[DND] [M] Simply Scavenging

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ooc Here
Legs lifted with a high knee to step over the brush as he looked ahead to catch Quinn's eye. When she'd happened upon him lazing on the fountain's edge, he figured it was just another one of the Cavaliers come to meet him, or give him something to do, but what had come out of her mouth was dead-pan, a question of his own heart.

Scavenging. He could get in good with the Cavaliers if he brought some gifts to them, not to mention, he could use more than the tattered clothing he still walked around in, and maybe a weapon or two if anything discarded could be discovered.

The plume of smoke rose high over the canopy of trees and Quinn's paws seemed to be making their way in that direction. Abandoned camp, rang in his mind as he followed her lead, Zetsubou's weapon still at his waist. Borrowed, of course. He'd give them back should he be asked for them. After all, what was a scavenging trip without something to protect themselves with?

Unarmed in the neutral lands? Now that seemed dangerous, didn't it.

“Abandoned, you said?” The spread of his smirk crossed the dark features of his expression. The one Knight in the realm that had a flair for his own devices, perhaps he could be a Cavalier to the core after all, “For the items of value, should not all be delivered to Casa di Cavalieri, then I'd would stake my keep for my worth,” He spoke unto her, so the considered things might be salvaged from the usual wear and tear of travel, “I'd like to impress a certain taste in those I meet. Not that of a begger. For the Cavalier Impression,” He described. Clothing. Armor. Leather. Simply put, “Gear, at least, fabric should it supply.”

What he required from the small journey in the direction of a ruined city by the name of Halifax was spoken, if only to strike conversation to the older, more blasé Cavalier. He wasn't entirely used to more social settings, but he'd work them to his advantage if he could. His main drive, main focus, was providing for himself to ensure that he could properly be a part of the pack that had, on Zetsubou's honor and his youth, taken him in.

Expectations were for the unimaginative. This she most fervently thought. She thought that maybe Uncle Eros would be proud and couldn't help but wonder when her goals had shifted to encompass that. It was a harsher, more sharper Quinn than had ever existed that looked up at the plume of smoke that curled into the sky above their heads.

"It was abandoned." She said with a shrug, not caring either way. Scavenging or stealing, they were both the same thing, the Cavaliers just liked to heap emphasis onto the former to make themselves feel better about it. They were thieves all the same, of cloth and color, blood and bias, Casa tore away the honor of others to frivolously increase their own wealth and opinion.

It sickened her, in a way.

Quinn paused, turning to squint at him as she chewed over his speech. Fabric and cloth. Of this the Cavaliers had plenty and she could easily tell him that the tailors would provide what he could trade for. This, she sensed, was not what he wanted. He craved in the way she might have done, to provide for self and same.

"Alright." Matter of fact, for she truly cared not of what he took for his own self. To the victors went the spoils.

Though many might think differently, Quinn was not so a stupid slacker than listened to nothing of the world around her. She only tended to file it away for later thinking, when her mind spun less and her body rebelled at a lesser notch. Never had she forgotten of the whispers that followed her and Kira upon their arrival, that Anatheman had followed them like a slur before they had decided she was worth trusting.

Hypocrites. All of them.

From ahead, the sounds of revelry reached them, slurred voice and the smoke of other, more potent drugs touched her sensitive nose with a smoky kiss.

"They might be so drunk that we can walk in and take what we want." Quinn did not haggle over the words, for it was clear now how her direction laid, to that of thievery.


ooc Here
A chuckle, deep in his throat matched with a mischievous smile, quietly rumbled in Nazar's chest. With every instance of the female's attitude, he appreciated her company more and more. From what Zetsubou had said, they were a good-hearted kind, righteous in their own way and defenders of those who could not defend themselves. It seemed that the older step-brother of his did not know those whom he lived around. Hungrily, his hands flexed in the weapons that were not his own, ready to put them to the work that they had been meant to do.

In Zetsubou's hand they had been measured, but in his father's? Oh, they were lethal, and they had been made to be so.

Quinn approved of his request without complaint and the rest of the little jaunt was without a peep more from him. He had what he wanted, needed, and anything more would be a boon to their endeavor.

It wasn't long until they arrived on the scene of shadows that moved in mirth, and the potent sting of smoke touched his nose. Glacier sights found Quinn as her voice unfurled, her direction without complexity or micromanagement. Take what we want. The lack of a grand unveiling of some master plan and how that would make the future taste was a brilliant change of pace, and his devices would be his own.

“Oh, Officer. Don't lead me to sin, now,” Clean, white teeth lent her a grin, impish and dashing in nature, then his eye left her form. Crouched low in the brush, he searched for a vantage point that would offer him a good look at what there was amid it all.

The fire rolled with smoke, the same as the papers rolled in the mouths of them. Pieces of information were lost to the branches, leaves and all manner of items they owned, but what cold sights did find was the attire that one of them boldly adorned. It wasn't fancy, of course. They were loners, after all, but it was far better than what Nazar had. Anything else he could collect would be for the Cavalier kind.

Beneath the cover of brush, he searched for the form of Quinn, seeking her out before he'd make his first move. He wanted her fingers to be the first to touch, the first to take, the first to be guilty over his own. Proactive, he decided, would be his best method in ensuring that his instances followed the laws that were set for him.

Zetusbou's life, after all, was just as much at stake, and Nazar knew a losing battle when he saw one.

Perhaps it was foolish of her to chatter so openly of these less noble behaviors, but then, Quinn was rarely disposed towards good ideas and thinking things through properly. She was full of contradictions and inconsistencies, but from how Nazar chuckled, she felt that he didn't much care either. Quinn's grin was sure and the same as his.

Just like she didn't ask him where he'd gotten those weapons that she was pretty sure she'd seen Zetsubo lugging about with him. Less worried, given the state of intoxication their targets happened to be embroiled within Quinn barked out a doggish laugh.

"Sin is relative to your morals. Are you a sinful man, Nazar?" She parroted the line she'd heard from someone at some time. She wasn't quite sure when. Her teeth were just as white and impish, the mischievous energy of her spent widely across the frame of her tall, lithe form.

Quinn was perhaps the worst of the Cavaliers for Nazar to take example from, for she was no true Knight at heart. Even her Knightly blood was passed down through a man flawed and weak, given to pleasures of the flesh and a selfish tendency. Quinn was nothing like her Grandfather, with his Kingly ways and the Honor set into his flesh.

Rather than issuing a plan of attack, Quinn stood herself up tall and walked forwards, right into their camp, with a hand to wave for Nazar to follow. It was like the games of playing pretend with Kira.

"Oh, good sirs. Maybe you could help us?"

The drunk men turned their eyes to her long legs approaching from out of the fire's reach, with an innocence she did not posses, she fluttered her ocean eyes at them,

"Me and my brother, you see, we got set upon by bandits. We don't have anything to our names, maybe you could be good men and help us?"

The drunken fools gaped, open mouthed, and appeared lost to their silence, the eyes of them roaming.


WoTD: Public-spirited
In tandem, Quinn skipped no beat to prove how distant she was from Cavalier's ilk. There wasn't an iota of concern for the public-spirited shortcomings between them, and if it were to be measured at all, it would have been celebrated. Her grin as wide and devious, she inquired of him. Far be it from him to admit his own lacking neutrality,” Morals are relative to perspective, Officer,” Notes of his own tone growing darker as shallow pools of blue narrowed, peering into the camp at that outfit that seemed almost a perfect fit. A hum lead a gravelly chuckle that came from the back of his throat,” Should he pray to a God of death, murder would suit a King,” Pitch pupils turned to the corner of his eye while his face remained ahead, his grin ne'er faltered,” Theoretically, as it were.”

King, he was not, but he knew the blood that flowed through his veins. Ancient royalty, true royalty, of nobles stolen of their kingdom by a bastard son in the night. Tales so tall that they rivaled his own father for they're grandeur. His Great-Grandfather, murdered. His Grandfather, slain. His Father? Achsah told him plainly. Carrion for the ravens. What did that make Nazar? A prince with no throne to inherit, no land to claim, but all the ego in the world to inflate his stubborn skull.

The cadence of they're conversation was cut rapidly short as Quinn lead the charge, but in a way that had Nazar's eyes watchful. Even as her hand beckoned him, a lifted brow watched curiously in silence, up until she approached and bayed the men hear her.

Cold blue of Nazar's eye traced her up and down as he enjoyed the view from his hiding spot just a smidgen longer than he should of, before having his fill and rising to his full height. Before his form hit the light of the fire, he tousled his hair to suit her story. How well his current attired applied wasn't absent on him.

A larger shadow appeared behind Quinn's feminine form, square in shoulder but with the traces of youth still on the edges of his construction. Steps forward, carried by large, sooty paws, brought him fully into the light at Quinn's side. The boy had nothing to say to these lesser men, and while Quinn delighted in posing for them, Nazar did not let the glimmer of iron on his hands to unnoticed. There were enough of them to pose a risk, as the youth knew full well that most of his training was in theory after the fiasco on the mountain, but in their inebriated state, fortune might smile on them.

So, Nazar did grin the same and the amber light of the fire glistened on the wet ivory of his fang.

She might have snorted at his ideas of gods and death. Murder she was no servant to, and each one she had stabbed with her knife has deserved their fitting ends. Perspective mattered only when it framed the crimes comitted in a light palatable to greater society. For example, Casa would likely complain as a whole for her current actions.

Honor and chivalry was a strange mixing in her broken brain.

The weak and strong had their applications. It was rare that she could think so clearly, or act so forcefully with her mother's blood. Those born under the chaos star were arguably already birthed with a curse upon their heads. Though she was a mind in the clouds, Quinn did listen to the words spoken about her.

Lykoi. They spoke with as much of a spit in their speech as Anatheman.

These racist wolves.

Through her mother's blood, could she claim a royal tie to many places. To the coyotes of Inferni, to the wolves of Anathema, and through her father, the Kings of Casa. Noble blood was just as worthless as the rest. They were all worthless ultimately.

Quinn felt his shadow behind her, towering even in his youth. She was not a short woman, the géis of her ancestors blessed upon her a height that rivaled many a man. Nazar stood above her, as the others of giant blood did too.

One, maybe less drunk than the others, narrowed eyes upon her slate and silver form, enjoying himself an eyeful even as he sneered,

<"We don't know you from the next set o' beggars."> Coincidentally this was the one that Nazar was eying up for a new set of threads.

Quinn tutted, her head dipping to the side with a fun, care-free smile,

"I promise we're nothing special." Like Nazar though, her hand was on her hip, touching the belt about her waist where the dagger was an obvious glimmer in the firelight.

Maybe their dual blue eyes were too bright, or their faces not solemn enough but a tension creased through the others too, though they were intoxicated to the max. Succulent, her heart beat too hard in her chest, filling her ears with thunder.

Ropes and whips had taught her nothing at all it seemed, other than to push her luck harder.


WoTD: Candidate
It did not take long for the product of their entertainment to turn it's first fruit. The very man who bore the clothing that Nazar had an eye for, was the very same who spoke over them both. Beggars, he called them both. A disguise he had hidden under for the majority of his life, and Ohja had been firm behind the appearance.

No one expected anything of a beggar.

How else did a man, cloaked in black and painted with scars survive his winters? A beggar king, veiled in the cover of lesser men, with the skill of a warrior sleeping beneath. Nazar's grip tightened on the leather handles of his weapon, the brightness of his icy gaze not once faltering as Quinn exchanged her words. Her tongue was the lever that kept they're veiled intentions, but she was not to poised in toying with her words as she did with her company.

“I disagree,” Nazar spoke to her first, the low rumble of his voice calm and smoothly spoken in his youth, before his words met the man afore,” The things you do not know would make a long list, old man,” Maw formed an apathetic visage before the grin took hold of Nazar again,” You're not meant to know. What ignorance. What bliss,” Jaws hissed, his voice no more than a whisper above the flames, as he finished the last word. All coined at goading the man, alongside Quinn's clicking tongue.

A delicate balance was walked, an edge toed carefully, his voice altered in pitch,” How about a gamble?” Nazar fed the notion. Perhaps, their history was jaded gamblers? Everything stolen at a horse race, or they're items stripped from their person from too many losings. Complicate the issue, yet pivot on a feigned weakness that they might have, something a drunk man would jump to the occasion of if his manly honor was hinged in front of a female.

It was always about power.

He was obviously young, right at the edge of his first year. His upper hand that looked to be a weakness made the perfect candidate to lose his own bet,” Should we win a bet, then you supply my sister here with a few things she needs and that outfit you're wearing. For me,” Carefully, eyes slipped between him and his men,” Should we fail, then you can have her,” A thumb lifted and gestured at the woman, his precious sister, at his side,” Those stakes seem in your favor,” His hand fell, as did his grin into a pout,” Unless... You're afraid of losing to a boy and a woman in front of your friends?”

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