woman truly claimed to be of royal decent or merely in relations? He would elect the latter as the most possible option, and with the silky kerchief in hand, it was growing harder and harder to dismiss such claims from the Londoress hailing stranger.

Perhaps the gods, if there were any such beings, had pushed them together. It wasn't the most ideal of apologies (and it certainly wasn't as formal as he would've liked), but he'd take whatever they'd throw at him. This interaction trumped all others endured that night, and suddenly he was feeling far more compliant.

"Perhaps the Gods' wills surpass my...ego. You mentioned you needed refuge for the night?"

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

To the passer-by, it seemed as if in that brief moment of silence between them, they had found a way to resolve their issues amicably. Then there was the second moment of the night where Mai’s hand assaulted his face with little warning or hesitation, causing a loud smack to reverbate throughout the empty streets - promptly followed by a remarkably irate Mai. The thief had awful effect on her emotions and her patience.

“I have no interest in that sort of repayment,” she spat with such disgust and disdain that she surprised herself. He really wasn’t that unattractive. It was just that the idea that a person, let alone a woman, would resort to sharing such an intimate moment with a stranger especially as a way to express gratitude was so absolutely vile to her. And for him to suggest such a thing twice (albeit the first was not intended for her) was absolutely despicable.

Holy intervention or not, her patience for his tomfoolery had long worn thin. Now, it was her turn to make her leave and have the other follow closely behind. She couldn’t help but scoff at the sudden turn of events. Was he so certain that that invitation would succeed that he now found interest in her?

 

[folie de grandeur]

Cyr blinked.

And then, after a few long moments of her seething silence had passed, he finally felt the urge to touch his face.

Or his cheek, rather; it stung as badly as the sound was loud. Though it was more so a deep-set shock that stirred within him as he stared incredulously at the woman. It was so beyond him: this concept that a woman so dignified as herself could demand he take her fine handkerchief in gratitude yet also find the inclination to assault his very precious face all in the same beat. He was too far gone, too far gone to even defend his honor as the small woman began to berate him rather loudly.

It was growing late, many of Mariene's glowing establishments having turned out their lanterns, and even those shops and homes had attracted witnesses to their windows. She was causing the biggest scene of the century. And he, who had at his best rescued her and at his worst, maybe tried to rob her, felt that the act was a completely unwarranted one. Her feverish 'rejection' was word enough to wrap Cyr's brain around the situation--if not a tad too slowly. He quickly stammered as if to make up for the delay, his fingers falling abruptly to his side after the detached prodding he had inflicted upon his abused cheek. He had two options: recover this. The situation, himself (with his reputation intact, albeit damaged), and the thread of a relationship between himself and Miss Londoress Wealth, all at the expense of his pride. Or he could cut his losses, forget the money, lose his ambiguity, and bugger off someplace where he wouldn't be assaulted and falsely accused by the bi-polar ball of anger that stood pointedly before him.

He liked the former option quite a deal more, though the pill was a very bitter one to swallow as he forced his tone to a slow, calculated whisper.

"My lady...you are causing a scene." His newfound chivalry left the very fibers of his being to tremor angrily. He didn't want to be patient. He wanted to be mad. He wanted to screech at the insufferable, confused Londoress woman. But he didn't--and, if he could help it for the sake of his own benefit--he wouldn't. "I think you've misunderstood my proposition, and I do implore you to reconsider. Staying in the streets would be unwise, and I suggest that you come with me to my room. Not like that--you can have the damn bed, alright?"

Not but a few hours ago, he had remarked to the woman that she couldn't resort to violence to get favors in Mariene. Yet here she was, having slapped a man only to be offered his only bed.

A show of desperation at its finest, that's what it was. But most ridiculous of all, he was almost dreading the possibility that she would reject his offer. Cyr held his breath.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

The words 'my lady' coming from his mouth elicited a look of an indiscernible emotion from her. It was somewhere on the spectrum of confusion, disgust, and disdain. The words were just so distasteful coming from him, as if any sincerity and respect had been entirely tainted by his terrible aura. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip and her brow furrowed as she considered his offer.

As much as she wanted to carry on without him and prove just how wrong he was about her, she knew that she wouldn't be able to survive the night with nothing more than empty words and the dress on her back. Part of her wanted him to beg more, to grovel for her presence that he so despised just moments ago. However, she wasn't that kind of person, though she had more than enough evidence to convince herself that he ought to apologize. Nevertheless, her expression softened yet again after coming to her decision to stay with the stranger. If only Vaeril knew. He would be turning over in his grave - and he wasn't even dead.

"Fine," she answered slowly as if the uncertainty still was slipping into her words and had the ability to change her decision at a moment's notice. His chivalrous act was getting him no closer to his end goal, whatever that was. In fact, it was making her terrible uncomfortable so she felt obligated to add, "But, only if you stop talking like that."

As an afterthought, she crossed her arms over her chest once again to express how terribly, truly, and completely unhappy she was with the entire situation. His sudden change of attitude was surely suspicious and she wanted him to know that she hadn't just glossed over the fact. Clearly, this was a symbiotic... whatever, though neither of them would care to admit it. So long as neither mentioned it and whatever gains they stood to make, they didn't have to admit to their faults.

 

[folie de grandeur]

"Fine. But, only if you stop talking like that."

Cyrev gulped for air, stooping only momentarily to rest his hands on his knees, head bent. Strands of hair brushed across his forehead as the breeze had begun to pick up once more. It was welcome, if anything, causing his nervous sweat to cool with the night air. He didn't know what he had come close to losing, but the very thought made his heart palpitate. Cyrev was not good at 'impressing' people. Intimidation and deceit were his fortes. Dignified conversation did not fall under either category, something apparently agreed upon by both parties.

It sickened him how pleased and relieved he was with the turn out of that night. That being his face feeling rather sore, his bed taken by a Londoress brat, and his time entirely wasted. If this were a victory on his behalf, he was due for some serious life evaluation. (Something he was clearly very poor at.) Still, an agreement had been made. And by the fate of the gods or merely Cyrev's greed, the duo had managed to strike some semblance of a deal.

The man, feeling very defeated in more ways than one, recuperated himself before begrudgingly leading his newfound company to the inn. As he suspected, the innkeeper had long ago left the lobby of his establishment. The keys were stashed away behind a lock--one that Cyrev was rather confident he could crack. However, he had the intense inclination that his fickle partner would not be privy to the idea of thievery. And if Cyrev's efforts were to go to waste, it wouldn't be over a meager room.

The woman's arms were still crossed, he noted, as they traversed a single flight of stairs to his room. Their room. He unlocked the door swiftly, greeting the brash stranger with an insincere smile as he allowed her entry. Wood flooring would not warrant a good night's sleep. But if the fabric still nestled gingerly in his hand was anything to go by, it was hardly any sacrifice at all. His masculinity aside.

He hadn't yet considered just what it was that the brunette wanted with him. His first few mindsets had derived solely in personal gain, and it wasn't until now, as he relocated his few precious belongings and distanced himself as far as he could from the bed, that he began to wonder. He knew what was in it for himself--but what about her? This hardly seemed the sting operation he had prior believed it to be. Yet nothing else made sense.

"Why are you here?" The question had been spoken abruptly, but for once his tone didn't carry malice so much as it did genuine curiosity. "What are you doing in a place like Mariene?"

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

Following the thief to his room, she couldn't help but feel another wave of guilt and regret. The castle was surely in a panic. Not the usual kind of panic that seemed so constant that it hardly felt like panic anymore. No, the genuine terror that Mai might forever be gone and the unrelenting fear that the fragile balance of the kingdom might truly collapse this time around. She tried her best to shake the thought as she entered the room as Cyr graciously held the door. She had the right to be selfish every once in a while. Whenever did she do something for herself?

She sat on the edge of the bed, poised and perfect as the thief gathered his things in a small corner of the room. The entire room was small, remarkably small for Mai's standards. She felt like she could hardly move between the furniture. Perhaps that was why she found herself holding her breath? As if too large of a breath might take up a decent portion of the already limited space.

"I ran away," She replied bluntly as if it were the least interesting aspect of the conversation. It was the truth, though she found no need to elaborate. If her previous encounters with the common folk were anything to go by, revealing more information about her origin would only bring about more unnecessary trouble.

"Why do you say it like that? Like the name itself tastes bad? Mariene is beautiful - the water, the stars. You can't see those stars in Londoress - too many people, too many lights. I always loved Mariene... though I suppose I have never seen this side of it." She hadn't made an effort to hide her disappointment. From the security of her castle, she liked to imagine that all of her kingdom was a wonderful, beautiful place to live. But, here, crime seemed to run rampant. No one had any consideration for anyone other than themselves. They had completely lost the appreciation of beauty. She didn't want to linger on it. It would certainly be another thing that her (now) companion would criticize her for.

"Surely, you aren't planning to sleep on that floor," she remarked with yet another concerned expression, her teeth finding comfort in her bottom lip again. She wouldn't feel right taking what was his only apparent solace from him. She would sleep on the floor if it came down to it. This was his home (albeit temporary) and she was only a guest. Apparently, he already had plenty of reasons to not like her. She didn't want to lengthen that list.

 

[folie de grandeur]

"I ran away."

Cyr bit his tongue though the furrow of his brow suggested something of a negative response to her confession. Ran away? From Londoress? From wealth and comfort? This was beyond insanity. He didn't necessarily see 'running away' as a bad thing. He'd be a hypocrite to do so. Not only had he fled his home, but he'd made a living out of tucking tail and running. What he couldn't wrap his head around was leaving a place free of poverty and filth...and without any reserve at all, coming here.

As defensive as she was for the poor city of Mariene, Cyrev couldn't find himself agreeing. He wondered briefly why she thought so strongly for a city that had only shown her anguish. It puzzled him, just as everything else about her very nature did. Again, it was a morbid curiosity that often led him to explore the unfamiliar. This wasn't morbid, per se, it was merely perplexing. Intrigue: she reeked of it. (And, of course, the promise of ‘due pay’ from a Londoress hailing woman never hurt.)

He listened to her voice, holding onto both the soothing lilt as well as her words, though they held little weight to him. Mariene, not unlike Londoress, breathed with life. But this place was infected. It wheezed and hacked, it was nothing like the prestige that reigned from the capital. It was filthy--just as Kasa was. Merely on a smaller scale. He understood the testimony of the stars, however. In travelling, he often passed through countrysides. That's where the stars were truly visible. Disrupted skies that touched every edge of the ground. Cyrev swallowed, realizing that this was beginning to sound like the first time she had ever experienced life outside of the capital.

He swallowed, glancing at the woman only to confirm his suspicions in part. She was indisputably uncomfortable, and as he thought on her tainted journey (of which he'd contributed his fair share of negativity) he couldn't help the twinge of guilt that stirred in his gut. He regarded her concern with a half-forced smirk of bemusement. "I was actually going to sleep on the roof, but if my presence is preferred here, I'd not be right to object." Sarcasm carried a heaviness into the words he spoke, though there was an absence of the sharpness that typically occupied his tone. Her hesitant glances about the room quickly spelled out her internal monologue, for which he had to stifle a bark of laughter. Londoress? Sleeping on the floor?

"Sounds great, good luck on that uncharted territory down there."

He quickly dismissed such an absurd idea, still feeling a bit sour about the whole situation but not so much so that he'd force an already flighty, nutty lady to sleep on the ground. It wasn't as though he was foreign to the concept, though he was certain that she was. He kicked off his shoes, as if for emphasis, before dropping the spare comforter from the dresser onto the floor. "It'll be like a sleepover," he offered rather awkwardly. He knew he didn't have much in common with anyone of her caliber, but their brief history was not aiding the situation whatsoever. He was beginning to feel the flush of the awkward air within the room, and decided that it was best to call it a night then and there. He stared expectantly, a clear look of discomfort matching his own as he awaited permission to snuff out the single candle that had been left to burn beside the bed.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

She couldn't keep her features from expressing the ever-growing despondence in her, having it only emboldened by his consistently sarcastic remarks. She never was the best at hiding her emotions, but the castle staff usually carried on as if they didn't exist rather than outright rejecting them. Even in Vaeril's harshest moments, he would at least acknowledge their existence and their rightfulness before dismissing them to pursue more queenly ideals.

"It'll be like a sleepover," he offered weakly suggesting that it would, in fact, not be like a sleepover - whatever that was. Mai had no familiarity with the word. Rather, she was entirely convinced he had just made it up on the spot.

"A what? Never mind about that. Take the bed. I, um..." She would've liked to provide some encouragement by insisting that she had dealt with worse. But, that would have been entirely incorrect. This was, without a doubt, the lowest she had ever stooped. She couldn't recall a time when she had been left alone in a room with someone who wasn't some sort of nobility or servant to them, let alone sharing a room while she slept. She stood up and spun in an awkward circle, still startled by the closeness of everything.

"Uh, yes. I'll be fine..." She murmured, the statement seemingly more for herself than for him. Taking a step, the floor creaked loudly under her weight and caused her to jump backward. This then caused her to stumble over the bed, landing in a seated position with palms pressed firmly into the mattress and a very startled look. "Is it... Did I break it?"

After having briefly examined the offending piece of flooring from the safety of the mattress and found it to be fully intact, her nervous laughter chimed in with Cyr's loud, genuine laughter, echoing the massive divide between their two personalities. Mai could feel her face was burning red. She wasn't often so deeply embarrassed that she flushed. On the rare occasion that she did something so entirely embarrassing, Vaeril would ensure that she never knew about it, stifling all laughter and comical looks before they could reach her.

"Do they often do that?" Mai questioned sheepishly, pulling her knees up to her chest on the mattress. She buried her face in her knees so she didn't have to stare at the thief's stupid face while she questioned about floorboards. Oh, this was an awful feeling.

 

[folie de grandeur]

"The--hah--" Cyr's words faltered as his head dipped forward, a very unsubtle and ineffective attempt at smothering his laughter. "The floorboards?"

Words were beyond the man, one hand at his stomach as the other propped his slouched body upward. The small squeak that the woman had emitted alongside her flurried spasm had been enough to startle Cyr into tripping backward. Though he liked to think his own response was far more justified than her own. He tried, he really did. But the moment he'd begun laughing, there was no stopping the cacophony of laughter. "Oh-hoho my Gods." Cyr wasn't the most easily amused. In fact, aside from the occasional slimy smirk, the woman had yet to see a genuine smile from her thieving counterpart. Yet here he was, doubled over on the pathetic excuse for a bed that he'd slept on in since Camua. Tears had sprung to the eyes of the man only after he'd finally managed to calm himself. Though this lasted but a moment before he'd caught the look of mortification on the Londoress woman's face.

It broke him, her meek question making him week in the knees that he had already fallen to. She was cute. Crazy. But very cute.

"Only when you offend them," he finally breathed roughly, expelling a tired gust of air. He gulped down a much needed breath of air before sitting upward, rubbing one eye with the palm of his hand as the other carded through his hair. His stomach hurt. He was still struggling to process it all. The tension within the room had been so swiftly diffused (for him, at least) by the smallest of things. One that he wouldn't be letting the woman forget any time soon, but all the same. He struggled to connect the strong willed, fist flying woman that had first waltzed into Mariene with this one: flustered and startled by none other than the admittedly questionable integrity of the inn.

He blinked moisture from his eyes, slumping backward against the wall as he finally found the composure to look at the now hiding woman. He was so perplexed by her entire being. Not only afraid of floorboards, but also knowledgeable as to what a sleepover was? He thought of this only because she looked particularly vulnerable, then. Child-like. Yet she spoke as though she had never been one. How sheltered was Londoress?

"The bed is yours, I don't think the floor has taken much of a liking to you."

He didn't know why he was arguing with her. That was his bed. He paid good money for it, and sleeping on the floor did him no favors. Yet he stared at the girl, entirely lost on herself and curled up in the most feeble of positions. "Really, I mean it. You look like you need it."

That wasn't meant as an insult. Though his prior offer had not meant to be taken as a provocation.

 

[RealisticFantasy]

Mai'vryn Bannighymn​

​

Mai sat silently for a moment, face hidden as she let the heat mostly dispel from her cheeks. Again, she was left with a confusing blend of emotions. The embarrassment was wholly present, though physical indicators of it had faded. The foreign emotion was almost overwhelming and she wasn't quite certain how best to cope with it. She was angry as well; She much preferred being laughed with over being laughed at. Besides, who was he to be laughing at her? But, most prevalent, she was feeling happy. She was happy that Cyr was, in fact, entirely human and capable of emotions beyond anger and lust.

"You look like you need it." She lifted her head. She could still feel the color in her cheeks but her mind had moved on from the embarrassment. He, unwittingly, issued a challenge and it was not one that Mai intended to fail. She wanted nothing from him out of pity. So, she grabbed a blanket and a pillow off of the bed and found the most comfortable spot on the floor she could find on the opposite side of the room from him.

"I don't want the bed. You don't want the bed. I suppose no one takes the bed then." She says, settling into her corner of the room. Though she wouldn't let Cyr know even a hint of it, she regretted her decision already. The bed was far less comfortable than anything she ever even looked at in the capital so she figured the floor couldn't be much worse. However, she was certainly wrong. But, she would grin and bear it for weeks just for the satisfaction of watching the thief break before her. Vaeril always told her she was awfully stubborn.