RP Pirates of the Hard Nox 2

"That is where you are wrong, princess." Lucien's voice was dangerously low as he looked at the fae with hungry eyes. She knew of the reputation of the ship, at least, but not of him, not of her monster. In an instant Lucien's hand was around her throat, claws digging into the soft flesh just enough to cause pain. He lifted her up with ease, letting her toes just barely touch the floor.

"What I want is far beyond your reach." He growled, lifting her higher so that her toes no longer touched the floor. "Because for all your wealth, all your power, all your desperate clinging to your precious life, you are nothing compared to what she was." The vampire bared his fangs as he dug his claws deeper, tiny rivulets of crimson starting to appear around his fingers. Her choked words fell on deaf ears and Lucien felt a pair of eyes on him, burning into the back of his neck. He did not look, but he knew that if he did there would be nothing there. And yet he felt her presence all the same.

Lucien let the girl's feet touch the ground finally, pulling her body closer until he could bury his fangs into her neck. What he thought would be sweet, bitter, the first taste of fresh blood he had been allowed in ages, instead was as empty and hollow as the mortal food he had sworn off long ago. And yet still he drank, emptying her veins of every last drop of her life's blood until he was sated. The vampire looked down at the pale corpse in his arms, disdain in his eyes and a sneer on his lips.

"What I want is my Captain back, Princess."
 
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Argent’s hasty glance had told him little, but the footsteps that fell heavily behind the escaping duo spoke clearly. There some moments before the guard caught up to them, filled with Caleb’s obvious statement and a click of Argent’s tongue. He wanted to point out that they wouldn’t have been running if the case were otherwise, but the sarcastic onomatopoeia would have to serve as remark enough as the whistle of air upon a keen edge drove the elf downward in a hurry.



Argent threw himself into a backward roll to avoid the blade he had felt more than seen. His attacker was behind, and with luck the sudden reversal of Argent’s momentum at such a low angle would be enough to trip the pursuer up. If it weren’t the syringe that was suddenly brought back into the elf’s hand would silence the man for some time. He didn’t waste time hoping for luck, jabbing the needle into the closest flesh he could find before slamming the plunger down.
 
She didn’t know, but that wasn’t surprising was it? Solomon King was a pirate, and she was some rich girl. King had his cult and she had her head in a cloud. Why would she ever know? Nessa sighed, her breath sweet with the lingering taste of copper.

“That’s okay, I shouldn’t have expected you to know, should I?” Nessa said, patting the girl’s cheek even as she tried to pull away. “Its fine, of course. If you’ll forgive me one, will you forgive me two?” Nessa muttered. There was no more an answer now as there ever was. “Mm, I think it is time for you to go.” Nessa said, after a moment, her lips turning in a pointed smile. The vampire sprang forward, fangs bared as Nessa attempted to bite the woman’s throat.
 
The extra had slipped away, down the hallway. The manor guards would have to take care of it. The Royal Guard was here for one purpose only - to guard the crown prince. Running off after the attacker and leaving His Highness undefended would have been exactly the opposite of their purpose.

That was why, when Argent managed to make it out the door, there was a loud call for the guards to go after the idiot running in the halls, but the royal guards themselves stayed put, moving to attend to the crown prince - and to their captive.

Ciaran wasn't exactly in the best shape, but there was very little care given for any injuries other than binding them enough that he wouldn't bleed out before he could be questioned. It would be a far cry from Emer's ministries, and a reminder of how little a pirate's life was worth, out here.

It was likely that he was in and out of consciousness for a bit - fortunately, it didn't take particularly long for him to be rather unceremoniously dumped into a prison cell. There were a few other prisoners there, most of whom looked up at the commotion, but being in individual cells left little room for proper discussion.

The guards who had brought him down gave him one last looking over, checking bandages with callous indifference, then giving him a curt "Try not to die before your execution."

Things didn't look particularly good.


======


In the antechamber, the attempted assassination had put something of a damper on the barely-cordial gathering, especially with the blood on the carpeting. The Crown Prince was hardly bothered by such things - he'd made his ascent as a commander of the empire's armies, after all, and that wasn't a thing that happened without getting involved in a little blood. His advisor, as well, seemed to be willing to take it in stride, getting up and pouring a scant half-glass of white wine for himself and his prince. The red wasn't the best vintage, after all.

Cormac, on the other hand, preferred to keep the violence at a distance - a far distance, preferably appreciated only in tales, with a strong drink in hand - or several strong drinks. He eyed the other two with a vaguely disturbed glance, not so much that they'd had an assassin killed, but that they were apparently content to stay here without even having the maids called to deal with the spill.

He supposed it was his manor, which probably made it his problem. Where were they, anyway? He seized on the excuse as being good enough, standing unsteadily.

"I'm going to see what's taking the staff so long to clean that up." And get another drink. Several other drinks.

"And check on your bride."

Ah. That. He'd have to do that, too. Hopefully she'd finished fucking whatever servant she'd gone after this time. It would be awkward if he had to walk in on that in the middle. Cormac pushed his chair back, pausing one more time to refill his wine glass, then made his way out the door and into the hallway.
 
“W-what?” The girl cried, eyes widening as a pair of fangs sunk on her throat. It would have hurt less if she had just accepted it, but seeing her sister’s dead body on the floor compelled Danielle to pull back, widening the wound and the amount of blood pouring down to her dress. It was unlikely she would survive for long, but she’d survive long enough to get help. With a hand on her neck she ran, trying to make her way out the door.

***

Caleb heard the sound of a body falling to the floor, too heavy to be Argent’s. Upon reaching the door at the end of the hallway he slowly twisted the handle, the metallic smell coming from within letting him know he’d arrived late at the bridal chamber.

The first thing he saw was the maid's body, wide-eyed, drenched in a puddle of her own blood. Then he saw Lucien, and the girl he’d seen grow into a woman, dead in his arms.
 
There were footsteps, far enough away to leave the hallway empty, except for her. Alys followed, at a pace that seemed to change from moment to moment. Initially hesitant, having heard more than one pair of steps, and then quick as the sound began to fade. The fae turned a corner and slowed as they disappeared completely. Her brows furrowed and she stood, listening. For another scream, a thud, a presence.

Then she continued, down the hall. Halting when the door closest to her swung open. A familiar man exited, dressed in the finest garments, stinking of wine, a pair of silver wings behind his back.

She couldn't help but look at him differently now, having learned what she had. Having done what she'd done.

Bottle of wine in her hand, she placed it strategically in front of her torso and took a step back, making way. "Your Grace," she said.
 
Cormac took a few steps into the hallway. There was a girl out there already, dressed in the finery from the wedding. They'd been very ornamental, all in white. He wondered whose idea that had been - certainly not his. It just meant everyone looked the same.

He might have thought more about that, but drinking had slowed his thoughts and a sudden scream interrupted them, causing him to turn his head. He knew that scream - knew it quite well, in fact. What was that about?

His eyes turned back to the servant girl, but she was busy being demure, just like the rest of them. "You, girl, where are my sisters?" He didn't know if she knew, and didn't necessarily want to wait for an answer. "Nevermind. Come with me, it was that way."

One more glance in her direction, studious.

"And hand me that bottle. It's not empty, is it?"
 
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In unison with the groom, Alys' head also turned in the direction of the scream. That's what she'd heard before; high-pitched, desperate. Perhaps the scream of a twin, or that of a servant girl. Whoever it was, they were making too much noise. Garnering attention.

Alys didn't answer his first question, partially because she didn't truly know, partially because he'd moved on too quickly. She, on the other hand, moved slowly. Perhaps from his perspective, it showed fear, a hesitation to move towards the blood-curding scream.

"Nearly, Your Grace," she replied. "The Duke had requested a heavy hand." She looked at him, gaze lingering over his neatly styled hair and the features of his face. Then she glanced to his nearly full glass. "Would you like one as well?" Perhaps he could drown in it.
 
Cormac followed her gaze to the glass he held, which would admittedly be difficult to add any more to. Fortunately, there was a solution to that. He downed about half of it.

"Don't see how else I'm going to get through the day. Prince Alasdair is right - what a farce. I can't wait for the day someone binds his hand to a bride. He's been hiding behind the 'grieving' excuse, but I can't see that lasting out the rest of the decade if he keeps buggering her brother." Not that a mere servant girl had any say in the matter, or the wit to understand the machinations of the aristocracy.

"At least by marrying Maeve, the tie's done and I can keep the girls out of the royal family. They haven't got the constitution. The royals would eat them alive." He mused on his glass, then drained it. "As they do with us all."

Perhaps he didn't need her to fill the glass, after all. He was talking too much, as it was.

"I'd better go check on them." He raised his voice, calling down the hallway. "DANIELLE?" It'd been her scream, after all. Hopefully it was something mundane, like a spider. He was far too drunk for a duel to defend her honor.
 
Her half-brother, whatever his name was, seemed to enjoy the sound of his voice, drawling on about the royal family and the political nature of his marriage. Alys followed along, happy to cling onto the names and scraps of information, avoiding the ache in her chest as he spoke of his sisters. As he called out one of their names.

At the very least, the shouting had to be stopped. If she got lucky, perhaps he'd sip a little more wine and speak to her a little longer. In a private space, of course.

Slowing to a stop, Alys looked at one of the sealed doors. "I think I heard something, Your Grace," she stated.
 
"Did you?" Cormac stopped, listening, but he didn't hear anything more from his sisters. Perhaps there had been someone there to throw a shoe at the offending insect. Perhaps he shouldn't be worried. Nonetheless...

He eyed the door the girl had indicated. With no other information to go on, it was as good an option as any. "Open it up, then."

Hopefully the girls hadn't gotten into too much trouble while he'd been occupied. They tended to get ahead of themselves, trusting in the security of their own privilege. It wasn't a privilege he wanted them to lose, yet sometimes the girls did tend to be a little out of touch with reality.

"Danielle? Are you in here?"
 
Perhaps she hadn't completely thought this through. Alys still held the bottle of wine, and in the other hand, that small knife remained, tucked in tightly against the skin of her wrist and part of her forearm. There was little choice but to follow his order though, so after giving him the slightest nod, she stepped forward. Back towards him, she moved in close, rearranging her hold on the bottle so that she could grasp the doorknob and push. The door swung open slowly, the room beyond eerily quiet.

Alys stepped back and to the side, having obediently completed his request. Her lips pressed into a firm line as she waited - for him to step forward first, for him to speak, for anything. The silence made it worse, so after a moment, she called out softly, as he'd done, "My Lady?"
 
The room seemed... silent.

Rooms that Danielle was in did not tend to be silent. That meant either she wasn't in here, or things were worse than he thought.

Cormac stepped into the room, looking around just to make sure the worst wasn't the case, but there was no sign of either sister here.

"Danielle? No, she's not here. Damn. I'd hoped-" He turned back, his eyes drifting over the servant girl once again. She seemed young. Probably the same age as his sisters.

"I'll have to keep looking. Stay with me, or with someone. Some idiot tried to assassinate the Crown Prince earlier - the royal guard took care of it, but who knows if he had friends somewhere. You're pretty, for a servant. Probably some high blood in you somewhere... anyway. Don't wander off alone."
 
This twin needed more iron in her diet, though it was a bit late to tell her now, wasn’t it? Too late for a lot of things, really. Nessa ran the palm of her hand across her lips, leaving behind a smear of blood turning thick, watching the woman as she stumbled out of the room. Would she survive if she simply let the woman go? Maybe. And if Caleb went and died because of that, goddess forgive that idiot.

With a click of her tongue, Nessa sprang forward. She took wide steps as she chased after the woman, catching the door frame as she reached it and swinging herself into the hallway. Nessa’s head snapped both ways as she burst into the hallway, less concerned with the dying woman and more with anyone who might have been coming to help.
 
Alys blinked, equal parts confused and captivated by what came out of his mouth. She sincerely hoped that it wasn't the alcohol talking, and that he was simply daft. It was a far more amusing thought, and one she chose to believe, especially over the tertiary idea that her companions really had attacked the Crown Prince, and not him.

The Crown Prince. Why hadn't King ordered Caleb to kill him too? Her brows furrowed at the thought, but she really didn't have time to consider the question now.

Not when the royal guard had taken care of one of her companions. Her heartbeat quickened, and she stepped forward, placing herself between the groom and the door. If he tried, she couldn't let him leave, not now. He was likely stronger than her, but she was faster, especially given his drunken state.

He. There were four options - two of which she didn't care for. They could rot, one for a particularly long time. And the other two, well, she wouldn't leave them behind. Even if one deserved it. Really deserved it. "Who would be stupid enough to do that?" She asked quietly, voice gravelly. One with fangs, silver hair, a mechanical arm, or an eyepatch?
 
"Danielle? Are you in here?”

The voice wasn’t too far away, and it was the only thing keeping the noblewoman’s hope alive. She didn’t look back, fearing if she did, she’d face the reality of her doom. The pointy teeth. The pointy ears.

“Cormac!” She cried, blood slipping from her lips. Her vision blurred, and she saw a pair of blue wings standing in the doorway.

Gabrielle?

The twin reached for her sister’s shoulder, touching it briefly before collapsing.
 
The question was a bold one. It wasn't a bad one - in fact, Cormac thought it was entirely relevant - it just wasn't the sort of question that one expected from a servant. He paused, turning to stare at the girl in the doorway, beginning to wonder if perhaps he shouldn't have had quite so much to drink after all.

He hadn't had enough time to figure out how to answer her when a familiar voice called his name. For a moment he was relieved - and then he saw her, bloodied and torn. He'd never seen her like that, and the shock was... sobering. He'd heard that phrase before. He didn't think he'd ever experienced it.

"Danielle-" She'd reached for the servant girl, most likely for something to hold onto, but collapsed - before he could get to her. "What happened?" She was just a girl, she wasn't in line for any thrones or involved in any intrigue. Who would be-

-stupid enough to do that-

He'd taken a couple steps towards her, but froze, looking at the servant girl once more, the way she held the bottle close.

"Are you going to help me with her?" The question was quiet. It wasn't a demand, or an order, but an inquiry. You, girl, are you involved in this?

Who was she?
 
Caleb didn’t slow to assist Argent, though the elf was unsurprised as he extricated himself from the limp guard’s weight. For a brief moment he let the Captain maintain his path alone, contemplating the syringe and its victim with a slight frown of dissatisfaction. The guard was insignificant, likely as much to his lord as to the man that had drugged him. If the poppy milk had been in Argent’s hand earlier he felt he might have found a much more beneficial way to use it.



Argent grunted softly as he tore away from the thought and gabbed the guard’s leg unceremoniously, dragging him behind as he caught up to O’Cain. The air was thick with the sharp scent of iron, blood spilled beyond the doorway the fairy captain stood in. There was a soft thud behind the Captain as Argent dropped the guard’s booted foot to the floor and clapped the same hand on O’Cain’s shoulder.



”So much for capture, eh?” The Navigator held the Princess close, and from the stains upon his lips and the paleness of her corpse Argent knew that Lucien, at least, had been of the same mind that he had been upon Caleb’s order. Whatever reason the captain had possessed for his request to Argent and Ciaran was moot now.
 
A pained cry, a shredded throat, a hand upon her shoulder - they all came before his response. The twin - Danielle - fell to the floor beside Alys, her skin far too pale. Her gaze drifted down, taking in the damage, and then fell upon the figure that approached. Blood was smeared across her face and lips, amber eyes honed in on the crumpled figure.

He spoke again, pulling her attention away. And when he finally looked at her, and not the bottle in her hand, there was grief and horror, and more importantly, understanding. Though not completely. Complete understanding belonged solely to her.

"She's beyond help," Alys stated gently, though her tone was nearly apathetic. "You..." Her hands dropped to her sides, grip shifting on the bottle so that she held the neck like a weapon. A flick of her wrist and the blade slid away from her scarred skin. Her movements were calm, precise - deliberate. "I won't ask you again, Your Grace. Who was it that the royal guard took care of?"

Perhaps under different circumstances, she might've relished in the way that the control shifted.
 
"He wasn't particularly interested in giving a name." In the man's defense, Cormac supposed, no one had exactly asked him for one. "Realta seemed to know who he was." Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned that, but the Crown Prince's advisor... always seemed to know a little more than he was willing to say, at least, to anyone aside from the Prince.

The girl had moved the wine bottle, revealing a crimson splotch on the front of the white dress. Cormac found himself staring at it in fascination, even more so than the bottle that she held like she knew how to kill someone with it - and the knife she held like she definitely knew how to kill someone with it.

"I'd ask why, but I expect I will have very little time to care about the answer."

He supposed he could have tried to bargain for his life, but his sister was lying there on the floor, pale and bloodied, and if they hadn't cared to spare her... No, there wasn't any sense in bargaining for something that surely wouldn't be spared.

His eyes rested on Danielle, who had been so alive, only a moment ago. He should have been there. Cormac doubted he could have stopped it, but at least she wouldn't have been alone.

No... she wouldn't have been alone. Gabrielle would have been with her. They'd been inseparable since they were small, and if Danielle was here alone, he understood what that meant. He took a step forward, towards his sister who would undoubtedly soon be breathing her last, if she hadn't already. Following Gabrielle, as she always did. Cormac stopped, once more, his mouth dry and his eyes wet.

"Will you let me go to her?"
 
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