Those Who Beat The Flames (IC) (Closed)

Relaxing a little bit she closed her eyes for a bit before opening them then looks up at the man behind her. "Call me Anna~" She gave a short reply as she looked at the front. Atmos was quite interesting for Anna she wanted to meet her someday, everything the woman says about her makes her more excited but she knew she had to wait like the time when she had to wait two year for both Deities of Light and Darkness to lend her some of their power in form of a symbol on her body, one on her left hand and another on her back. These symbols are the reason why Anna was stronger than any mage except her everyday training.

Feeling a little dizzy the symbol of light glowed a little bit revealing the magic circle for light. Surprised she covers her hand as it glows, slowly disappearing weird how Aether the God of light tries to contact her at a time like this but she'll talk to him later. Sighing she still lies on Vallus's chest lightly as her bell jingled.

"Are we almost there yet?" she asks while holding her left hand.

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(heavy edit of last post, which I deleted)

Shena kept glancing back at her companion as she walked. Xenia was slow. Shena had slowed her own pace a few times, but when she seemed to fall back even more, she just returned to walking normally, then a little faster; testing speeds. It became obvious that the distance between them seemed to be crudely, but deliberately measured. Xenia was far behind enough to look like they weren't traveling together.

For a moment, she wondered why, then cut the thought and simply walked onwards. Once in a while, she'd glance back only to make sure she was still there. Xenia seemed catlike in the way she scoped out the road, but despite that she was clumsy. A cat blind in one eye, with no tail to balance with, Shena thought. It was probably a forest mannerism - or something. Whatever.

The district they were in now was filled with what her neighbours would call the common rabble. They were the most plentiful sort of people in the city. "Wealthier than the rats in the slums," she recalled someone saying, "but only barely more intelligent." Shena thought they were all-right, though it seemed that wealth made them grumpy and morose. Perhaps because it was never enough to buy their way to the King's private ear. These wealthier folk rarely gave anything to the beggars that could be found lingering on the edges of the road - the coins in their wooden cups came from people of more average means.

Shena was careful to step out their way when one of them came trudging down the road in heavy leather boots and unwashed, expensive, robes; especially since she was wearing her sturdy travel clothes. They would always act a little bit more civilised if she was in either one of her street dresses or her courier's uniform. When she heard the commotion, she knew that Xenia had let him blunder into her.

She stopped, this time waiting for her to catch up. "Do you have two left feet or something? Are you alright?"
 
Xenia tapped the heel of her foot on the ground as she continued to walk, fixing a convincing glare of annoyance at the black. Then she took a step, a small wince slipped in her expression as she murmured something about a rock and her boot. When Shena stopped on the street, Xenia did the same and squatted down low to slide the copper colored zipper onto the floor. As she said, a considerable sized stone fell into her grasp and she chucked it onto the ground after zipping the boot back up and rising.

When she did, her eyes caught the stare of an old, familiar woman that sat on the ground over a threadbare blanket. She smiled at her and Xenia frowned for a moment, trying her best not to join her. To anyone else, she looked like your average beggar who held a worn out hat out for the kind people who wanted to help her. Most of the time, she would at least be able to afford a cheap inn for the night, because it was hard for people to deny a woman who could easily be their grandmother. But she knew her as something else entirely.

To Xenia, this was the town muse, the woman with stories to fill her brain with imagination beyond her wildest dreams. Growing up, she had come across the older woman many times in the old woods, but since the flames she only lingered around street corners begging for money. As she and Shena continued walking, Xenia moved over to the woman and stopped, pulling the leather pouch filled with silvers and coppers out of her pocket. Without a word, she dumped its contents into the small hat and heard the woman chuckle lightly.

"Not blood money, I hope."

"Never." Xenia answered briefly, extending the leather bag for the older woman to grasp. It was obvious that silent words were being exchanged between them as the woman grabbed the bag and nodded.

"Ryfia is still with you, girl. You will always be her child, no matter what now inhabits those forests." The youth quirked a brow in her elder's direction. "Bad things are coming for the newly born land, girl. Be wary. Trust no one."

It took all the control she had to not turn around and stare at Shena with suspicion; it was rare for her to associate with those who wandered the woods, especially a girl with such an innocent disposition. Perhaps she had made a mistake in joining the girl as far as she had. But just as she was going to further instigate, the woman shooed her away and Xenia wouldn't dream of disobeying; not with the power she was positive the wrinkled old prune of a woman held. Rushing back to join Shena, she knew she would probably be prodded at with questions by the girl who had obviously realized that whoever she met in the forest was not as hostile as the girl who walked beside her now.

"Old friend." She said, answering an unasked question as they finally made it to the near end of the middle district. Xenia assumed that Shane's home wasn't too far as she knew the Thistle was a short distance away.
 
Shena smiled at her newfound friend. Some people considered themslves generous with a single tossed coin; anything more than that was rarer than diamond. "Did she live in the forest too?" Shena couldn't help but ask. "Did the fire displace her?" The sudden influx of people after the flames had definitely been noticed, by the guards most of all. In the months following the burn, it had not become unusual for there to be screams in the night when the roads had become empty enough for the guards - half of them newly hired and keen - to hunt for the Despicable.

In any case, they were almost at the Thistle. She could see the building - modest only by district standards - with the usual rabble gathered around the outside. She stopped outside, smiled warmly at Xenia, and held out a hand. "I'm sure we'll see each other again," she said. "If you want to track me down, you could probably just creep around the stables at dawn, Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. You'll find me."



There was a table waiting for her inside The Thistle Hotel. It was a daily ritual to visit in the evenings, right before the evening mail rounds. None of her friends there needed the rooms, but the establishment served sweet wine and good food, and their post office was right next to it.

The table had just been a gathering of couriers at first, but they always welcomed travelling merchants, resting sailors, or new citizens. Now, it was just a table filled with happy friends, a lot of which happened to also work in the post offices.

"How is everyone," she grinned, walking to her friends and letting Xenia melt away to the back of her mind.

"Helping me deal with my womanly woes," one of them, sighed, with a flourish of drama. Then she threw her head back and tossed down the contents of her glass.

"Grape juice is meant to be savoured, Lisette" Shena said, patting her mockingly on the shoulder.

"Not unfermented!" she insisted, slamming down the glass with a bang. "That stupid husband of mine vanished on me again," she replied, stroking her rounded stomach. "Aren't men supposed to pay more attention to you when you're carrying their kid, not less? No offense, Shena."

She waved it off. Her unmarried mother had been more than enough as a parent.

"Baltemont was supposed to be here with us early today," someone else at the table explained. "But you know him; he's probably forgotten again. If he's done with his shift he's probably in one of the brothels." He patted Lisette on the shoulder. "Don't worry so much, Lis; his heart is loyally yours. It's just that his little worm down there that needs some exercise, and, you didn't hear this from me, but," he lowered his voice, "He's scared of hurting the little one."

They all chuckled at this, and the blonde woman couldn't help but smile as well. "Hmph," she muttered, "You all know exactly how to make me feel better. Better husbands than him any day," she huffed. "I don't know why I bother with that sack."

They laughed again.

"Well, if you want, we'll all be right here staring daggers at him with you when you rat his head off," Shena said, settling into her seat comfortably.

"Or you could go get him," Lisette said. "Well, if he's in The Flowering Maiden. Do you think he might be? Do you think he's ever fucked your mother?"

With any other group of people, Shena might have felt the need to be defensive. In this group, all she did was bury her forehead in her palm, and say, "Thank you so much for giving me that image." She let the admonishing come from everyone else at the table.

"Lis! Rude!"

"We don't make fun of her mother here!"

"Now, now, remember everyone; as much as we like to poke fun at her mother, she makes three times as much as anyone here."

"Maybe we should stop talking about her mother."

"I second that!" Shena said with a wide smile. She turned to the person next to her. "Dalton, how was your day?"



Dalton was a boatless fisherman they knew well. He woke before sunrise to fish at the docks, then would pack up when it began to get noisy and go back home for a nap. Then he would stay at Thistle, either shooting darts, playing chess, or talking to various people. When merchants and the dockworkers and the fishermen came in, he went back to the docks and fished into the night. He was always there, though Shena didn't see him as frequently as the others due to her woodland adventures.

"It was insane today," he said. "You won't believe this: some girl stabbed a drunk in the hand - had the knife pinning his hand to the table and everything!"

The bartender was passing by their table as they said this, and he grabbed a chair and pulled up with them. "The Justice Knights were here," he growled. "You'd think they'd be better at bar-fights with that bravado and all. By the time they stood up people were already throwing beer mugs at each other. In any case; girl got away, but she wasn't normal. Didn't even order a drink; just walked in, sat down, and stabbed the guy. Something about a payment dispute - got out without a scratch too! Just vanished!" He lowered his voice. "An assassin; and a good one, probably."

"Yes, yes! What he said!" Dalton said, nodding. "I'm glad I didn't have the gut to join that brawl. What was it - two broken hands and a broken foot?"

"And four people banned," the bartender said. "Good customers, but if I didn't get rid of them I'd probably lose even more. I've told a guard about it; he said he'll try to get me at least one guy posted nearby. Nowhere near enough, if you ask me. You guys are going out for evening rounds soon, yeah?" he said, gesturing to Shena and a few others. "You be careful and stay in sight of the guards. Something smells fishy about this whole thing, and it ain't Dalton."
 
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Not to the knowledge of those who had witnessed or taken part in the fight, but Alda was in fact still in the bar. In the middle of the chaos, where no one can be sure just what they saw, the assassin girl had changed forms once again. Now she was pale, her curly hair tied back into a plait and her blue eyes surveying the crowds. She was shorter now, shorter than before, and a little chubbier. It was a quick transformation, a panicked one, really, and she knew she would pay the price later. You see, if Alda didn't have a specific image in mind, then things could go wrong. For example: When she had changed forms from the dark skinned girl to the green eyed girl, she had that specific image prepared for her escape and in turn, it would not wear her out. However, the form she had taken now was not prepared and in turn, she felt exhausted. Alda knew it wouldn't be long before she would fall asleep. Perhaps she could get a room here? She had more than enough in another purse. One that wouldn't be recognizable to those who had witnessed her take the man's.
 
Xenia wasn't exactly sure how to answer the girl, the old woman's words still ringing in her ears. Trust no one. But what exactly had the old coot seen to cause such a distraught statement and why give her an ominous fortune instead of giving details? It was unlike her. It was not comforting.

"No." she finally responded, deciding that she would have to turn around as soon as the girl left anyway. There wasn't a chance she was going to walk into the Thistle in a filthy tunic and hunting boots. Her feminine appearance often gained her customers and it was something she would happily maintain in public. "Just a friend from the streets."

It seemed like her lies were becoming better and better with each passing day; a lie laced with the truth was always believable. When they finally came to a halt, Xenia decided it would do her no harm to be pleasant for a moment and shook her companion's hand. Not wanting to discourage the girl with the truth, she merely nodded at the new information. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips as she watched the girl leave and she turned her back to find one of the many hidden alleyways. Her destination? A nice, familiar brothel.


Being a child of the street had its downside. Never a guaranteed hot meal or warm bed to sleep it, but it also had its benefits, like knowing everyone in every nook and cranny of town. Xenia had known the owner of the La'Belle most of her young life, Jessabelle was a plump woman pushing forty that commanded authority via her very presence. She and Xenia had made a nice agreement the second that the brothel's owner considered the girl old enough to work. Xenia keep the place safe for her girls and Jessabelle would have open arms whenever the girls needed herself freshly clothed or hidden from sight.

"Place is closed 'til dusk!" a shrill thickly accented voice called as Xenia pushed open the door hidden in the shadows of an alley way. "Read the sign for the gods' sake!"

"Closed even to me?" Xenia responded with a cheeky grin, flashing her teeth at the surprised woman who immediately glared at her clothing.

"You wandering 'round town in those rags?" The assassin winced. "Never going to trick those fancy men to give you a second glance."

With a snap of her fingers, Jessabelle had four young girls around Xenia's age whisk the young woman away, ignoring her yells of discontent. It took no less than thirty minutes for the four to agree to a simple comfortable copper gown that fell down to the floor with a gold band that encircled her waist. It took longer for the girls to cease their squabbling than it took the young assassin to dress, apply rouge to her cheeks and charcoal to her eyes. The change was immediate. From a rough looking criminal to a picture of calm elegance. This was her weapon of choice despite the two daggers strapped to her legs and sharp pins in her hair.

"You sure you don't want to work for me, love?" Xenia laughed as she began her exit from the brothel, shaking her head. "It is not as bad as it seems. Better than stealin' and killin' all your little life."

Catching the fur cloak tossed in her direction, the assassin left the brothel without another word and stepped into the streets, taking full advantage of her new appearance to trip and slip in the unsuspecting arm of more noblemen and rid them of their wallets. By the time she got to the Thistle, Xenia had collected enough gold to safely gain herself a few days stay at the inns.


When she stepped in, she found herself facing a few stares and few familiar smiles from past clients and looks of distraught from past targets. She ignored it all and walked towards an empty table, flashing a familiar waitress a smile and receiving rolled eyes in return. While in the brothel, she heard of what occurred in the Thistle earlier on and now she wanted details.

The waitress that approached had two mugs of ale and took a seat across from her with a knowing smirk, an expression that Xenia returned.

"What's the word?"

"Where do I even start?"
 
Shena left the hotel a little earlier than the others to put away her things from the morning before heading off to the office, It was a short walk, but "putting things away" was more than just tossing her bags on the ground. She had two. One was a large, flat, thing, able to fit both bow and sword and yet still discreetly be leaned against a wall or a chair. The other was just a regular satchel, for water, a bit of dry food, and whatever she collected on that day. And the dagger.

Today, she had gathered nothing extra on her journey, but she still ventured upstairs to her collection after laying her weapons against the wall next to her bed.

She'd set the place up with meticulous care. Bookshelves sat in the spaces between large windows, but the only books on them were tucked into the bottom shelves: various study materials from her education lingered there, as well as collections of fairy tales and illustrated myths her father used to purchase for her, back when she was little and he had visited regularly.

Mostly, they were filled with miscellaneous things she had picked up from the floor of the woods: mushrooms of different shapes and sizes that she'd carefully dried; large or strange nuts and pine cones; bits of wood that twisted in interesting ways; all manner of rocks, smooth or embedded with crystal. What wasn't on the shelves was on the wall, flattened in books and then framed and hung. From the spring, buds and flowers, and in the autumn, the biggest and brightest of discarded leaves she could find on the forest floor. Some of the lower shelves were filled with framed items that had lost their place on the wall to better ones. She never threw anything from the forest away. All of them bore the month and year of their acquisition, either carefully engraved in their surfaces or written inside the frames that held them.

Against one wall, between two shelves, her first branch was carefully mounted on one of the dark plaques that would typically hold stag heads, but she'd had one custom made. That was one centerpiece. On the other wall, framed by leaves and flowers, she'd hung an exquisite painting of the forest. It measured a meter across and lacked detail, but the colours danced beautifully. A lucky, inexpensive, find created by a talented apprentice.

There were also several pots of live plants by the southern window. They were the only seeds that she had managed to successfully grow.

Accenting all this were plain burgundy curtains, and on the ground, there was a brown carpet with delicate beige markings depicting a simple texture of vines and flowers. It was all local wool and common dyes, and of course, the items she collected had very little value in gold, but the room looked wealthy nevertheless. Like a nobleman's art collection, or a merchant's gem collection.

Despite the artificial prestige, she never showed the place to anyone. Both her parents had seen it on different occasions, but only because they were her parents and thus entitled. They'd both been impressed, not by the collection, but rather the fact that she'd actually bothered creating it. Her mother had laughed; her father had silently stared with an eyebrow lifted. Discouraging, but she'd continued away.


Shena stared at the collection with a calm pride every time she went up. There weren't any chairs, so she just stood. The only piece of furniture was a bare table in the middle of the room, but this too, housed something. She lifted the lid. Underneath, under a sheet of glass, she had saved every published article written about the wood, and a few that had lead to the burning. The oldest one was a full-page illustrated article of the attempted assassination. The newest had been written two years ago. It was a tiny thing that had been written only twice a year by a writer that dabbled in painting (There wasn't a single painter in the city that hadn't worked in the woods at least once). That article had been the last of the six, though. People were no longer interested in the happenings of the wood. Gently, she laid the dagger, still wrapped, in the center of the hollow table, on top of the glass. She took a moment to gaze at some of the illustrations, but didn't bother with the text. She knew it all by heart. Then she lowered the wooden lid gently and returned downstairs, to change into her uniform and head out.

On the way, a familiar guard stopped her. "Your friends heard this at the inn," he said quietly. "It's Baltemont..."


(Sorry for paragraphs of description; TL;DR Shena is a huge nerd :P)
 
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Alda yawned, glancing around the bar room to find a waitress, or even the bartender. As her eyes landed on the man, she tilted her head, overhearing the conversation they were having. Smiling to herself, the assassin listened in, completely forgetting about the tiredness that filled her.

They were talking about the brawl, of course, and commenting on the guard's abilities. One girl had even gotten up and left, probably for work. Suddenly there was a couple guards by their side, the bartender almost falling off of his chair because he was talking about them. "Are you Lis- Wow you're pregnant." the man mumbled, turning his attention to the pregnant lady. The other guard smacked him across the head.

"Pardon the rookie, Lis," he murmured, shaking his head. He obviously knew the others at the table.

Lisette shook herhead. "It's fine. What has my husband done this time?"

The older guard took a moment, then sat with them, removing his hat. "He hasn't, uh, done anything, Lis... He's dead." The table fell silent as the words left his mouth.

Dalton was the one to break the silence. "W-where was he found?"

"Behind the bakery," the rookie replied, taking off his own hat. More silence. Suddenly, Lis broke down crying, cursing Baltemont at the same time for leaving her with the baby.
 
Anna being a young child she was hold her hand closer to her chest as they travelled. The heat was too hot to bare as she fixed her hat closer to her. Looking at Vina she quite admire her for some reason but she didn't know why. The fear from her chest dissapeard while she bounced her head from tiredness. Unfortunately shewas awake for three straight day before she could even meet Vallus and Vina. 'S-so sleepy' Anna thought as she slowly closed her eyes taking a small nap.
 
Xenia found herself entertained by the day's gossip, allowing herself to smile despite the wary eyes she still felt upon her. The waitress, a young woman known as Tessa, always took pleasure in the petty thief's company, using the girl's presence to give herself a shield of sorts. Tessa had worked in many inns, bars and lobbies in the past, dealt with the hungry hands of idiotic drunkards and their persistent flirting despite her young age. But when she stood a little closer to the more notorious customers, she always breathed a little easier during her late night shifts.

"No good idea of who she might be?" the assassin asked, swishing the final sips of the amber liquid in her glass. She wasn't particularly fond of ale, but she wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

"None. She stabbed, started the ruckus and disappeared in an instant. Never seen someone move so fast, not even you could escape that quickly." Tessa gave a mocking grin and Xenia frowned deeply before scoffing. When had they had gotten so friendly that she could joke about her like that? But she had to admit that she liked having someone be so easy going around her; someone she knew wouldn't dare cross her, but wouldn't let herself be tossed around so easily. "Maybe if you didn't spend so much time in those woods, you'd know when things go down."

"I won't come back to town, Tes."

A silence came over the two of them, Jessabelle wasn't the only one that tried to make her give up her nomadic lifestyle. The girl had more than enough people in town to fall back on, people who she had saved or helped at one point or another that knew she would be around to collect soon enough, but the idea of being under the watchful eye of a despicable man such as the king made her stomach twist in revulsion. She would sooner scale the mountains and scavenge berries for food than be a belittled citizen.

She downed the last of the ale and watched as her company stared her down in exasperation. The girl meant well and while the assassin should have been more appreciative, she just couldn't find it in herself to give in.

"I'm just saying..." Tessa trailed off when guards entered and made their ways directly towards a group she knew as regulars. For Xenia, it was unsettling, as it always was, to be so close to guards. "...maybe you should book a room so we can talk elsewhere?"

"I'm not going to run just because the king's puppets are wandering around." She could have continued, would have hissed out more angry violent words about the king and his lackeys, but then she heard the sound of sobbing and turned her full attention over to the table being addressed. Perhaps it was rude to stare, but many other tables that were once being subtle also came out with their eavesdropping. What in the world could have been going on over there? Tessa looked back towards Xenia and shook her head firmly, refusing any involvement that she was sure the assassin would ask her to do.

"Leave it be."
 
Shena rushed to an office that was quieter than usual. Most of the people had already gone on their routes early, instead of hanging around for idle banter. The rest were sombre. In the silence, the sound of the door was like a bell, and they all noticed enough to give her a nod.

"Shena," one murmured, a close friend in their tightly-knit group.

"Aeris," she said, sitting down at the table next to him. He had a map in front of him.

"I'm taking her route for her," he said. "Dalton and a few others took her home. Too many people and too much drink in there. I'm going to stop by afterwards."

Shena nodded. He didn't need to ask and she didn't need to say anything for them to both understand that she would be going too. "Let's hurry then," she murmured, taking the piles of letters designated for her and putting them in her carrier bag. "I'll see you there."

"Shena," he said, as she was almost out. "The guard told us he was found with a single wound in his back. No signs of fighting, so they think it's an assassin. And a few weeks ago, one of the guards posted near the forest was killed. The King's workers, Shena."

"I'll see you at Lisette's," she repeated. "It'll be fine."

That's what she said, but she wasn't sure she believed it.


Shena powered through her route as quickly as possible, keeping her conversations with servants brief. When they noticed and asked about it, she told them vaguely that she had something to see to. They had politely nodded, apologised, and let her go on. It hurt her to deny them a moment of chatter in their mundane and dutiful lives, but only in the moments between their farewell and the closing of their doors. Then, she returned to worrying about her closer friends, and the danger that now lurked over all of them.

Baltemont wasn't a courier, but he had still been one of them. The guardsmen, tax collectors, couriers, and even the street cleaners wore the same colours, and the same brown and red cloak . She knew that the shadows of her city hated their king ever since he'd burned the woods, but this was beyond scuffling with the royal guard.

Aeris' words echoed in her head. They were all the King's workers. It could have been any of them...


She tried to remember if she told that stranger in the woods if she worked for the King. Xenia had admitted to being one of them, after all. Shena was sure she had mentioned her support for him, but that had been after they were inside the city walls.

For the second time that day, she made a note to herself to be more careful.

If she spoken sooner, would they have found her body lying dead on the ground too?
 
Alda yawned, giving up on trying to get the attention of the barkeeper without speaking a word. He seemed far too busy trying to console his, what were they, friends? The assassin girl didn't really care. She found it rather annoying. Their constant whining over the guy she had just killed. Okay, in a way it was rather amusing. She was just sitting here, the one who had killed Baltemont, and no one would ever know. That is, unless they were mind readers. Then again, if they were mind readers, then they'd have a lot of jumbled thoughts. The girl's mind was like a train wreck, thoughts everywhere and most of them not really going anywhere.

Shaking her head, she pushed away from the table and started for the front door, bored. She stepped out, her nostrils welcoming the cleaner smell of the city compared to the bar itself. Giving out yet another yawn, she scowled, starting to get annoyed at her body's natural what-cha-ma-call-em. Seriously, it was one of the many words that often disappeared from her mind for her to never ever remember again. she turned a corner, rubbing the back of her neck as she did so.​
 
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Lisette's home was in a middle-class district. It was only twenty minutes away from Shena's, but even the slight absence of guards was noticed in every corner. It was the evening; not quite in the thick of night, yet the streets were deserted. People were up, though. The streets were lit by candlelight seeping out of windows.

The route took her through one of the little market streets. Most of the shops were closed, but some of the stall spaces, which the city rented out weekly, were still being taken down. Farmers would buy them during certain seasons to sell choice produce. She picked up a small basket of mixed berries from one that hadn't finished packing yet.

"Hey! Shena! Haven't seen your pretty face in a while."

She looked up, suppressed a sigh, and put on a smile. "Hey," she said. "I guess I've been busy lately."
 
"Sure you have," Seth replied, leaning back against the cold brick wall and folding his hands behind his head so that his hair didn't catch on the brick. His eyes studied Shena's face for a moment before he spoke again, a frown spreading over his features. "Are you alright? No one is harassing you or anything?"​
 
It was impossible to get out of a conversation prematurely with this man. He could be too curious. Shena wouldn't be surprised if he were the stalking type, either. He was someone that was used to doing what he wanted, when he wanted it. It wasn't as if his little brother would stop him.

Every time she saw him, she had to dance to away. Not that the dance wasn't fun. "I'm glad you asked," she said playully, allowing him to distract her for just a little. "There is in fact, someone. He spends a lot of time in various markets, helping merchants unload. Always stops me when he sees me on the streets."
 
Seth nodded, listening to Shena as she described the person who was annoying her. It seemed familiar to him, though he couldn't quite place who it reminded him of. "Oh, and where can I find him? He sounds really annoying," the red-haired boy asked, tilting his head in a dog like manner. The way she talked, though, it was bothering him. She was acting strange, like she wasn't telling the truth, like there was something else, but Seth decided not to push his luck. After all, why would she tell someone she barely knew?​
 
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"Well," she said. "Sometimes I see him around here. Not always though," she said, pacing back and forth in front of him. She held her basket in front of her with two hands, like the little girls in her illustrated fairy tales. "He usually wears an arrogant grin," she continued, "and a really, really, obnoxious mop of unruly red hair."

As usual, his brother was with him, sitting silently on a crate. She walked by him and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. He looked away. Unreactive, as usual. "The guy's brother though," Shena said, "Now he's a nice guy. Always polite, always quiet. Little bit creepy and suspicious with that mask though."
 
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Seth's eyes followed as she paced back and forth in front of him, his mind relating the image to a fairy tale he had once read. At the mention of his brother, he blinked, finally realising who she was talking about. It was obvious too see, his eyes going a little darker, but he tried to hide it. "You know, that's mean."​
 
Shena stopped and looked at Seth. "Who are you, and what you done to Seth?" she said. "I thought you could take a joke. You're always making them, after all."

She slowed down and leaned against a crate. "Should I be the one concerned about you?" she asked, laughing inwardly at the irony of it all. She was offering to help the battered ego of some irritating flirt that she knew only on a surface level, while the sombre melancholy of death hung over her and her friends.

What was it for? A distraction? An escape?
 
((Number 100! Whoo))

She had said his brother was creepy and suspicious. Probably not the best thing to say in front of Seth. 'Calm down, she was only joking,' he reassured himself, shoving a hand into his pocket to pull out a small copper coin. "With you it's nev'r too easy to tell when ya jokin'," he murmured, forcing on a smile and attempting to speak in an accent. Not that it really worked all that well. Pushing away from the wall, he took a step towards her, holding the coin behind his back. "Copper has a lovely colour don't you think?" he asked slowly, pulling the coin up to his face and examining it closely.​
 
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