• PM To Join • Bloodied, but Not Broken (Caius)

[Rat]

32nd of Zi'da, Arc 717

Right. Left. Left. Left. Right. Pause, check if being watched, piss. Left.

Breath, low and soft, steamed out of Rat's mouth as tailed his target. He moved his hand to cover the white smoke which danced before his face, distinctly aware of how precarious his positioning was. Eyes heavy with exhaustion, Rat quietly rubbed his thumb against the rough gravel of the alley he was in; the pain keeping him alert and aggravated. The Lotharro still wasn't used to the late nights that his after-work activity required, and this was the third night in a row that he had attempted to trail after the mysterious Nathaniel Boon.

When he asked around the other stagehands about the man, nobody was able to tell him much of anything. Apparently he had just appeared in the Rynmere Theatre on day, and ever since then he was a constant, if mysterious, presence there. No one knew anything about his background, his heritage, or his allegiances. The only thing that Rat was able to piece together was that, from the number of taverns he visited, the man liked his drink. This frustrating obfuscation is what led Rat to follow the man initially, and now it was determined stubbornness that forced the Lotharro to be here for the third night in a row. This man was hiding something, Rat just knew it. No one was this strange just for the sake of mystery, not even actors. Whatever secret the man had, Rat would discover it. Hopefully it would be another clue to the killer, and at the very least it would eliminate another suspect. So he would endure the cold Zi'da nights, the long and painfully boring process of tailing, and even the exhaustion of the unusual hours if it meant he found the assassin.

And by the Fates was it cold. Rat suppressed a shiver, and rubbed his arms for warmth. He wished he had smuggled away a coat from the dressing room before he left, because his stained white shirt and patched work pants did little to protect him from the chill which knifed through the air. If he was lucky, maybe Nathaniel would slip though a market stall filled with blankets and Rat could warm himself while he watched. At this point, Rat wouldn't consider anything impossible for the strange man. The man was equal part erratic and infuriating.

Nathaniel was moving now, and so too did Rat. He let the actor get a decent distance from him before following, and than walked at even pace after him. Rat figured prowling, as was his preferred method of tailing, out in the open would only draw more attention to himself. So, Rat tried to appear non-direct as he kept an eye on Nathaniel, letting the distance and his casual step act as cover for his intentions. Hopefully Nathaniel would either reveal himself as guilty or prove his innocence soon, as Rat was growing tired of tailing this man.

The man began to turn, and Rat found himself scrambling for cover. There was a chance that if he saw the Lotharro,even in his drunken haze, the actor would recognize him from the theater. He ducked low behind a clump of roped boxes, praying to the Fates that he wasn't spotted. Even if Nathaniel had nothing to do with the attempt on Isadora Venora's life, being caught would have severe consequences for the slave. Being out this late, without his master, and skulking after a free citizen; Rat wasn't sure what would happen to himself, but he was sure he didn't want to find out.

He held position against the rough exterior of the box, hugging the side of the object so tightly he could feel splinters begin to dig into his shirt. He held his breath, not wanting to be betrayed by the wisps of white smoke that would escape out his mouth otherwise. Rat burned to check to see if Nathaniel had moved, but he forced himself to stay hidden behind the boxes. Panic flared down the Lotharro's spine as he waited, and time seemed to stand still as his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. Finally, when he felt safe, Rat breathed out a small cloud of white smoke. He stood slowly, letting his lungs fill and checking to see where Nathaniel had gotten to. Rat couldn't spot the man, and kicked the box out of anger. Another night wasted, Rat turned to start the long walk back to the theater.

"Looking for someone?"

Rat froze, cursing quietly under his breath. He looked to where the voice had sprang to life, and saw the form of a Moseke Knight standing before him.
He was so focused on staying out of Nathaniel's sight, he must have missed the man's approach. The Lotharro felt nervous sweat form on his brow as he stared down the towering figure before him.

"No sir, just taking a walk," he lied unconvincingly. Rat smiled nervously at the man, revealing the long, Lotharren canines which hid amidst the rest of his teeth. He began to walk away from the armored enforcer, stopping when he felt the man's firm grasp on his arm.

"Uh huh," the man replied sternly, squeezing tightly on Rat. He yanked the arm close to his face, seeming to search for something. Rolling up Rat's sleeve even as he struggled against the man, the knight smiled as he saw the Lotharro's slave brand. Throwing Rat's smaller body up against a wall, Rat clawed at the armored hand which held him in place. His thick nails screeched against the steel, but did little to stop the man's gauntlet from pinning him solidly. "That's what I thought. Now, what's a slave doing in mid-town without his master?"

"I'm on an errand for my master, I swear by the Fates!" Rat replied, continuing to lie. The blasphemy burned his tongue, but he couldn't reveal that he was stalking an actor home. The longer he chased after the assassin, the truer Jane Andaris' words rang true. He could trust no one, not even the Knights. Fear pricked at the back of Rat's neck as the knight stared seriously at him, as if sizing the boy up against his story.

The solid crack of blunt steel against skin rang through the air as the Knight backhanded him. The blow knocked Rat off of his feet, the dirt of the ground stinging against the gash which now opened on the Lotharro's face. A low growl bubbled out from Rat's throat, and he could feel his claws start to scratch at the dirt as they extended from his hands. Before he had the chance to move, the knight landed a solid kick into his gut, flipping him over once more. The man's armored knee now pressing into Rat's chest, the Lotharro struggled to breath as the knight threatened him with another punch.

"Now let's try this again, what is a slave doing out at this Fates-damned break?"

Rat spat at the man's face in response, anger overpowering his fear. The knight blinked once, then twice, and slammed his gauntlet into the Lotharro's face. Rat could feel his skin split under the blow, blood rushing from the shallow wound. He managed to wring his hand free from the knight's grasp, clawing at the man's face and drawing blood. Rat felt the knight's cold hands clasp around his neck before he saw him move, and the man began to squeeze the breath from his throat. He tried to pull the hands off of his neck, clawing at the metal, but the Lotharro could't find purchase. The man kept squeezing, tighter and tighter. Black spots darted in and out Rat's vision, and his lungs once again began to burn from lack of air.

[Caius Gawyne]

Note

Considering Caius' terrible sleep habits and how much fun combining these two threads would be back to back, this is literally immediately after this thread with Zane. I'm crazy that way.

Caius had barely crawled his way from the tavern in one piece, and he looked it. Disheveled, bruised, and dirtied, the northern noble would have a lot of explaining to do should Darcy have already stopped by, waiting for him to come home or should they arrive within the break of each other. He smelled like the floor of the place he'd just left, much to his noble displeasure, bidding a wary good night to Kieran and Lly'en who both had the fortune of living off Rynmere University's campus in mid-town.

Kieran, being the consummate Biqaj that he was, had begged his friend to come home with him for the night instead of head back to the University grounds looking like he'd been in a bar fight lest the Moseke Knights consider him suspect, but Caius had made a promise to do everything in his power to remain available, to be home at expected breaks, to reachable by Darcy. It was a promise he could keep, so he did, grip on the hilt of his saber at his hip white-knuckled and breath a cloud of mixed emotions against the near-morning Zi'da chill. The young Gawyne tugged the hood of his wool cloak over his ever-unkempt hair and hoped the most direct route home would be the least populated. By the Seven, his body already ached from the beating he'd not entirely been able to avoid in the mad scramble to get out of that tavern.

Snow drifts clung to the alleys in the maze-like streets of mid-town, a treacherous mix of crusty half-melted dirty stuff and just plain ice. Andaris' cold cycle was still mild for the northern noble, and so he picked his way with practiced ease over the cobblestones and through the snow, finally making his way onto a lantern-lit main street.

The sound of conversation drifted in the crisp air and Caius scowled, not particularly wanting to run into a patrol, even if most of them at this break knew his face thanks to his late night work at the Rynmere Gazette. Too-warm fingers drifted to his dirty, probably ruined vest pocket, making sure he had at least one of his calling cards as a form of identity just in case a Knight decided he needed to be questioned. The sounds of conflict still ringing in his ears from the tavern, the young Gawyne realized quickly that there was more violence than conversation going on ahead of him in the dark, and as he rounded the corner, his hot breath caught in his chest and it felt as though too many slugs of miscast lead type were suddenly dumped in his stomach.

Bogs.

The Moseke Knight was alone, which meant he was most likely off duty and on his way home instead of a proper patrol, but he'd taken it upon himself to beat a stranger anyway. Bastard. The young man wasn't helping himself, struggling, fighting back—probably a run away slave given the break of the evening. Caius' scowl darkened further, steps slowing for a bit or two, weighing his options. Wading into that sarding mess could very well get him arrested, considering how he looked, but leaving someone's property to be bloodied on the streets didn't sit well with the noble who already questioned the general status quo.

It was when the armored man spoke, however, hissing his question at the bloodied creature he held, that the printer's diri recognized his voice from trials past when he first met a particular Venora.

Well. That was helpful. Perhaps.

The Knight's back was to him, so focused on making sure the boy got what was coming to him, that it was easy for Caius to slip his hood down and shout with all the authority that was given him by birth and privilege,

"Ser Renot! Stop!"

Now, the young Gawyne was aware that this Knight didn't know his face, and he only knew the man from a brief inappropriate moment in an alley, but it was his chance to get the beaten boy out of his current situation. The Knight stiffened, revealing that Caius had been correct in his assumption, dropping the slave to let him slump to the ground and turning to see who addressed him with a voice he, himself, didn't recognize,

"Excuse me, but who're you? Is this thing yours, ser?" He nudged the Lotharro with his boot, metal of his armor glinting in the lantern light.

Sard it all.

Caius stepped closer, revealing his disheveled self for the Knight to examine, and committed himself to the lie of the moment with a sharp inhale,

"Well, I'd be better able to tell if he was mine if you didn't fekking mess up his face." He sneered perfectly, blue eyes hardening into pale icy colors as he met the gaze of Ser Renot and lied through his pretty teeth, "Pick him up, let me make sure for both our sakes. The ungrateful bastard's a new purchase and still complains I don't keep him fekking comfortable enough to fight well in the pits. Go on. Up with him."

Ser Renot hesitated, dark eyes running over Caius' messy state, but the authority in the young man's voice was just enough for him to reach for the Lotharro and drag him into a standing position, making sure that he tilted his face toward the northern noble, who did everything in his power not to turn away from the stranger's bloodied face in fear,

"What's your name, ser? Do you have all your papers on you for this—" The Knight hissed suspiciously in a cloud of breath, dark eyes lingering on the young Gawyne's blade and his vest.

"My sarding papers ... I'm a Gawyne, do you want proof of that, too? By the Seven, are you even on duty, officer?"

Caius countered coolly as if he was questioning a household servant back home in Umbridge, making a show of patting himself down, revealing he had no papers. His question had an obvious effect on the Moseke Knight, however, who seemed to cower a bit at the accusation of beating a man off duty, "Of course this beast is mine—we were on our way home when a bar fight spilled out of the doors of a tavern. He took his chance to slip away and left me to fend for myself, so perhaps a bit of that beating is well-deserved. But, that's my job, not yours. Now, let me ask again, are you actually on duty, Ser Renot? Or is abusing other people's property a hobby of yours?"

"N-no, ser. I'm not on duty. I just—I saw him and he looked suspicious. I was just doing my job."

"Well, I'm not sure if your superiors will be so convinced that were doing your job or just getting your bloody rocks off on some helpless stranger with your fists. Now, I seem to have dropped my papers after escaping a drunken mess to-trial, so let's just pretend this didn't happen. I'll take my man home and not report you for your actions of non-officiated bodily harm my Fates-be-damned property. Sound good to you?"

Caius could hardly hear his words above the rush of his pulse in his ears, icy gaze straying to the beaten young man the Knight held in his mailed hands. By the Seven, what was he even doing? He wasn't anyone's hero, he kept saying, and yet here he was, playing true knight in the dark again. A-sarding-gain. This wasn't a sustainable habit, especially if Ser Renot called him on his bluff.

He didn't. The threat of being caught off duty had cowed him and he shoved the Lotharro roughly in the young Gawyne's direction,

"Don't let it happen again, my Lord."

"I should say the same for you." Caius growled, exasperated and suddenly struggling to know what to do with the bloodied young man he'd been handed. Of course he waited until the Moseke Knight walked away, cursing and grumbling, before he turned to the creature he didn't know from the mountain of a man or the cloaked man in the tavern he'd just crawled from,

"You're sarding welcome."

❦

[Rat]

His heartbeat hammered in his ears. The world was dark around him. He was vaguely aware of the hands around his throat, the burning in his lungs are they screamed for air. It was hard for him to focus, to move. His body moved out of desperation, but there was no mind put behind it. Instinct kept his hands clawing at the cold iron which wrapped around his neck, but even that instinct was starting to slow. There was just him and the darkness which swallowed his vision. Nothing else.

Then, there was a voice. Loud and clear, it cut through all other distractions. At first, Rat thought it was the collective voice of the Seven, calling him away from this life and into the next. Then he felt fingers fall from his neck, breath return to his burning lungs, and he knew it wasn't his time yet. Rat coughed at first, gasping for air too quickly for his body to handle. He rolled over on his stomach, spitting out blood as he regained his facilities. Claws scratching on the rough cobble which lined the streets, Rat willed his bloodshot eyes to open. Stinging tears blurred his vision as the world rolled back into focus around him, and he finally saw his rescuer.

Even in the dark, the man's eyes burned brightly. They were piercing, searing even, as they bored into the knight who had attacked Rat. He had a noble bearing about him, and if what the man was saying was true, the blood to back up that righteous tone. A Gawyne. Interesting. But if that was true, that only confused matters further. Why would a man of high birth risk reputation on him? Rat was a nobody, he knew that. Inhuman, born of no one, and bound by chains. He had gotten himself in this mess. Anyone could see that plainly. No slave had any right being out at this hour. So why confront a Knight of Moseke on his behalf?

Rat was thankful of course. Having his face beat in would delay any inquiries he had something fierce.

Panting, the Lotharro remained on the ground while the men talked above him. He was smart enough to realize that his fate was in the hands of a noble, than nothing he had to say would help things. So he did what he was best at. Making himself small and eavesdropping on those more powerful than him.

Whomever this Gawyne was, he had a talent for lying. The story he invented was believable, something about Rat slipping away during a bar brawl, and much more so than the original lie that Rat had stitched together on the fly. Granted, the reality of the Lotharro's circumstance was not much more believable. A slave under orders from Jane Andaris to stalk actors back to their homes, all in an attempt to uncover a conspiracy behind the attempted murder of a Venora. Not exactly convincing as alibis went.

The noble was now pressing the Knight, a Ser Renot apparently, about whether or not he was even on duty. This was fantastic. Rat would be smiling if it didn't hurt to breath. He had never seen a noble dress someone down so effectively before. Even the actors back at the theatre showed some measure of restraint when angry at the staff or each other, as Jane was quick to quell any infighting. This however, this was a man using the full breadth of his social class in order to excuse otherwise illegal actions, all on Rat's behalf. He'd be lying if didn't admit that he was just a little bit impressed.

It seemed that the knight had swallowed the Gawyne's pretty lies. Hoisting Rat by the scruff of his shirt and shoving him at the other man, the Lotharro did his best not fall again. Ser Renot left, and then it was just the slave and the noble. He looked up at the man, who still avoided his gaze, and Rat realized how completely he had lost control of the situation. He had gone from the hands of a knight to the hands of a Gawyne, without fulling realizing what that entailed. Rat didn't think the man wanted him dead, he could have just let Ser Renot enjoy himself if that was true, but he also remembered some of the stories that the servants swapped when they thought nobody was listening. Stories of nobles taking peasants off the streets, only for them to turn up days later; praying for death.

Whatever his intentions, Rat didn't think he was safe quite yet.

"You're sodding welcome." The man's voice was crisp, and only tinged with frustration. Rat wasn't sure if that irritation was directed at him, the night, or entire situation that just happened. At least the man finally met his gaze, blue meeting blue for the first time that night. Rat tilted his head slightly and risked a smile.

"I don't know. Few more minutes and I think I would've had him." Rat joked nervously, briefly forgetting the severity of the situation. His mouth hung open slightly, surprised at his own glibness. He didn't know where that came from. That would have earned him a slap from Clay or Farrix. He was in the presence of a noble. He only got away with that with Isadora because she encouraged it. He needed to remember his station. This man was not his friends, he was his better. Rat dropped the grin as quickly, his gaze turning to the man's shoes. "Thank you, my lord."

Rat raised a hand to his cheek, realizing that trickles of blood were still slipping free from the gash on his face. He imagined he looked a bloody and bruised sight. Adrenaline, cool and clear, flushed itself from his system, leaving him only with pain. He could feel the bruises from his beating begin bloom on his body. They crept to life, slow and sure, and soreness spread throughout him. Rat stumbled against the noble as he tried to move, waves of pain crashing down on him as his brain began to process the extent of his injuries.

"Sorry," he began breathlessly, trying to right himself without assistance. Exhaustion from the late night, his investigation, and the brutal beating he had been gifted from Ser Renot finally caught up with him. His arms shook with strain as he pushed himself, too tired to be embarrassed by his pitiful situation. His whole being ached, and despite his reverent denial, his body was too young to be pushed this hard. "You wouldn't be a doctor in addition to a Gawyne, would you?"

[Caius Gawyne]

"I can call him back if you want some more? I'm sure he'd gladly try to take you again. Or both of us, for Fate's sake." Caius smirked at the younger man's glib, watching him bleed in the soft glow of lantern light. His shoulders relaxed and he laughed to reveal he was teasing, sharp blue gaze studying the Lothar's face and realizing he had no obvious brands despite the Moseke Knight having called him a slave. His master must be kind enough to have put the mark elsewhere.

He grunted under the weight of the shorter, younger man, finding that he was obviously more dense with muscle than his own lanky self. Shifting his footing, he didn't shy away from supporting the beaten man, even if the vicinity to blood that wasn't at all his own was somewhat out of his comfort zone. The Lothar would notice the distinct smell of soured alcohol and that musty tavern stink as if the noble had been literally on the floor of one. Some of his well-tailored coat was dirty. There may have been a drop of blood not the Lothar's on it. And his already eternally unkempt hair was a little more disheveled than usual, had he known Caius at all. It appeared some of his bar fight story hadn't been an outright lie,

"Don't apologize to me, though. I don't sarding care. By the looks of things, you'll have to apologize to your master—if you're really a slave, that is. I'm no doctor, I'm afraid. I may carry a few more titles other than Lord, but none of them are medicinal in nature." The young Gawyne chuckled. Printer's diri. Lover. Inquisitor. Asshole. But not a doctor, no fekking way. He shrugged, digging into the inner pocket of his jacket to produce a kerchief, handing it without hesitation to the bleeding creature, realizing he'd never actually been this close to a Lotharro before, but he'd heard enough about them thanks to that incident with the King.

He rubbed shoulders with commoners all the time, given his student life and his employment with the Gazette. While he'd suddenly found himself in the company of his own kind more, he also found himself in the company of the strange when around the Lord Inquisitor. He just couldn't bother to distinguish anymore—people were people,

"Please, you may call me Caius. I don't usually throw my heritage around except to rescue slaves and gain the smiles of pretty ladies." His grin was taunting and wicked and he rolled his eyes, still running on bar fight adrenaline and the high of his deception working so well on a military servant of the Crown. Unless otherwise forced to do so by social situations, the northern noble disliked the trappings of his station, and as a student, he actively avoided flaunting it ... most of the time. He'd worn his House colors and represented his birthright far too much already this season, and it felt heavy, like too many clothes in this too warm Andaris winter. If the young man took the offered cloth, he'd eye the motion of his hand as if searching for his slave brand,

"So, are you someone's property or not? Where am I walking you home to, young ser?" The last of his question carried a note of implied desire to learn the younger man's name, curious about a Lothar this far from the fighting pits at this sarding cold break before dawn, "Or perhaps I should be asking what you're doing out here at this break, anyway? You're not escaping or something, are you?"

Caius' wry grin revealed he didn't feel threatened by the creature, not at the moment anyway, not after he'd watched the Moseke Knight take such advantage of him. While the northern noble didn't look that threatening himself, except for the blade at his hip and his sense of command, the young Gawyne preferred to be underestimated. Perhaps the Lothar did, too.

Ledger

Didn't own one until this thread, so I thought I'd record it here. There's no price listing for a handkerchief, so I'm going to use the price of a bandana. They're somewhat the same in size/shape.

-12sn

❦

[Rat]

Rat laughed in response to the man's comment, puzzled and intrigued by the noble's teasing tone. There was a sharpness in his eyes, an analytical wittiness that the Lothar found himself enjoying immensely. He was a strange sort to be sure, nothing like the other nobles Rat had met through the theatre or spotted from the rafters. Messy hair and a sharp tongue, he reminded him of a dressed down, foul-mouthed, male version of Isadora Venora. He wondered if the two knew each other? Regardless, he didn't act anywhere near how he was taught that the upper-class did. He was...interesting to be sure.

He could tell the other man was struggling with his weight. Rat may not have looked it, but underneath his short stature was a body dense with muscle earned from brutal training at the Warrick Monastery. If the man holding him were to look closer he would see the long scars stretching across his face and the misshapen angle of nose that didn't heal quiet right. And it appeared it wasn't only Rat that had secrets veiled behind station. The Lothar had noticed the sharp smell of ale clinging to the man's coat, and the specks of dried blood stood stark against the cloth even in dim lamplight.

Strange traits for a nobleman to bare, especially at this odd hour.

"Right, sorry. Sard-sorry. I mean-uh, thank you." He was babbling, alarm fraying the edges of his voice at the mention of his master. By the Seven, if Desmond or Clay caught him sneaking back into the theater looking as he did it would not end well for him. And, not that he expected it, the man before him wasn't a doctor. He would have to find a way to either lie to his masters, which given his current track record would not work in his favor. or find his own way to patch himself up. Sighing, the Lotharro shook the thoughts his head and finally found his feet. He needed to focus on the here and now, not a beating awaiting him in the future.

Taking the kerchief, Rat smiled at the young noble, revealing the wolfish teeth his kind was known for. He pressed the fine fabric to his still bleeding face, wincing as soft cloth touched the gash. As he moved his hand to adjust the fabric, he felt his sleeve fall slightly. Had the noble been looking for it, he would spot the stylized 'D' that marked him as a slave of Desmond Davril. Rat again found himself surprised at how different this noble was from his master and the other wealthy humans he had met. A foul mouth and a caustic tongue may have marked this Gawyne, but he had a kinder heart than most other men Rat had met. High-born and low. Branded a slave, albeit one who had a relatively kind master, the Lothar wasn't used to being treated with this level of respect.

"Ha! Well, this slave is happy for your heritage. As I'm sure many ladies are! You can call me..." He paused for a moment, suddenly embarrassed at his name. His true name was Rattigan, supposedly after some religious figure that his adoptive father admired. Rat had always suspected that might've been a lie, a easy deception the monk used to excuse his cruelty. When he arrived at the Rynmere Theatre, it had been shortened to Rat and stayed that way ever since. Compared to the power behind a name like Caius Gawyne, it held little weight. "Rat. My name is Rat."

"Yes, my lord. My master is Desmond Davril, but he has me working at the Rynmere Theatre. I'm a stagehand there, working in the rafters. They're good people there, mostly, and the actors are a...colorful...sort." It was perhaps unwise for Rat to freely admit who his master was and where his bed lay, but the slave felt he had no reason to distrust this man. He had come to his aide, prevented his face from being caved in by an over-enthusiastic knight, and continued to surprise the Lothar with his compassion. If anything he relished the chance to continue talking to the lord, if only to find out more about him. After all, it was perhaps just as peculiar for a lordling like this Caius to be out at this fates-damned break smelling of beer and bearing blood on his fine coat.

"I thought it best to try and slip away in mid-town. Everyone tries to sneak out the gates, and I thought I might as well try and be creative." Rat found his guard slipping the more he talked to Caius, appreciating his dry wit and blunt manner. He met Caius' wry grin with a crooked smile of his own. Escape was the furthest thing from his mind right now. To run right now, while there was still the mystery of Isadora's attacker to solve, he would be putting more than his life in danger. He couldn't abandon the woman he admired so much, not when her attacker was still out there. Rat hoped his jape would distract the noble from the fact he didn't answer his question. He'd be as open as he could with the noble, but he couldn't betray that bit of information. The longer he tracked the killer the more he realized Jane Andaris was right. No one was above suspicion.

"And you, my lor-Caius? What brings you out this late? Drinks with friends?" Hands behind his back, he raised his eyebrow slightly. Perhaps he was overstepping his station, but it seemed to Rat that Caius wasn't one much for station anyway. Rat would wait for the man to answer, and then motion with his hand. "Should we be on our way? The night is cold and it is a long walk to the theater. We can talk more as we walk, if you'd like."

[Caius Gawyne]

"You can talk as casually as you like," Caius waved a hand at the young Lotharro as he stumbled over his words, grinning at the other man, "I'm sure you use all of those words around your equals, so please don't worry about my sensibilities. I don't sarding care."

Still, he watched the slave wipe his face, far from shy about his curiosity as the northern noble had never stood so close to one of his kind before, having only viewed them from much farther away. Thanks to the Lord Inquisitor, his only real knowledge of the Lothar were that magic was an acceptable part of their culture and one of their all-male race had thrown a chair at the king. It was because of a single Becomer of this boy's race that Caius was even tangled up with Kayled Wine in the first place, and even now, the young Gawyne didn't know to what end his new position would lead him.

Thoughts of fire briefly flashed through his memories and for a trill or two he smelled ashes on the chilled breeze, expression growing distant and sour before he blinked back to the shorter, stronger man in the street before him,

"Rat? Is that short for some—never mind. Rat it is, then." His blue eyes had wandered over the other man with more than just casual curiosity as he finished wiping his bloodied visage, not missing a glimpse of a brand on his wrist, though he didn't recognize the mark of ownership until the young Lothar said the name, "Davril, hmm. Maybe I've heard the surname before, but the Theatre? I've been once or twice since I've come back to Andaris to study." Caius was a printmaker, a student of the arts, but while admittedly a bit uncultured about the actual goings-on behind the scenes of a theatre, he could only imagine the types of people who worked there given the types of students who wandered Rynmere University's Arts Institute—himself included.

Still, the young Gawyne frowned for a moment, carefully considering the Lothar's beaten face, as if trying to determine if the other man was being honest about escaping considering how compliant he was about being returned. Blue eyes paled toward silver in the lantern light and the northern noble smirked, shrugging his narrow shoulders with a laugh, perhaps too disconnected from the intricacies of slavery because—with the exception of the House of Roses, and even then for, uh, business before pleasure—he'd not really purposefully been around slaves much in his life. Uncommon in sparsely populated Gawyne, all of Warren's End servants were paid and free.

"Drinks, yes. With a friend or two ... and then some sarding arsehole had to go and start a bar fight over a stool, for Fate's sake." Caius chuckled, ink-stained fingers of one hand curling into his eternally unkempt hair as if to shove it back from his face where it stubbornly returned, comfortable with casual conversation as the pair turned to walk. The talk of the bar fight had his ink-stained fingers smoothing out his stained jacket and wrinkled vest, suddenly aware he was even more disheveled than usual, and it wasn't even eloquently so. He had to think for a moment, breath a cloud of warm air in the weird Zi'da break after midnight and before dawn, only vaguely aware of where they were going, the maze-like streets of Mid-Town familiar but not memorized.

"The night's cold for southerners, yes. Personally, I find Andaris a bit mild all cold cycle, seeing as back in northern Gawyne where I'm from, snow is up to the thatched roofs of village homes by now." His free hand came to rest on the hilt of his saber, while he shoved his other into the pocket of his coat, watching his breath disappear between them in the ruddy glow of lanterns,

"You'll have to lead the way, Rat, though I do suggest it be the right direction, for both our sakes. I'm sure we can think of something convincing to tell your master about this evening before we get there. Maybe. Where would you have gone had some Knight not went out of his way to stop you? Should I be walking you there instead?" Caius grinned then, almost wickedly, as if to brazenly offer the young man his freedom without question, unconcerned by the consequences as a noble stranger in the dark.

❦

[Rat]

"Very well, casual it is," Rat smirked, confidence gaining the longer he was around Caius. "Though I'm not sure you'd want me to talk like I do around my equals. Slaves and servants do love to gossip, but actors and stagehands love it even more. For some reason we're attracted to drama, and there is no drama like nobility."

Rat noticed his wandering eyes, shifting colors in the street light but always ablaze with curiosity. He didn't mind, the young lord had earned a look at the very least. A slave out in the middle of the night, Rat was being more than suspicious. It was only natural that the Gawyne wished to know more about the youth he had helped. He actually found it rather amusing how the Gawyne's eyes shifted from color to color as he investigated further. He remembered hearing something about the Gawyne's having been descended from Biqaj duringhis father's lectures at the monastery, but hearing about a Biqaj's eyes was nothing compared to seeing it in person. Rat wondered briefly if there was anything unique about his heritage, like a Biqaj's shifting eyes, that he didn't know about. There weren't exactly an ample amount of Lotharro in Andaris he could discuss the topic with, and if what Caius had said earlier to Ser Renot was true, he'd find most of them chained and in fighting pits.

Ah, he was a student. Rat supposed that explained his constantly curious demeanor. And out for drinks with friends? Rat couldn't help but laugh with Caius when he brought up the start of the fight. A barstool? How different this man's life was from his. He had only ever intentionally gone to a tavern once in his life, and that night ended with his father throwing shackles around his wrists and selling him off to his new master. He could feel an angry growl claw its way up his throat, and the young man struggled regain composure in the face of that particular memory.

"I'm still getting used to the weather myself. Warrick is...well, it's different from Andaris that's for sure. I've only actually been in the city for a few months now. Still getting used how it all works. Which probably explains how I ended up on that knight's particular shit-list for the night." Mimicking the noble's movements, Rat watched his breath take form in the air before him. Thank the Fates for the small miracles that made his internment livable. Rat may not have had his freedom, but here he was, exchanging pleasantries with a noble after fighting a knight. That was truly an experience he never had never imagined while trapped in the monastery.

Rat froze at the noble's question. Was he...was he offering to help him continue to stalk Nathaniel Boone? No, he couldn't have known what he was asking. Caius was smart, that much was obvious to Rat, but he wasn't a psychic. The noble, in his own impish, wicked way, just wanted to know the real reason why Rat was out this late. The Lothar didn't blame the man, the same type of curiosity drove him to ferret out the secrets of his fellow patrons at the Theatre. Still, the question remained: how did he answer Caius? A lie? Rat's bloody and bruised body spoke to how well that would turn out for the slave.

Fates-dammit. Fine. The truth then.

"I would have continued to shadow the man I was following. See, nearly thirty trials ago, Isadora Venora, an actor and a friend, was attacked at the Theatre. He was in the rafters, where I work, aiming a crossbow at Lady Venora. The attacker and I fought, but he got away. Ruptured away, I think they called it. Isadora asked me to look into it, since I helped save her, and see if I could find the person who hired the attacker, or the attacker himself. I thought Nathaniel, the man I was following, might lead me somewhere damming, but the honestly the man's too drunk too often to have planned anything like this. So that's what I was doing, following a man through mid-town to see if he was connected to the attack," Words spilled out of Rat like a river, only ending when the whole truth had finally come out. His was panting slightly, as if finally revealing what he had been doing was physically exhausting. Strangely enough, Rat felt relieved after he had said his piece. He had held onto that secret for so long, it felt amazing to finally confess to someone. Rat wasn't even sure if Caius would believe him; his tale admittedly being far-fetched.

"So, back to the Theatre then?" Rat inquired nonchalantly, as if they were still discussing the weather in Andaris. Though he knew he should be on guard, he actualy felt himself relax in the noble's presence after that revelation. He had no more secrets to share, nothing left gnawing at the back of his mind. Rat felt no more social restrictions placed on him. He finally felt he could act himself around the noble. "Or would you rather stand out in mid-town where more over-zealous knights can have their way with me? I'm sure it's quite fun to watch, but I can tell you first-hand that steel gauntlets do not feel great around the throat. Though that might just be me. Nobles do have such peculiar tastes after all."

[Caius Gawyne]

Caius chose not to speak about gossip or how well nobility fueled such fires among the common folk with their choices, more than aware that there was always plenty of juicy tidbits for all of Rynmere to chew on at any given moment, regardless of the House providing the fine fare. He shrugged dismissively instead as if to tell Rat that he cared little for social pretense, far used to the scathing accusations that political banter brought to his ears as not only a noble, but an occasionally unconventional one at that in some ways.

He nodded about the weather, being from even further north than Warrick's cold, the farthest northern Barony in all of Rynmere belonging to Gawyne in Umbridge, his home,

"That Knight was out of line. I will file a formal complaint for your protection. Thank the Fates I recognized his face—not that I wouldn't have asked his name. It was uncalled for to beat you during an interrogation, no matter the break, especially given your age and apparent willingness to comply. Fuck that, ser. I'll have him barracked for the rest of the cold cycle or at least mucking the damn stables until Ashan." The young Gawyne grumbled authoritatively, for a moment revealing all the pride of his birthright once again in the tone of his voice. He'd seen enough interrogations that ended in beatings over the past fistful of ten-trials, though some of those had, indeed, been well-deserved. Mages were far from forthcoming when faced with fire—

"Wait, Rat, hold on—he what? How do you know—" Caius had been listening to Rat tell the truth of his exploits this evening, somewhat warmed by the young Lotharro's trust, but the words "Ruptured away" broke any semblance of calm in the northern noble and he stopped walking, fingers curling tighter around the hilt of the saber at his hip. Drawing himself up to his full height, his expression darkened, sharp blue eyes shifting toward a pale silver as he squared his narrow shoulders, "—most common folk don't know Rupturing from any other magic, so who used that word around you? That's very specific. You're telling me that a mage tried to murder an actress in the Theater? And you watched it first hand? Look,"

The young Gawyne stepped closer and lowered his voice, revealing to the Lothar slave that he wasn't just an ordinary noble, that his other title had an unexpected kind of weight, "As Lord Arbiter, I'm going to have to report this to the Lord Inquisitor and open a formal investigation of this incident. If there's a mage involved, even the accusation of one, I'm going to have to formally request to take this ... uh ... pursuit over from you, by Order of the Crown. Your information is valuable, however, as I must weigh the evidence and pass judgement, so I will keep you involved as witness and resource of information."

Of all the sarding things ... Caius smirked in the dark, suddenly all business and less enjoyment, though there was something pained by his tone as if he struggled with a sense of conviction now that magic had become part of the conversation. Attempted murder at least made the case much clearer, mage or not, than some of the others he'd been asked to pass judgement over since the end of Vhalar. Willing to continue to follow the young Lothar through the snowy streets of Midtown toward the theatre, he was also open to answering the slave's questions, though he felt as though he should assure him of his safety first,

"No one's going to have their way with you now. Back to the Theatre, yes, let's not stand around for another patrol ... but do keep telling me what you know. I'm sorry to have to take away your moment of glory, however, surely you understand that mages are as dangerous as they are illegal. It's not safe for you to be tracking them without assistance. I'll be coming by tomorrow with a detective, it seems."

❦

[Rat]

Rat wasn't sure how to respond to the noble's interest in his protection. It had been quite some time since anyone had given that much care to his safety, especially since he had become a slave. Keep his head down, and remember he was property. That had been his mantra since the brand fell on his skin. Perhaps even before then, depending on the day and the mood that Farrix was in. Was this the reason the Noble bloodline was worshiped? Because they had the authority and weight behind their words to make even a slave feel of value to them. Regardless of the reason, Rat knew that he felt growing loyalty to Caius; that knowledge drawing forth a small smile to his face.

He stopped mid-pace as Caius began to question him. His blood ran cold. Had he revealed to much? Had he allowed himself to trust the wrong person. He turned to face the noble lord, and saw the dark expression on his face. Rolling forward on his toes, the Lotharro could feel his claws prick with anticipation our of instinct. Animal eyes traced the man's movement as his hand drifted to the hilt of his saber. A slow breath filled his lungs, and he could feel cold adrenaline prick his veins with keen fear. If the man made a move, Rat wouldn't allow himself to fall quietly to the silver edge of the man's saber.

"Lady Andaris, patron, owner, and director of the Rynmere Theatre. She's the one who gave a name to what I saw. After hearing what sounded like the air ripping itself apart, the mage vanished into thin air. I know what I saw, and I trust the Lady's word." The Lotharro responded as evenly as he could, trying to hide the trepidation which threatened his tone. Seeing the man step forward, it took every ounce of restraint not to bolt from the scene. He trusted the Gawyne, but this sudden shift reminded him far too much of his father's surprise tests. And he without any clue as to what he was being tested on.

Lord Arbiter? Lord Inquisitor? The titles sounded impressive, but Rat had no honest idea as to what to those titles meant. And an investigation? Taking authority from him by Order of the Crown? Caius was overwhelming the young Lotharro with information and orders, and he wasn't sure how to react. He felt a sense of ownership over the limited information he had already gathered. Now it was to be all taken away from him? This didn't feel fair. This didn't feel right. He was supposed to find this attacker and ensure Lady Venora's protection. He wanted to be the hero. For once. He just wanted to be a hero.

"Thank you again for the assistance, both for the walk and for the...Arbitership?" He smiled, a false and hollow thing. "I have been out of my depth. I would be glad to share anything I know with you, but perhaps in the morning? With your detective? It has been an trying night."

He'd have to find a way around the detective in the morning, but Rat figured he could manage it on his own. After all, most slaves looked a like to those in power. He wouldn't allow himself to be cut out of this.

For once, he would be the hero.

[Doran Cooney]

Rat

Knowledges
If you return, please feel free to PM me knowledges and they'll be added to this review!

Loot: N/A
Injuries: Cut on the face - will heal within 6 trials; bruises on the torso - will stop being too painful in 5 trials and fade in 15
Renown: N/A

Points 15

Caius Gawyne

Knowledges
Deception: Pretending at property ownership
Deception: Keeping it believable
Detection: Recognizing a familiar voice
Investigation: Making friends with your informant
Intimidation: Threatening to bring the superiors
Intimidation: Throwing your title around like you mean it
Strength: Lotharro are fucking heavy


Loot: N/A
Injuries: N/A
Renown: 5 - for stopping the beating of a slave; in a city like Rynmere, there are eyes (and mouths) everywhere.

Points 15

---

That was a pretty complete thread! It's a shame we won't be seeing where Rat might lead Caius in a formal investigation, but the thread was fun to read; you both do a good job of playing off of one another. I'm glad to see Caius doesn't want to see someone's property damage. Very noble of him, haha.

Please edit your grade request, thank you!

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[center][img]/gallery/image.php?album_id=39&image_id=7932[/img]Doran Cooney[/center]