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bakerstreet2018-08-08 01:18 pm
priderock) wrote in bakerstreet2018-08-08 01:18 pm
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[ One can still smell the stench of burning flesh -- is it that it clings to Mishal desperately, as if the life itself were trying to bargain with him after the fact? It pulls Valryn's lips up into a sedate, cat-like smile -- not smug, but certainly pleased.
For good reason, really. That human knew better than to try poison on Valryn, but he cannot pretend a though he had been a clever one, only simple and foolish, his downfall promised before he had even laid his blade upon the drow. Did the noble absolutely require the protection? Not really, he could handle combat on his own very easily of course...but having it has been lovely thus far, in the weeks that Mishal has been under his employ, given that Valryn can attract more unprecedented enemies than he ever accrued intentionally in the Underdark. It was something he did not realize he missed having, the opportunity to relieve his mind of the distractions that come with staying alert constantly. Even with senses so aware, Valryn found a trove of benefits in allowing Mishal watch in the direction of his back.
Not that it always results in an uneventful night, because while Mishal might not be fazed by the presence of a drow, the same cannot be said for some others... ]
It's a shame, I rather enjoyed this vest. [ Valryn's low-toned voice, soft in the air, is shallow in its melody of disappointment. The silken fabric is rent apart, his blood stains the emerald threading. How much did it cost? Too much, for how quickly it tore to pieces under such a simple blade. He pouts his lips thoughtfully as he stands in the mirror's way in the dim light, the moment they have returned to the rented suite, the highest-reaching floor of the inn. Well secluded from the roaming transients elsewhere in the building. Valryn always demands it. ]
Alas, I suppose I am doomed to spidersilk garments for the foreseeable future. [ Impossible to get a tailor with the knowledge of how to work with the resistant textile he so loves, but Valryn isn't crying tears over it. He shucks his coat off, and the dark, almost black stain reaches across the side of his ribs. Oh, it hurts terribly to breathe -- exhilarating, really. Some go for a rejuvenating stroll after dinner, and some sustain open wounds. It is his lot, and Valryn cannot escape it.
Valryn really looks just too amused as he looks across over to the guard, over his appearance, at hair that had appeared like fire so shortly ago. ] I might never grow tired of seeing you make torches of the living, ussta ih'ara.
For good reason, really. That human knew better than to try poison on Valryn, but he cannot pretend a though he had been a clever one, only simple and foolish, his downfall promised before he had even laid his blade upon the drow. Did the noble absolutely require the protection? Not really, he could handle combat on his own very easily of course...but having it has been lovely thus far, in the weeks that Mishal has been under his employ, given that Valryn can attract more unprecedented enemies than he ever accrued intentionally in the Underdark. It was something he did not realize he missed having, the opportunity to relieve his mind of the distractions that come with staying alert constantly. Even with senses so aware, Valryn found a trove of benefits in allowing Mishal watch in the direction of his back.
Not that it always results in an uneventful night, because while Mishal might not be fazed by the presence of a drow, the same cannot be said for some others... ]
It's a shame, I rather enjoyed this vest. [ Valryn's low-toned voice, soft in the air, is shallow in its melody of disappointment. The silken fabric is rent apart, his blood stains the emerald threading. How much did it cost? Too much, for how quickly it tore to pieces under such a simple blade. He pouts his lips thoughtfully as he stands in the mirror's way in the dim light, the moment they have returned to the rented suite, the highest-reaching floor of the inn. Well secluded from the roaming transients elsewhere in the building. Valryn always demands it. ]
Alas, I suppose I am doomed to spidersilk garments for the foreseeable future. [ Impossible to get a tailor with the knowledge of how to work with the resistant textile he so loves, but Valryn isn't crying tears over it. He shucks his coat off, and the dark, almost black stain reaches across the side of his ribs. Oh, it hurts terribly to breathe -- exhilarating, really. Some go for a rejuvenating stroll after dinner, and some sustain open wounds. It is his lot, and Valryn cannot escape it.
Valryn really looks just too amused as he looks across over to the guard, over his appearance, at hair that had appeared like fire so shortly ago. ] I might never grow tired of seeing you make torches of the living, ussta ih'ara.
Edited (i'm an aesthetic baby) 2018-08-10 22:51 (UTC)
[ It’s a little strange really. Mishal is used to being the oddity in the room, and he still garners his fair share of stares, but he takes second place to Valryn these days. The drow prince commands attention wherever he goes, and Mishal suspects that he enjoys it more than is strictly wise considering how many of the affected want to kill him on principle
Not that it matters. He’s content to let his employer take the spotlight. Mishal’s job is to subsequently terrify them, which he does, and does well. He’s made it clear by now that anyone who wishes to lay a finger on Valryn would have to go through him first. It was purely duty in the beginning. Serve Valryn and through him serve Bane. Serve Bane always. But it’s not just that anymore.
He looks back at Valryn from where he’s stationed himself, near the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, green eyes that seem to glow faintly in the dim light having never left him in the first place. The flames have banked for now, smoldering, but none the less intense. It’s a far cry from the angry fiery visage he’d born when he lit the would be assassin on fire, then watched, smiling as he burned. It was a small thing for him, easily accomplished, but there’s still an air of satisfaction about him now.
His lips curl into an amused smile. ]
I’ve not grown tired of it yet, but you might at the rate people keep trying to kill you. I’ll endeavor to keep things interesting.
[ His eyes go to the blood, so dark against Valryn’s pale skin. Beautiful, but also a reminder that the assassin had managed to get to the drow before Mishal. To his mind, that’s a failure on his part, and he doesn’t like it.
He uncrosses his arms and closes the distance between them. There’s a predatory grace to the way he moves, like a big cat stalking its prey, but his touch is surprisingly gentle when he presses fingers to the side of Valryn’s chest, tracing the wound thoughtfully. ]
I don’t like this.
[ His skin is fever hot, not enough to burn, but certainly enough to warm Valryn’s cool skin, and there are callouses on his hands from years of handling steel and leather. ]
He should have never gotten so close. I should like to make it up to you.
[ He leaves it at that - an open ended offer, but the way his fingers move over Valryn’s skin borders on a caress, and the heat in his eyes is too intimate by far. ]
Not that it matters. He’s content to let his employer take the spotlight. Mishal’s job is to subsequently terrify them, which he does, and does well. He’s made it clear by now that anyone who wishes to lay a finger on Valryn would have to go through him first. It was purely duty in the beginning. Serve Valryn and through him serve Bane. Serve Bane always. But it’s not just that anymore.
He looks back at Valryn from where he’s stationed himself, near the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, green eyes that seem to glow faintly in the dim light having never left him in the first place. The flames have banked for now, smoldering, but none the less intense. It’s a far cry from the angry fiery visage he’d born when he lit the would be assassin on fire, then watched, smiling as he burned. It was a small thing for him, easily accomplished, but there’s still an air of satisfaction about him now.
His lips curl into an amused smile. ]
I’ve not grown tired of it yet, but you might at the rate people keep trying to kill you. I’ll endeavor to keep things interesting.
[ His eyes go to the blood, so dark against Valryn’s pale skin. Beautiful, but also a reminder that the assassin had managed to get to the drow before Mishal. To his mind, that’s a failure on his part, and he doesn’t like it.
He uncrosses his arms and closes the distance between them. There’s a predatory grace to the way he moves, like a big cat stalking its prey, but his touch is surprisingly gentle when he presses fingers to the side of Valryn’s chest, tracing the wound thoughtfully. ]
I don’t like this.
[ His skin is fever hot, not enough to burn, but certainly enough to warm Valryn’s cool skin, and there are callouses on his hands from years of handling steel and leather. ]
He should have never gotten so close. I should like to make it up to you.
[ He leaves it at that - an open ended offer, but the way his fingers move over Valryn’s skin borders on a caress, and the heat in his eyes is too intimate by far. ]
[ Terrify them Mishal does, and very well. It takes quite a bit to leave Valryn feeling reverent of someone he observes -- but being of fire elemental certainly does the trick, straight-forwardly too. The knowledge of it alone is attractive enough, and Mishal has only ever impressed the prince more through demonstration, through direct methods of loyalty... And importantly of all, through his aboslute ferocity in their altercations, of which Valryn values highly of all. At this point, this many weeks into their traveling, he cannot imagine another guard at his side -- not that he sees it in the way that it suggests. It's convenient, familiarity, isn't it? They have established a rhythm, an understanding, fitting slowly into each other's grooves. That's all it is. Efficient. Effective...
Perhaps comfortable, if a word had to be used. It's a word that requires, and not expressly successfully, some reconciling.
Valryn certainly remembers the failed rogue having been immolated, of course, but he could only tell of how striking Mishal looked as he watched the body burn, the way his lips twisted playfully, nearly child-like, how the bloody-hued light carved deeper shadows into those lips. He might not have words for what watching his protector's face bend so maliciously inspired him to want to do, but then again, no one is asking. If he could, would Valryn tell of it? Of course not. Not out of shame, mind; he is about as selfish as his protective companion is. He would not share this with anyone. ]
I have no doubt. [ Valryn nearly purrs, pale-red irises snapping into the guard's direction. He doesn't think it will be much of an endeavor for Mishal to remain interesting in his attacks, in his style, in simple little details about him, facets that haven't caught the light just yet. His words may tease, but they do not mock; if his guard promises anything more than his protection, it is regularly presenting Valryn with all sorts of pleasant surprises.
What he sees when he looks, though, is the genasi approaching, and finds an expression on his face that Valryn isn't sure he could have anticipated. The drow is caught by it, his own face draining of any physical tells, watching Mishal almost too openly... Well, not 'too openly,' not for them. Not behind a closed door.
But the touch is...strikingly warm. Valryn is no stranger to it, but it cannot be said that he is intimately familiar with it...not so directly onto his skin. Professional contact, between being braced or pulled to safety, more than anything else. Not a frequent occurrence, but not uncommon. Not frequent enough for what Valryn thinks he could stand to be subjected to. His eyes nearly glow at such a daring remark, still watching Mishal, curious about what he's finding here on his face, but offers a newly budding smile of his own. ] Alas he did, the clever thing. Not clever enough, but admirable still. [ Is it possible to express both respect and disdain for an enemy? Maybe it's just a Valryn thing?
A debate for later, perhaps. More important things at hand. ] You should like to, is that it? Are you so weighed down by the burden of guilt?
What, then, do you think will make it up to me? [ Valryn is turning ever so slowly, and not away -- into Mishal's touch, the incredible warmth that bleeds out of his fingers, making his own inflamed wound feel lukewarm beside them. His gaze is latched onto vibrant green, living jewels, almost challenging the guard, yet inviting him all the same. ]
Perhaps comfortable, if a word had to be used. It's a word that requires, and not expressly successfully, some reconciling.
Valryn certainly remembers the failed rogue having been immolated, of course, but he could only tell of how striking Mishal looked as he watched the body burn, the way his lips twisted playfully, nearly child-like, how the bloody-hued light carved deeper shadows into those lips. He might not have words for what watching his protector's face bend so maliciously inspired him to want to do, but then again, no one is asking. If he could, would Valryn tell of it? Of course not. Not out of shame, mind; he is about as selfish as his protective companion is. He would not share this with anyone. ]
I have no doubt. [ Valryn nearly purrs, pale-red irises snapping into the guard's direction. He doesn't think it will be much of an endeavor for Mishal to remain interesting in his attacks, in his style, in simple little details about him, facets that haven't caught the light just yet. His words may tease, but they do not mock; if his guard promises anything more than his protection, it is regularly presenting Valryn with all sorts of pleasant surprises.
What he sees when he looks, though, is the genasi approaching, and finds an expression on his face that Valryn isn't sure he could have anticipated. The drow is caught by it, his own face draining of any physical tells, watching Mishal almost too openly... Well, not 'too openly,' not for them. Not behind a closed door.
But the touch is...strikingly warm. Valryn is no stranger to it, but it cannot be said that he is intimately familiar with it...not so directly onto his skin. Professional contact, between being braced or pulled to safety, more than anything else. Not a frequent occurrence, but not uncommon. Not frequent enough for what Valryn thinks he could stand to be subjected to. His eyes nearly glow at such a daring remark, still watching Mishal, curious about what he's finding here on his face, but offers a newly budding smile of his own. ] Alas he did, the clever thing. Not clever enough, but admirable still. [ Is it possible to express both respect and disdain for an enemy? Maybe it's just a Valryn thing?
A debate for later, perhaps. More important things at hand. ] You should like to, is that it? Are you so weighed down by the burden of guilt?
What, then, do you think will make it up to me? [ Valryn is turning ever so slowly, and not away -- into Mishal's touch, the incredible warmth that bleeds out of his fingers, making his own inflamed wound feel lukewarm beside them. His gaze is latched onto vibrant green, living jewels, almost challenging the guard, yet inviting him all the same. ]
Edited (yes i only edited this to add a subject reply bc unlike valryn i don't want to be rude to lovely peopleakjfhsjkdlghs) 2018-08-12 02:56 (UTC)
[ He’s been watching Valryn closely these past few weeks. That is what he’s being paid for after all. He’d be a very poor guard if he didn’t keep an eye on the person he was meant to be protecting, but there's really no reason for him to pay such close attention when they were in private.
He likes what he sees. Valryn is quick and clever. Sharp like a beautifully jeweled dagger, Mishal thinks for the drow prince is just as dangerous and twice as deadly. Like cold steel wrapped in silk, and it isn't immediately apparent, but after observing him for so long, Mishal recognizes the ambition that burns in him like a flame. He doesn't know the details. He doesn't expect that he would. Valryn isn't a fool who would announce his motives to the world at large, and Mishal respects that, admires it even. ]
I fault myself for not killing him where he stood before he laid a finger on you. If I could kill him twice, I would, [ he says it simply, with a with an intensity that's unsettling. ] In fact, I could, but I think reviving the man only to hurt him again wouldn't go over very well in polite company.
[ He doesn't smile as he says it. It's not a jest. He's completely sincere, and little flames are licking at the ends of his hair as he speaks. He's acting on instinct, and if he took at step back now, he might recognize his behavior for what it is. He only gets so overprotective with the people he values most, and that list is not a long one.
The fire genasi is emotional and impulsive by nature, and even with the discipline that comes from years of service to his god, he can't always stop himself from acting before he thinks. That's in effect here as he dips his fingers in blood, careful not to touch the wound directly. ]
Some kind of toxin on the blade. [ It's not necessary for him to touch in order to heal, and Valryn would know that. Mishal is indulging himself, and since the drow doesn't seem inclined to stop him, he continues his slow examination. He doesn't like that Valryn is injured, but he does appreciate the beauty of it. So much dark blood against even darker skin. ] Not lethal, but it must hurt quite a lot.
[ The pain fades as he speaks, but the healing isn't without sensation. Instead, there's a tingling effervescent sensation, not painful, but bracing, a little too strong to be strictly comfortable. It's a conscious choice on Mishal's part. It doesn't have to feel like anything at all. He can make the experience completely painless if he wants to, just as easily as he can make it agony. In this case, he doesn't think the prince would appreciate being treated like fine china. He's not fragile, and Mishal wouldn't make the mistake of treating him like he was. His eyes don't leave Valryn's face. ]
But I don't think you mind pain, do you?
[ And neither does he.
The wound closes, leaving nothing but bloodied smooth skin in its wake, and Mishal presses his palm against the place where it had been, splaying his hand across Valryn's side. He smiles, playful, but far from innocent. ]
I am at your service of course. What would you like?
He likes what he sees. Valryn is quick and clever. Sharp like a beautifully jeweled dagger, Mishal thinks for the drow prince is just as dangerous and twice as deadly. Like cold steel wrapped in silk, and it isn't immediately apparent, but after observing him for so long, Mishal recognizes the ambition that burns in him like a flame. He doesn't know the details. He doesn't expect that he would. Valryn isn't a fool who would announce his motives to the world at large, and Mishal respects that, admires it even. ]
I fault myself for not killing him where he stood before he laid a finger on you. If I could kill him twice, I would, [ he says it simply, with a with an intensity that's unsettling. ] In fact, I could, but I think reviving the man only to hurt him again wouldn't go over very well in polite company.
[ He doesn't smile as he says it. It's not a jest. He's completely sincere, and little flames are licking at the ends of his hair as he speaks. He's acting on instinct, and if he took at step back now, he might recognize his behavior for what it is. He only gets so overprotective with the people he values most, and that list is not a long one.
The fire genasi is emotional and impulsive by nature, and even with the discipline that comes from years of service to his god, he can't always stop himself from acting before he thinks. That's in effect here as he dips his fingers in blood, careful not to touch the wound directly. ]
Some kind of toxin on the blade. [ It's not necessary for him to touch in order to heal, and Valryn would know that. Mishal is indulging himself, and since the drow doesn't seem inclined to stop him, he continues his slow examination. He doesn't like that Valryn is injured, but he does appreciate the beauty of it. So much dark blood against even darker skin. ] Not lethal, but it must hurt quite a lot.
[ The pain fades as he speaks, but the healing isn't without sensation. Instead, there's a tingling effervescent sensation, not painful, but bracing, a little too strong to be strictly comfortable. It's a conscious choice on Mishal's part. It doesn't have to feel like anything at all. He can make the experience completely painless if he wants to, just as easily as he can make it agony. In this case, he doesn't think the prince would appreciate being treated like fine china. He's not fragile, and Mishal wouldn't make the mistake of treating him like he was. His eyes don't leave Valryn's face. ]
But I don't think you mind pain, do you?
[ And neither does he.
The wound closes, leaving nothing but bloodied smooth skin in its wake, and Mishal presses his palm against the place where it had been, splaying his hand across Valryn's side. He smiles, playful, but far from innocent. ]
I am at your service of course. What would you like?
Edited 2018-08-14 10:13 (UTC)
[Could be either! Voicetesting: OTA]
[I would! I haven't played DA2, but from what I know of Fenris, they might not get up very well, at least at first? That could be interesting!]
[Excellent! It would definitely be rocky until Fenris realizes that they hate the same things about Tevinter, and that Dorian is nothing like the other Magisters. Also a plus if Dorian doesn't attempt to use him or treat him like a slave despite Fenris acting as his bodyguard.
As far as a timeline I thought maybe this could be when Dorian leaves for Tevinter after DA:I and Hawke convinced Fenris to go with him, or maybe they just went on their own mission during the events of the Inquisition. What do you think?
I can never resist trying to shove these two pretty boys together xD]
As far as a timeline I thought maybe this could be when Dorian leaves for Tevinter after DA:I and Hawke convinced Fenris to go with him, or maybe they just went on their own mission during the events of the Inquisition. What do you think?
I can never resist trying to shove these two pretty boys together xD]
[I think that works! Returning to Tevinter, Dorian would definitely need a bodyguard. They don't like him back there, and it won't get any better once he starts announcing that he is here to bring reform to the country...
Fenris and Hawke could accompany him to the border because the Inquisitor asked them to? Or they could be hunting the few remaining venatori and meet Dorian near Tevinter as he's doing the same?]
Fenris and Hawke could accompany him to the border because the Inquisitor asked them to? Or they could be hunting the few remaining venatori and meet Dorian near Tevinter as he's doing the same?]
(Voicetesting. Can play the guard or the guarded, but it depends on who I'm playing with. She's a cyborg with a deadly robot friend, so she'd make a great bodyguard. She's also on the run from the law, if anybody wants to step in and help~ Prefs in the journal!)
[Needs a guard, definitely. Can play age 14+]
They had decided, under Narcus' advisement, to attempt a clandestine meeting with potential allies. But of course, clandestine meant small, and Darun had felt his bloodpressure spike so much, so suddenly, that the backs of his eyes ached in their sockets. He had agreed, of course: they did need allies. And armies, and leverage.
But it was yet another risk to Arslan to add to the long list of those they'd already survived. And Darun was an experienced enough soldier to know that all the luck in the world, all the careful planning, even all the skill at their disposal... wouldn't protect them forever.
So he met his king in the moonlit courtyard, a dark cloak hiding the glint of the still-dark armor underneath. He carried another cloak folded over his forearm, and with his free hand beckoned the pale figure toward him.
Arslan was slender as a willow; his fine hair soft and luminous in the blue-cast light, which caught strangely on his pale skin. It made him look struck from silver, almost, the curves of his features still too boyishly soft to collect deep shadows.
Darun unfolded the dark cloak he carried, and drew it with precise care around his master's shoulders. He watched his hands, and not his master's face, as he pinned the garment neatly in place, and felt his mouth go dry.
"Two hours' ride on our route, which avoids the roads. Remember what I told you."
If anything happens, flee. Leave me behind; I can handle trouble. If you're going to be a hero, be one for our people, and not just one man. Survive, at any cost.
But it was yet another risk to Arslan to add to the long list of those they'd already survived. And Darun was an experienced enough soldier to know that all the luck in the world, all the careful planning, even all the skill at their disposal... wouldn't protect them forever.
So he met his king in the moonlit courtyard, a dark cloak hiding the glint of the still-dark armor underneath. He carried another cloak folded over his forearm, and with his free hand beckoned the pale figure toward him.
Arslan was slender as a willow; his fine hair soft and luminous in the blue-cast light, which caught strangely on his pale skin. It made him look struck from silver, almost, the curves of his features still too boyishly soft to collect deep shadows.
Darun unfolded the dark cloak he carried, and drew it with precise care around his master's shoulders. He watched his hands, and not his master's face, as he pinned the garment neatly in place, and felt his mouth go dry.
"Two hours' ride on our route, which avoids the roads. Remember what I told you."
If anything happens, flee. Leave me behind; I can handle trouble. If you're going to be a hero, be one for our people, and not just one man. Survive, at any cost.
Night was Arslan's favorite time of day, as it often granted him some reprieve from his many duties, allowing him to think and relax slightly. He never was fully free, of course, what with the fact the small army he had amassed potentially having to move at any second, or updates about the next day - or even further out - being sometimes delivered in those same hours, but he still liked the night and whatever break it could give.
Tonight was unfortunately without break, it having been decided to be the best time to meet their next potential allies - though not on the Parsian army's terms - which had everyone nervous. An ally who hid in shadows could be an enemy.
Yet Narcus had insisted the risk was worth it, that these people just preferred to keep their plans to themselves until things had been decided with certainty. Which had lead to a furious Darun, who believed that if things were on the up and up, a nighttime, clandestine meeting would not be. Even Arslan had agreed, but at some prodding, finally gave in to Narcus on the situation.
He was glad, then, that Darun would be acting as guard and not someone else. The man was loyal to a fault, and knew Arslan to be the same, hence the words he had spoken before.
Watching as Darun secured the riding cloak around his shoulders, the boy responded to the reminder. "It will be alright, Darun. I trust Narcus will not lead us into a trap."
Tonight was unfortunately without break, it having been decided to be the best time to meet their next potential allies - though not on the Parsian army's terms - which had everyone nervous. An ally who hid in shadows could be an enemy.
Yet Narcus had insisted the risk was worth it, that these people just preferred to keep their plans to themselves until things had been decided with certainty. Which had lead to a furious Darun, who believed that if things were on the up and up, a nighttime, clandestine meeting would not be. Even Arslan had agreed, but at some prodding, finally gave in to Narcus on the situation.
He was glad, then, that Darun would be acting as guard and not someone else. The man was loyal to a fault, and knew Arslan to be the same, hence the words he had spoken before.
Watching as Darun secured the riding cloak around his shoulders, the boy responded to the reminder. "It will be alright, Darun. I trust Narcus will not lead us into a trap."
A muscle jumped in his jaw; a retort that would have come more hotly to anyone else cooled where he trapped it behind his teeth. Darun closed his eyes, and let his breath trickle out from between his lips.
"As do I. But as much as he thinks he might, he doesn't know everything. What if our messages were intercepted by our enemies? Even the best-laid plans can be undone by the smallest twist of fate."
His fingers twitched the hood of the cloak up, hiding his king's fair hair, the contours of his face, all under shadow. The boy's eyes gleamed like shards of crystal, even so.
In his dreams, the many times he'd nearly failed to keep his king alive haunted him, like portents of doom. Not infrequently he woke well before the dawn, brow and the back of his neck prickling coldly with sweat. But even that terror felt somehow dimmed, his liege looking upon him so, and Darun only sighed again, mouth twitching toward a spare smile.
"But, here we are. If it is somehow not alright, I will make it so."
"As do I. But as much as he thinks he might, he doesn't know everything. What if our messages were intercepted by our enemies? Even the best-laid plans can be undone by the smallest twist of fate."
His fingers twitched the hood of the cloak up, hiding his king's fair hair, the contours of his face, all under shadow. The boy's eyes gleamed like shards of crystal, even so.
In his dreams, the many times he'd nearly failed to keep his king alive haunted him, like portents of doom. Not infrequently he woke well before the dawn, brow and the back of his neck prickling coldly with sweat. But even that terror felt somehow dimmed, his liege looking upon him so, and Darun only sighed again, mouth twitching toward a spare smile.
"But, here we are. If it is somehow not alright, I will make it so."
He was not unaware that there was a comment there, left unsaid, and he couldn't hide the small laugh, even as the hood was drawn over his head.
His hands raising to adjust that hood, barely missing touching the much stronger hands he loved and respected, he speaks what from anyone else might be an admonition. "You worry too much."
Nothing more needed to be said. Arslan had never been shy about his trust in the dark knight, in his ability to protect him. Where Darun may have had nightmares about the times he couldn't help his Lord, Arslan had only pleasant dreams; all nightmare quickly banished when the presence of his oldest friend was recognized.
Only once did he truly worry, and it was not for himself. Gardeep and Lajdendra's childish fight for their kingdom, the lack of being upfront from the one the Parsian's had chosen, had left the boy angered and scared. He knew his kingdom should come first, no matter what, but without Darun...
"Now let's go. We don't wish to be late."
He turned then, grateful for that rare smile, and moved to mount his horse.
His hands raising to adjust that hood, barely missing touching the much stronger hands he loved and respected, he speaks what from anyone else might be an admonition. "You worry too much."
Nothing more needed to be said. Arslan had never been shy about his trust in the dark knight, in his ability to protect him. Where Darun may have had nightmares about the times he couldn't help his Lord, Arslan had only pleasant dreams; all nightmare quickly banished when the presence of his oldest friend was recognized.
Only once did he truly worry, and it was not for himself. Gardeep and Lajdendra's childish fight for their kingdom, the lack of being upfront from the one the Parsian's had chosen, had left the boy angered and scared. He knew his kingdom should come first, no matter what, but without Darun...
"Now let's go. We don't wish to be late."
He turned then, grateful for that rare smile, and moved to mount his horse.
(likely the bodyguard but could definitely be reluctantly guarded)
[ooc: most likely the guard. tentatively ota sw canonmates]
The gunfire was over their heads, but Sam didn't like to think of it that way. "Blondie, stay down!" Sam shouted, lifting The Colt and pressing off three accurate shots one after the other. There was a pop sound, then a hiss, one after the other.
"Luckily, I'm a good shot." Grabbing Jason by the shoulder, Sam shoved him into the car. Once he got the vehicle started, his hand slammed down, keeping Jason's skull against the seat cushion as he raced both of them away from ground zero.
"You've got a dollar sign on your head, and some bigwigs in the pantheon want to saved and killed at the same time." Sam's hand stayed on Jason's head until he'd run several stoplights.
Finally, the pressure let up. "Care to tell me a story, Blondie?"
"Luckily, I'm a good shot." Grabbing Jason by the shoulder, Sam shoved him into the car. Once he got the vehicle started, his hand slammed down, keeping Jason's skull against the seat cushion as he raced both of them away from ground zero.
"You've got a dollar sign on your head, and some bigwigs in the pantheon want to saved and killed at the same time." Sam's hand stayed on Jason's head until he'd run several stoplights.
Finally, the pressure let up. "Care to tell me a story, Blondie?"
You know, Jason thought he had seen it all, and then some jerk brings a gun to a sword fight. If Sam hadn't been there, shoving him into a car and driving them away to safety, he wasn't sure what would've happened. (Okay, he knows. He would've been shot. He isn't Superman in every sense of the word, and he would've probably died then and there.)
Once he feels the pressure decrease, Jason lets out a slow, drawn out breath.
"Depends on the story you want to hear," he said without really thinking, fishing for his glasses in his pocket and putting them back on. There. Now he could see... wherever they were going. "Gods loving and hating me isn't exactly a new thing. It's a day ending in y."
He sighs, rubbing his temple as he thinks about how he had even gotten into this mess. He had meant to live an ordinary existence. He had enrolled in the nearest all-boy school after his adventures had ended, and he had purposefully distanced himslf from his ex Piper McLean.
But of course, distance doesn't decrease the odds that someone wants to kill him.
"My best guess: there's a prophecy involving me, and the god out to kill me is also the one who wants to make sure it doesn't come to pass."
Once he feels the pressure decrease, Jason lets out a slow, drawn out breath.
"Depends on the story you want to hear," he said without really thinking, fishing for his glasses in his pocket and putting them back on. There. Now he could see... wherever they were going. "Gods loving and hating me isn't exactly a new thing. It's a day ending in y."
He sighs, rubbing his temple as he thinks about how he had even gotten into this mess. He had meant to live an ordinary existence. He had enrolled in the nearest all-boy school after his adventures had ended, and he had purposefully distanced himslf from his ex Piper McLean.
But of course, distance doesn't decrease the odds that someone wants to kill him.
"My best guess: there's a prophecy involving me, and the god out to kill me is also the one who wants to make sure it doesn't come to pass."
Sam focused on the road as the mark explained himself. Everything the blond said seemed to fit with what Sam had been told. At the mention of 'gods' though, Sam let out a small grunt. He hated Old World gods. They didn't play by the set of rules he was used to following.
"So you're Jason Grace," Sam said, eyes flicking over to watch the teen's face before sliding back to the road. It was definitely a statement, not a question. "I'm Sam Winchester, and I've been hunting demons, gods, and everything in between since I was your age. I've been hired to protect you for...a while."
Sam went silent for a minute, then he broke into a grin. "You're welcome, by the way. For saving your ass back there. And don't worry, this car's warded so you can relax."
"So you're Jason Grace," Sam said, eyes flicking over to watch the teen's face before sliding back to the road. It was definitely a statement, not a question. "I'm Sam Winchester, and I've been hunting demons, gods, and everything in between since I was your age. I've been hired to protect you for...a while."
Sam went silent for a minute, then he broke into a grin. "You're welcome, by the way. For saving your ass back there. And don't worry, this car's warded so you can relax."
"Yeah, that would be me," he said, giving Sam a once-over and still tensing up. There may not be a fight in their near future, but he still has a lot to process.
Someone - some mortal, given the Gods' track record - hired a hunter to look after him? Jason furrowed his brow, wondering who (or what, he supposes) could've arranged for such a thing. If he weren't so exhausted, he might have argued more. He could have handled himself; his sword would have pierced those guys in half; and he - he didn't know who he was fooling with such a sentiment.
Sam's the entire reason he's alive. Jason has to be grateful for that much, and he is. Or he will be, anyway.
"I'm more worried about you than me," he admitted, acquiescing to his surroundings and moving a golden coin in-between his fingers. "If it's a god that's after me, and it's a pretty big if, they're gonna send every monster they can after us."
Someone - some mortal, given the Gods' track record - hired a hunter to look after him? Jason furrowed his brow, wondering who (or what, he supposes) could've arranged for such a thing. If he weren't so exhausted, he might have argued more. He could have handled himself; his sword would have pierced those guys in half; and he - he didn't know who he was fooling with such a sentiment.
Sam's the entire reason he's alive. Jason has to be grateful for that much, and he is. Or he will be, anyway.
"I'm more worried about you than me," he admitted, acquiescing to his surroundings and moving a golden coin in-between his fingers. "If it's a god that's after me, and it's a pretty big if, they're gonna send every monster they can after us."
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