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FloatingAroundSpace

Three Thousand Club
[div class=blockone][div class=backgroundcolor][div class=photo] [div class=title]Anyone can be killed[/div] [div class=subtitle]private RP between christy and FloatingAroundSpace[/div]

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Pip_Rake_DB_151_V2.jpg
Evered
Some days, he absolutely abhorred his life.

He passed through the kitchen, quietly, quickly, tossing the parchment scrap into one of the many burning fires there, not turning around to watch it curl at the corners, turn to soot, become impossible to differentiate from the coal and wood that the cooks were using to make food for the castle, for the king, probably, because that man wanted absolutely everything to be decadent. His rooms, his meals, his lovers, god, everything and anything he wanted, he wanted it laden with dressings, whether it be beads, gold, silver, artfully plated leaves. The only thing that wasn't absolutely gleaming, polished to high-hell, was Evered.

His personal weapon, his personal sword. The king's true swords, true guards, were indeed polished, decked out in the best armor and swords and positively gleaming when they marched next to him. But he knew, oh he knew, that he did more damage than all of them combined. They stood around the king at round tables, at his opulent throne, when he went out to watch the soldiers practice, when he wanted to go hunt. They stood there and gazed upon their master, watched him move and eat and gorge himself on power and food and attention.

Evered, on the other hand, was never seen around the king. Messages were passed to him, stuffed in the same places, a thin scrap of parchment that was sealed shut with wax, tucked away behind vases and paintings and heavy stones or under table legs. Innocuous places where no one would look and where no one would ever find it strange when a stable hand ducked downwards to look at something on the ground. Perhaps he tripped, they would say to themselves. Perhaps he was looking for something he dropped, they would say to themselves. They never thought that he was obtaining a message from the king to kill one of them, to slip into their rooms in the dark of the night and press a blade to their necks, to cut them down where they stood in the fields, to stop their hearts and fill their hands with red as they collapsed.

Those things, he could do easily. He was good at the silent, quick part of his job, of blending in with the background and being only a flash of a blade, a sharp pain that melted away into nothingness. But this demand, this request. Evered would rather throw himself upon a blade than attempt it.

Speak with the princess. Gather information on my brother's habits.

He hated speaking. His tongue was often thick and clumsy, his accent came through to showcase he was not of their country, when there was a pause he stood there dumbly and stared back, unable to formulate anything to say.

He was, by no means, ever in danger of revealing what he was going to do. No, he never edged close to revealing his secrets or orders or deeds. Hell, he was never close to revealing anything-- again, speaking was just difficult for him.

Even so, he sighed, nearing the stables. He scanned them, spotted the mount that the princess often took out, and approached it, smiling gently at it. He raised a hand, pressed it to its head, and stroked it gently there, listening to it snort gently.

Maybe he could ask her where she was going that day.

If he could get the words out coherently.
 
drusilla clemonte
"Where do you think you're going?"

Drew stopped in her tracks at the sound of her brother's voice coming from behind her. She slowly turned around to see him standing a few feet away, a bundle of papers held between his left arm and his torso, while his right hand cradled a few more papers.

"The stables, obviously," she told Oscar, giving him a puzzled expression. Ever since he became more involved with his duties as a 'prince', his playful side had somewhat faded. It made an appearance every now and then, especially around her, but he also had moments when he played the role of a strict older brother, intent on lecturing her to act her age and settle into her role in the kingdom. It was tiring, and Drew wasn't fond of the change, but she knew she had changed too. She was more involved in public affairs, though that was primarily because she wanted to spend time outside the castle.

"Aren't you set to meet the Prince from Renford today?" Oscar asked, taking a few more steps to be closer to her. Drew noticed his raised eyebrow. "I'm sure I heard father speaking to you about it yesterday."

Yes, Drew definitely remembered that, only because she was doing everything she could to avoid that meeting. Her father said it was so she could gain some experience, but she knew what it was really about. She was twenty-two years old. She was the prime age to be married off, so Adalea could gain more allies. But that wasn't what Drew wanted.

"That's not until later," Drew lied effortlessly. "I'm not going to take a long time anyway. I have to take Casper out at least once every day or he gets moody," she added, referencing the horse she always took out. Drew knew Casper since he'd been a little foal, and she'd cared for him. She liked to think there was an emotional bond there, from both parties.

Oscar, as Drew's closest confidante, was able to see through Drew's lies most of the time, and he was able to do it now too. His expression shifted to a more stern one. "Drew, father was serious. You can't beโ€”"

Before he could finish his sentence, Drew acted on instinct, reaching out to push his arm a bit. She had intended to give him a good shove, as the two of them had done to each other when they were younger and came to a disagreement, however on this particular instant, the shove caused the papers in his arms to scatter and land on the floor.

Drew's first instinct was to apologise and help, but she also saw this as an opportunity. She wasn't going to miss out on going to the stables for a meeting she didn't even want to attend. So, Drew began to slowly back away. "Sorry," she said, giving her brother a sheepish smile.

"Drewโ€”"

"See you later!" Drew had already turned and taken off down the hall before she could hear what else Oscar had to say, and she didn't stop running till she was outside and she'd reached the stables โ€” even if there had been a few near slips in between, such as when she nearly ran into one of the ladies in waiting.

Drew slowed her pace once she was inside the stable, and she wasn't expecting to find anyone inside. She was greeted by a familiar face, though she was quite sure that while she had seen him around before, she had never actually spoken to him.

"Oh, hello," she spoke up, in between her panting. She was just catching her breath after having run all the way out there. It felt good to run. It was why she didn't want to deprive poor Casper of it. He didn't deserve to sit in a barn all day. Drew understood how that felt.

Speaking of Casper, he was currently enjoying the company of the stablehand whom Drew was only vaguely familiar with. "I see you've met Casper," she added on, taking a few more steps inside so she could get closer to her horse.
 
Evered
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He had always been absolutely terrible with words. His tongue would fumble over them, and at first, some assumed it was because he was not speaking his first language but in reality, it just did. He was never sure of what he was saying, which was no good in his line of work, but it simply was. In his mind, he could picture the conversation, could even imagine the scenario that would turn out, and more often than not, it turned out perfectly splendid, with no consequences whatsoever. In reality, however, the instant he opened his mouth and attempted to recite the words he had practiced in his mind, things started to go awry. Perhaps the person wasn't dressed how he expected or asked him a question in a tone that he wasn't anticipating. Perhaps someone was moving behind them, towards them, as if to join the conversation, or there was simply commotion in the corner of his eye. His main line of work required he be aware of everything, every last twitch and movement around his target. In a line of work that required little talking, this was fine; watching from afar and not interacting lent itself to not fucking up speech, as a matter of fact. But alas, he still lived in a world where he had to, on occasion, talk to others so that he may gather information for his primary skill easily.

"Ah," he said, sounding far more surprised than he would appreciate, wincing at his tone. "Ah," he repeated, as if he hadn't already said that out loud. Another wince. This was going no where. "My name is Evered," he tried. He wasn't sure what compelled him to give up that piece of information, but it came anyways. People usually started conversations by greetings, didn't they? But of course, the woman before him was the princess and probably never needed to greet anyone with her name, at least within the castle. She was popular among the common folk, he knew, and so surely it would be expected of him to also know her face. Which he did-- she came to the stables often and while he usually stuck to his own corner, his own side, he still saw her and heard her.

"You must be the princess," he said, voice a little more high-pitched than he liked, making him sound more youthful than he was, more star-struck than he was. Working for the highest lords and ladies of the land and killing for them generally cut down ones admiration for them pretty quickly. Nonetheless, he gave a respectful bow and with a sweeping gesture of his hand, presented the horse to her. The horse which she was coming to get on anyways.

"Yes," he said, his mind finally deciding to respond to her statement with a single syllable. "I quite enjoy his company." What.
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codedbycrucialstar | hidden scroll
 

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