tonight we'll be a sweet disaster//[RAINIER|OPEN]

[Alastair "Alexandre" Kaiser]

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‟A little bit of d a n g e r - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/font][/center]

Make the chase feel fun, before the body hits its limit;;

His chuckles became cackles as the slim figure continued to run through Alexandria, ghosting in an almost glide over cobblestones. Various footfalls echoed in the crisp, night, air in the spacious center of the kingdom. Shouts were commanded from the infamous Pluto Knights, as various female soldiers went off their own orders; women seemingly to hold more power within the ranks of their military. Alastair’s lashes would part a tad, wider than a typical slit, as ice blue observing from the shadows of the splitting parties. He’d sink further into the alleyway shadows, his ivory robes basking in beauty underneath the red and blue. Crimson stood out from the sheet coloured fabric, as a right hand grasped at the injured limb.

Alastair would exhale, his breathe almost visible before his half lidded eyes – was Alexandria experiencing the changing of seasons? A crisp breeze would tease his exposed skin before a chill ran through his light robes, the sensation resembling of a pleasure long forgotten. The prophet would retreat further into the alley before taking a sharp right; his destination clear from earlier observations. Light on his feet, the porcelain male would make haste toward the bell tower before forcing strained muscles to let him climb to the top. Rather rough Alastair would plop, his breath labored far heavier than what it should be. Another sting shot up his arm, the prophet releasing a sharp hiss before checking his left arm.

Guess I shouldn’t have tempted him. Him being one of the current lords of Alexandria: the monkey boy Zidane. Yeah, sure, the prophet may have made himself known within castle walls (mentioning a certain raven hair from Palamecia helped him achieve entrance), but Alastair did a fatal mistake: spoke of a certain, ‘deceased’, brunette in the blonde’s presence. At first the Genome only fell silent, but the prophet insisted on pursuing a possibility she was alive. That proved to be a mistake, seeing as the younger King instantly retorted to retreating from the room. Zidane’s spats of calling Alastair a liar was not a surprise.

Reacting on predatory instincts the platinum haired male would give chase; mistake two – for the prophet did not predict the usage of Mage Mashers. A physical confrontation which led to a sliced arm, plus a ruckus that drew guards that insisted a lord was being attacked (let alone this going down during dusk didn’t help the situation). Alastair even went as far as questioning if someone gave orders to watch over the blonde – it wouldn’t come as a surprise.

Hissing once more at the pain, Alastair would be torn from his thoughts. Shredding the already damaged fabric, the silver haired male would make his own temporary bandage. Breathing became even as muscles tensed at clanking armor below. Getting to his feet, the male would take a dash on the rooftops. Crossing one of the wooden planks was in favor, until the wobbly object dislodged from its place; the silver male coming crashing down before rolling down the left. Muscles tensed for impact, which came to a wooden dock with a thundering echo.

”Ouch,” the groan came out long, the male disliking his current position. Forcing himself to his knees; the prophet let another wheeze escape frowning lips. The colour of crimson seemed to fancy him today, seeing as it was obscuring his right eye. At least Alastair was thankful for the fact nothing – so he concluded at the moment – was deemed broken; fractured, perhaps another story. Shifting his weight, letting his back rest against the stone wall, the male released a grunt. ”Dammit,” a hoarse curse, the platinum male knowing it wouldn’t be much longer. He swore footfalls were approaching him. Damn did he wish his powers were at full capacity – he would’ve foreseen all of this, instead of being a victim of his various mistakes.
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[Rainier "Oz" Schiffer]

My moon, my man - so changeable &
such a wonderful lamb to me.

Absentmindedly, Rainier reached up once more to tighten the clasp at his throat, the one holding together the rather unassuming cloak he now wore. A deep red as if wine-colored, it nearly swathed his slim form in billowing fabric - within, just barely, equally ambiguous clothing could be made out: a black long-sleeved tee that obscured his palms, and a pair of tan-colored slacks.

All in all, the man known as Rainier Nehemiah Schiffer, or "Oz", was considerably dressing down for the "occasion": in order to effectively keep his status as one of the most talented informants in the land, one needed to garner information. How better to do so than to walk into the proverbial lion's den himself with an ear pressed firmly to the ground?

The blond man whistled as he walked, a rather catchy little tune that he soon wrinkled his nose at for its sheer repetitiveness. Only the shallow and quiet lapping of water broke the almost-silence as he ceased disporting; the almost stemming from a very slight buzz that always seemed to hover at the edge of one's hearing when in a heavily-populated locale. So he continued his amiable stroll, o the lookout as he was for a promising location; a shaded alleyway, perhaps a gutter-bar that served as little more than a hidey-hole? Information seemed to thrive in the weirdest of places.

The sharp, peace-rending knife of sudden sound was met with an instant reaction on Rainier's part - with a stifled yelp, he nearly hopped away, light-footed as he ducked into a nearby alley. Within the sound of something crashing as if returning to the earth was the distinctive resonance of armored men giving chase.

Definitely not something he wished too grandly to be caught up in, that was for sure.

Twin sapphire eyes peeked out past the wall once the last clank had reverberated to its end, and he caught the tail end of a curse.

A pained curse, to be sure, from a decidedly masculine voice only just farther down the street.

A criminal? Schiffer thought to himself, eyebrows quirked. Goldmine potential.

So those approaching footsteps that he didn't bother to hide were merely his own, black Oxford shoes clipping delicately against the stone as the cloak lent him an almost ethereal air, snapping along in the slightest of breezes behind him.

The docks, at night, a possible criminal - or two, if one wanted to be technical. It could be raining, he thought, then immediately cursed himself for that - would only jinx it.

He dropped into a squat nearby, pose fluid as if he was not sharp joints and points at all, but only a mass of curved lines - as if his knees and elbows were gentle, meandering paths and not angles that jutted so unnaturally. But there was no trace of philosophy or metaphor in the man's demeanor - Rainier saved that frivolous stuff for his "Oz" persona more than himself.

"That sounded like a nasty fall," he said, smiling. A careful mask. "Are you hurt?"

Kindness. It breaks down walls better than the sharpest sword... leading only to the prize. His profession might as well be a visible appendage, it was so much a part of him.

[Alastair "Alexandre" Kaiser]

[/colour] He’d brace himself, holding the hilt of the weapon tightly, before shifting weight once again; this time to his black and white covered feet. Forcing his aching body to move, shoulders popped as the six foot one male got to his feet, chest heaving from the simple action. Alastair’s hand kept to his side debating to take action or not. If he were to take the offensive, it’d cause another commotion and only escape was by tiny, wooden, boats. Even if he’d drift into the night – who’s to say he wouldn’t fall do to untreated wounds? – how long would he float aimlessly within the distant waters? The prophet had little time to even ponder his choices.

Barks echoed within the crisp air, this time much closer than the previous, as Alastair’s muscles tensed. With a strain he’d whip his head to focus down the long, illuminating white, passageway. ”It appears as if I have attracted extraneous attention,” came his light murmur, masked by his heavy breathing. Clanking of armor came to a grinding halt once a group of seven came before the docks. The tallest, presumably male by his broad shoulders and height, drew the broadsword from its sheath. Alastair took a step of retreat, drawing his dagger from its hidden state before crouching in a feral stance. ”Best go astray, boy, unless you desire a declaration of being an accomplice.”

The broader of the two weapons was raised before the brute began his charge; Alastair’s weight shifting to his toes to pounce in defense, blade ready to pierce between armor sheets. Blades would clash, yet not belonging to Alastair. A rather petite, shorter in height, figure had blocked the taller man’s assault with their own weapon, another simple dagger. Though short in stature, the tiny body would force back the grown male before taking the offensive; slashing with precise strikes to make the knight dodge the blows. Easily the coal clothed figure leaped, foot landing on the Pluto Knight’s shoulder before his weight brought the taller male crashing down. Springing like a cat, the hooded figure was up on his toes swinging the various strikes at the knights; before taking off down the passageway, the six other soldiers following in hot pursuit.

The lone knight stumbled to his feet, the narrow eyes focusing on the bathing in ivory Alastair. ”You, but of course you’d have allies,” a hoarse statement, the male still recovering from his most recent beating. Stumbling forward, the blade was recovered and prepared to be raised. Until clicking of heels echoed against the stone walls. Instantly did the knight recognize the woman’s pleas,”My lady..! It is not safe to wonder about without B—“

”Sir Knight! I bring urgent news!” Once reaching the docks, the woman would come to a halt, leaning forward; out of breath. Her frail feminine hands cuffed at her rose painted lips, chestnut orbs growing wide in fear, as teal hair fell from a loose bun. ”I-I carry word from the Lords!” She’d strummer, panicking,”T-the man in ivory is innocent. T-the true culprit runs with a cloak like the veil of night! Make haste, knight, he plans to use the catacombs of Alexandria for an entrance! I shall lead the way to where the entrance is at..!” Though he scuffed, the Pluto Knight could not deny a lady of the castle. He ushered a growl toward Alastair, promising to deal with him another day, before darting off with the teal haired noble.

As footfalls echoed off into the distance Alastair’s shoulders began to slouch, no longer tense. Lashes fluttered open, ice blue irises focusing on the distant horizon; never before had he seen a political figure go out of his way. Perhaps, he mused, he was incorrect about all political leaders being corrupted. Maybe, just maybe, the young golden blonde was one in a million; able to think of such a clever scheme within minutes and place it into motion moments later to save someone labeled as a 'traitor', was quite impressive. That Lord Zidane is a inventive fellow, a genuine smile graced his lips. I think I may grow to favor him.

Now that a risk of arresting was over, the platinum male had another dilemma: the wondering powdered blonde standing near. At least this scene of action provided the Palamecian with a play of his own. Glancing over his shoulder, almost limply, before he spoke. ”Let’s let them do a job. By the looks of me, you can see what happens when you decide to help. Hence you get mistaken, yourself,” To demonstrate his point, Alastair brushed at his right cheek with a pointer digit. Retracting his hand, the male gazed for a moment at the crimson shade tainting his porcelain complexion. ”Now is time where I believe I get wounds mended.” And a comfy bed to rest.
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[Rainier "Oz" Schiffer]

The way the tall, platinum-haired man held his side suggested a side wound, and at noticing this, Rainier winced sympathetically. Then he spoke, biting out a response with considerable acidity, and the blonde man feigned ignorance as to the undercurrents of his sharp response.

Instead, he clapped his hands upon his knees and stood to his full height, nearly straining as he noted with the slightest shred of trepidation that the other was, indeed, taller than him. But this, too, was met with a wide and bright smile, eyes closing to mere slits as he responded with a vague tilt of his head to the right.

"Glad to hear it!" And then, without any seeming care at all, the smile was discarded for a grim tightening of his lips and his voice sounding from a lower register, instead. "But your posture suggests otherwise."

But before he could push further, a series of barks resounded from further down the road, and the man's head turned to regard the blackness where they would appear. Lips moved soundlessly, and Rainier could hardly be bothered to try reading them now, when he doubted the statement was anything other than along the lines of "here they come" or some other dramatic hero-type statement. One singular, slim and light eyebrow was raised at this, as well as the audible statement following that. Boy?

Of course, he obeyed... to a fault. Slinking into the shadows and replacing his hood so as to obscure his distinctive light hair, the information peddler fell to listening and watching intently. Perhaps this encounter would lead to a good price in the future, if the man really was a criminal.

So then, of course, he merely watched as the platinum-haired man attempted to defend himself - and Rainier hardly batted an eyelash at the arrival of another cloaked figure, successfully warding off the attack of the leader and drawing his minions away. The man in charge was skeptical, until a woman - a harried noble with wheezing breath and unruly blue-green hair - arrived to detail her message: that the culprit of whatever crime had been committed had been the man in the cloak and not the one they had attacked.

And then they were gone, the gentle clips of their shoes fading off into the distance and the night.

Deeming the situation safe once more, Rainier dropped the hood, shaking his hair free as he smirked in the silverette's direction. "Mistaken, indeed. They were about to mince you, it looked like! So ferocious!"

And at the other's last statement, the blond lit with a different smile - perhaps more genuine, or simply nothing more than less forced. "Then may I introduce...Rainier Schiffer, field dresser and first-aid extraordinaire!"

He wasn't yet drunk enough to strike a pose with that introduction, but nevertheless. "That is to say, unless you're still just peachy... isn't that right?

"That aside," he cast his ice-blue gaze away, and over the harbor, filled to bursting with boats like minnows, "consider this a complimentary offer of my services, even if they might be... a bit meager to your tastes. I don't often work for free, you know."

The heels of his shoes clicked against the ground as he shuffled his feet casually.

WORDS! 572
STATUS! Complete!
TAGS! Alastair!
NOTES! Long-winded... again. Dontcha just love him?
INSPIRATION! Napoleon Says - Phoenix
CREDITS! Template By arro @ Caution!
LYRICS! Mr Brightside by The Killers

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[Alastair "Alexandre" Kaiser]

[/colour] a pause before he simply shrugged. ”Nah, they’d miss the first twenty times.” With that, he began light steps toward the inn which he had reservations in. However, his attention was on the blonde as squinted eyes watched the rather peculiar movements in hidden interest. The lack of an alcoholic scent eliminated the possibilities of a drunken man that spoke nonsense. Needless to say, the lanky Alastair was amused by the male’s casualness – despite the blonde almost a target.

”Alastair Kaiser,” using his alias would only render unwanted questions about Alexandria (and why he was casually ‘named’ Alexandre). A chuckle would escape Alastair’s lips, a tad bitter with the ache of muscles. With a click of his tongue,”Interestin’. Typically white mages would announce themselves as such. Peculiar one, aren’t you?” Observing for anymore unique body language, the silver haired prophet remained silent – an uncommon sight for the man who enjoyed close contact that made others squirm. However, falling from a rooftop onto docks was something Alastair never intended to experience in his life. A reasonable excuse for anyone would want little physical contact right there.

As the two continued down the path, Alastair came well aware of his own staggering. Coming to a halt to catch his breath, finally sheathing the blade within the obi, Alastair would listen to Rainier talk. The same carefree expression, with a hint of something beneath, and a gentle tone didn’t make Rainier a threat. In fact Rainier seemed as relaxed as some rich man, sipping tea, on a creaking wooden rocking chair, overlooking his vast field property. Alastair almost sneered at his own thoughts, dully noting the only thing Rainier lacking was worn overhauls. Dryly stated,”Sarcasm suits your fancy, doesn’t it now.”

Another chuckle had escaped Alastair’s lips as he straightened his stance before crossing arms, hands hidden within the ivory fabric. He’d simply twist his waist to allow himself to stare at Rainier. ”Meager, did you say?” A right hand drew from the sleeve before Alastair brushed at his forehead with his fingers. His wolfish grin returned to his features, if possibly wider than before, as he merely let a wave of laughter. ”Do all nobles come off as wanting the best, I take it? Cannot settle for anything less than what pitiful rank they believe themselves to be in?” Lashes would part, allowing ice blue to mirror against azure irises, before the prophet spoke in his slurred accent. ”Ya got ta know not all of us are like ‘em.”

”I am to consider your services,” a brief pause. ”Just not out in the streets.”

-*-*-*-

Forcing his arching arms to shove the wooden doors open, Alastair let out a wheeze. Automatically did the bell chime, allowing the receptionist time to turn on his heels,”We—Mister Kaiser! What happened to you?! Dear, get the first aid and—oh?” The tall, animal in characteristic, male would lean to the left; beady eyes focusing on the blonde.

Automatically the silver haired male piped up. ”This is meh f’iend, Mista Schiffa ta ya. He is goin’ ta help mend meh wounds.” With a nod at the stairs, he simply commanded in a low growl. ”Upstairs, start heading up there Schiffer.”

”Are you goin—“

”We’re jus’ gonna chitta fer a bi’, have yer wife drop the kit off by my door.” Without waiting for a response from the innkeeper, Alastair began his ascent up the wooden stairs. Coming to the correct room, the platinum male shoved the door open once more. Releasing a rather audible wheeze before closing the door behind them, Alastair hissed. ”Give ‘er five minutes, tops.”

Silently he padded across the deeply coloured paneled floor, nearly tripping over the tightly woven rug. Coming to a rather large dresser Alastair would withdraw his dagger from his obi, and placing it upon the said furniture. Before he padded softly across the Spartan room; standing next to the stained glass doors, which lead to the balcony, his hands rose to the neckline of his attire.

Diligently fingers stripped the first haori* in appearance robe from his lanky form. Discarding the overcoat to the foot of the bed and Alastair began to peel off the ivory hakama* top, the coal coloured juban* shortly following. Both garnets pooled around Alastair’s feet, the prophet suppressing as shiver against the chilled air. Though being topless wasn’t necessary needed for treatment, Alastair simply wanted out of bloody clothing. He’d take a seat down on the bed, his weight dropping on the mattress than he expected, as sore muscles shot needles up his spine. His lidded gaze fell to the discarded pile and his nose would wrinkle in disgust. Blood has such a disgusting scent.

A light rap at the door as Alastair glanced up. ”Thank ya,” he cooed, as the woman quickly dropped off the kit – but Alastair already knew she gawked at his bruising body. Later on, he’d correct and lie to explain his wounds – but right now he had to address his current guest. His attention returned to Rainier and Alastair raised his arm before the slim male. ”Come now,” a wolfish smirk graced his lips as lashes parting to reveal a mischievous glint. ”Before other things come to mind.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

OOC: If you think he’s long winded – have you seen half the villains in history give their speeches!? Also! I have little, to no knowledge, of a kimono, ect., so my titles to the garnets maybe wrong.
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[Silvine Vilani]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,10,true][cs=2][atrb=style, background: url(http://www.portwallpaper.com/imgwal/green-wind-loops.jpg); margin-left: 100px; width: 400px; border: 5px groove #000000, bTable] [tr][atrb=style, width: 40px; vertical-align: top;][style= border: 4px solid #000000; text-align: center; width: 100px; opacity: 0.9; margin-left: -90px; margin-top: -30px; ][/style] [atrb=style, width: 40px; vertical-align: top;][style= border: 4px solid #000000; text-align: center; width: 100px; opacity: 0.9; margin-left: -90px; margin-top: -30px; ][/style] [atrb=style, width: 40px; vertical-align: top;][style= border: 4px solid #000000; text-align: center; width: 100px; opacity: 0.9; margin-left: -90px; margin-top: -30px; ][/style] [atrb=style, width: 40px; vertical-align: top;][style= border: 4px solid #000000; text-align: center; width: 100px; opacity: 0.9; margin-left: -90px; margin-top: -30px; ][/style]

[atrb=style, background: #9AB6EA; padding: 8px; border-top: 3px solid #525657; border-bottom: 3px solid #525657; opacity: 0.9][style=height: 375px; overflow: auto; font: 10px Tahoma; padding-right: 10px; text-align: justify; color: FFFFFF] Why would He, of all people, be seemingly stalking Alastair? Information, of course. He was about to leave Alexandria for good, but good fortune it was that...he had just seen Alastair enter the castle. Excellent. Tacticians were used to changing situations, coming up with a new plan immediately when one failed or a new opportunity arrived. He wanted new information, and Alastair would prove to be the perfect distraction. He was used to being on the field, hidden and silent, giving orders as needed and when he saw fit. This was no different. The dark of his robes were perfect to hide him in the darkness as the tactician followed Alastair, not even so much as the flapping of his robes within eat shot. He of course wasn't stupid enough to linger so closely to Alastair; he was hunting for information after all and he needed to be the least noticeable. That was how he learned of him speaking with Zidane, though Silvine's eye twitched at the mere mention of him. He wouldn't take any chances; he was 'discovered' in a way but Alastair made no motion to Silvine if he was found out. Silvine had gotten vital information from this brief encounter, how the soldiers reacted...and how the boy, Zidane, did too. 'And yet, his brother is quicker.' He thought to himself. Kuja held a known violent past, and he surely didn't want to get involved with it. However...war was enough temptation for Silvine to pursue his plans. However, Zidane attacking Alastair was something even Silvine couldn't calculate. He could hear it, not so much see for eyes held reflections and he could be easily found as such so his back was turned from the scene. He knew the sound of metallics and the scents involved with battle and Silvine felt himself stiffen. Then the guards...it seemed Alastair was in quite a predicament. With him fleeing, Silvine chose not to pursue him. Why? Did he want to get discovered? The focused on him now; it gave time for Silvine to get out of the castle with little to no hassle. Silvine shook his concern for the other, though why he was concern was out of the logical mind of Silvine. Silvine escaped, unnoticed, and waited in the cover of darkness. The clanking armor...even the women left Silvine very aware of where soldiers were. Tsk...Alastair...he didn't imagine that he would be in such a situation. But, thanks to him, he gained some information he'd rather like. Besides, he could have been in much more serious danger. It was when the noise finally died down did Silvine find it safe to move around in the dark of night. He briefly wondered if he should find Alastair and judge on the severity of his wounds. (He held some healing salves but he wouldn't waste them) He found out, with the cover-up Alastair was unable to make - a neat trail of blood. The pools told him much; his wound was not life-threatening but definitely deep, he was moving not at his best, and he was slowing down. It was the tail of blood he followed that lead him to where he once stood with Rainier. At the present moment, he couldn't tell if there was another with him, but he had fallen, for the pool was much bigger. Then it was on the move once again - with a possible confrontation. This was when Silvine stopped when he realized how close he was to the fountain of Alexandria. Silvine looked through his things, nimble fingers working silently, as he found what he was looking for; an empty flask. He knew he would need it as Silvine walked to the fountain, despite the dangers, and collected some water. The hunt continued, until the blood trail stopped at the inn. Silvine first started from the area he was once was - back tracking and poured water on the blood. It quickly washed away, sliding around the stones of the floor. Silvine continued this until he was at the inn. It was a miracle he wasn't discovered but at least now anyone hunting for blood wouldn't come to the inn. The blood would run off and be so scarce with the diluting of the water that those hunting for him (for he didn't know the hunt had stopped, for how could he?) would find it harder to find him. The main reason? If Silvine was going to enter, he was going to make sure he wasn't found either. He wouldn't admit he was slightly concerned for Alastair, but Silvine placed the wet flask back in his bag. He would dry it later. Finally, he entered the said inn as he was greeted. "Hello. I've heard that an acquaintance of mines is currently wounded." He usually wasn't so kind, though his voice was still flat, but the inn keeper didn't think he was rude at all. Surprise, surprise. However, he immediately knew exactly what he was talking about as his wife came down from delivering the kit. "Hey! A friend of his is here!" Silvine's eyes narrowed. 'Friends'...he stayed silent. They could believe as they wanted. The wife nodded as she beckoned him to come as he followed her. A knock on the door would alert both inside. "Mister Kaiser! You have a visitor!" She announced as she stepped back. Silvine nodded to her as he opened the door. He wasn't expecting two things. One, the presence of another (though it would make sense, so he didn't react to it at all) and the second would be Alastair topless. The only reaction he got as Silvine being silent, staring, and blinking for a split second. "You left something all over Alexandria." Was his only simple statement. That would tell him the most amount of information as to why Alastair was found without revealing the fact he was following him. He would have heard the murmurs of the knights and the women as well as seen the trail of blood that eventually made him put two and two together. He was a bright man, after all. Silvine then took his eyes from Alastair to Rainier. He was studying him. Despite his lackluster eyes, he was deeming Rainier worthy of healing Alastair. Worthy? Silvine blinked at his own thoughts, contemplating at how mcuh he had to drink tonight and decided the smell of blood was getting to him when he realized he had nothing but water to drink this night. Silvine shifted his book as he walked out from the door frame to close the door. He just simply held her free arm to cover his nose. [/style] [tr][atrb=style, background: #8197a8; padding: 8px; border-top: 3px solid #525657; border-bottom: 3px solid #525657; opacity: 0.8; height: 15px; ][style=height: 15px; width: 275px; font: 11px Tahoma; padding-right: 10px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-align: center; color: 434645; margin-top: -20px; ]WORDS; 000 . TAGGED; Rainier/Alastair NOTES; THIS POST WAS FUN. [/style]

[style=width: 480px; margin-top: -20px; margin-right: 30px; text-align: right; font-size: 9px; color: #757575]made by prism of ote and sgo~[/style]

[Rainier "Oz" Schiffer]

Rainier was mostly quiet as Alastair spoke, inclining his head briefly and saying only "a pleasure," as his name was given. When the other professed his assumption of Rainier's skills, the blond merely continued to smile, a brief sharpening of his gaze going mostly unnoticed in the night, but he did shake his head as if to dismiss that claim. As much as he hated magicians, he knew that a white magick practitioner would likely be more useful in this situation than he would, though he did not outright state the comparison between the two. No; if a mage were here to take care of things, they would undoubtedly lay some sort of curse on Alastair as "payment" for their services.

His right eye throbbed once, as if the curse lingering within his cornea and iris was sentient and knew when it was being called on. Rainier's hand rose to clap over it quickly, lest the spell's effects manifest... though what they were, none could say.

Over time, the rhythmic pulsing faded, and it was only when Alastair gave away his noble status that Rainier returned fully to reality, removing the hand from his eye and letting it fall to his side. The knowledge that Alastair was of the noble class was something he'd easily deduced, yet he filed the now certain information away for later, until there may come a time when someone wished to learn his name.

His acquaintance let out a strangled sound as he pushed the door of the inn open, and Rainier made to do it for him, but the other had already made it indoors, fielding comfortably and efficiently the attentions of the receptionist. The blond was trapped half inside and half out, the yellow-orange light of the tiny inn office spilling out into the darkness to his left. It smelled of apple cider and wood polish inside, and the broker thought to himself that the place seemed rather homely.

Rainier directed a smile and a nod - only those - to the innkeeper as Alastair directed him upstairs, choosing not to introduce himself; in a place such as this, where many people came and went through this building, he would have to leave only his alias - a name that he wished to keep secret from his "companion".

For now.

Not to mention the mother-hen behavior of the inkeeping couple: the lithe man assumed that, were he to break stride for but a moment, he would find himself bound to a chair (the handiwork of the receptionist) and facing an interrogation with the handle of his wife's broom to his neck, in an effort to ascertain just where Alastair's motley collection of injuries had come from.

Nevertheless, he called out behind himself in thanks for the incoming first-aid kit - it was a welcome bit of hospitality, as he didn't have many bandages with him. The poultices and salves safe and secure in the small satchel at his hip would be all that was necessary, but bandages to hold it in place were something he didn't waste space carrying...

"A bowl of hot water and some rags as well, if you please!" he called down the stairs as well, relying on their innate sense of "innkeeper duty" to get him the materials he needed.

Alastair again took "command" of the doorway, despite his evident ill condition, and the broker frowned lightly as he was directed inside, quickly moving out of the man's way and taking in the small and sparsely-furnished room as he pointedly ignored the man disrobing on the other side of the room, first depositing the knife on the dresser as he went.

As a gesture of respect, Rainier loosened his own boots and left them by the door, socks with them, and removed his travelling cloak - the billowy cloth would only get in the way as he worked.

Quick, deft folds, and a square of deep red fabric was soon laid next to the unassuming black footwear, and the blond shook his head again, brushing his hair out of his face as he rummaged around in the canvas pouch at his right hip.

He found both the poultice and the salve he had been looking for, fingers touching on the small containers, just as the woman returned with the kit. Taking the stack from her gratefully, the box and the rags with the bowl of hot water sloshing around perched on top, Rainier thanked her as well and crept carefully over to the bed where Alastair had set himself up, looking up as the platinum-haired man spoke to him.

The blond man, caught off-guard for a split second, blinked - and smiled almost lecherously right back. "A shame, that you don't want me distracted..." he said lowly, only mostly joking as he raked his gaze over his patient's abdomen.

He was interrupted as he dipped the first rag into the bowl of steaming water, in an effort to sterilize the man's open wounds, by a call: "Mister Kaiser! You have a visitor!" Rainier turned to look in the direction of the doorway as it opened, hands paused in midair with the dripping fabric between them as he failed to hide the curiosity in his visage.

"You left something all over Alexandria."

Rainier's only reaction to the appearance of the boy was a practiced smile, though inwardly he was seething. Was Fate so cruel to him that every questionable figure in this damned city had to see his face in the same night?

"By no fault or admission of his own," the blonde said, with a tone that might have been aggressive or challenging had he not been smiling, as he was wont to do. Though he replaced the rag in the bowl of water, freeing his hands in the case that the new arrival was to be... threatening.

That at the forefront of his mind, he tossed an uncertain look to Alastair, knowing that the situation hinged completely on the other man's interpretation. It was his visitor, after all.

Though the blond did, slowly and surreptitiously, reach out to gather the two medications closer to himself. They were his property, and he would be damned if anyone else would get their mitts on his herbology work.

WORDS! 1079
STATUS! complete.
TAGS! Alastair, Silvine, and every other notable person in Alexandria.
NOTES! Papa wolf?
INSPIRATION! Ten different Pandora tracks.
CREDITS! Template By arro @ Caution!
LYRICS! Mr Brightside by The Killers

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