[center][h1][b]Peter[/b][/h1][b]Time:[/b] ~21:00
[b]Location:[/b] Danrose Castle Ballroom Entrance Hall ~ Castle Wall[/center]
When Peter saw Duke O'Hare and his adopted son Verrick in the crowd exiting the ballroom, he was ready to bolt the other way, but he was just as quick to talk himself out of doing something so obviously suspicious. Just because he recognized them didn’t mean they would recognize him. In fact, there was no reason for them to remember some random street rat.

From the hallway, the redhead stared at the Woodsmen with childlike wonderment. No matter how much time passed or how many times he tried to give up on the idea, there was a part of him that still aspired to become a man worthy of the green cloak. He knew, though, that it wasn’t going to happen. Peter screwed up his chance to join, so he was going to have to suck it up. Not every dream was meant to come true.

Peter’s target came into view as he walked past the O'Hares. Count Calbert’s head rotated side to side, his gaze hunting for something or someone. Peter covered his blazing hair with a dark cap before he began tailing the count.

It didn’t take long for Count Calbert to find his own target standing alone at the top of the castle wall. Peter followed the other man halfway up the wall, then hid himself in a nook under the stairs filled with wooden barrels. He would’ve preferred to be perched on the roof if he had a choice, but he didn’t think he’d make it up there without someone noticing. Peter didn’t realize how right he was until he heard a different set of footsteps come up the stairs.

A blonde wearing a fancy light blue dress and carrying a stuffed bag was making her way up the stairs when the count’s voice broke through the summer night ambiance. [color=0072bc]“Kill yourself.”[/color] Both bodies froze in place. [i]Didn’t realize Caesonian ‘good evenings’ were so dark.[/i] While the other woman glued herself to the wall, Peter focused on the conversation happening above them.

[color=BBC7E1]“You… You forget yourself, Count Calbert.”[/color] An all too familiar kind of strain in Lady Charlotte [i]Lottie’s[/i] voice caused the ginger’s hand to pull out his dagger. The voice of someone who feared for their life. A cry for help.

Years ago, he would’ve jumped out and shanked the man. Peter was different now. Different enough to remember what his orders were. He was supposed to follow Count Calbert around for the night and watch what the man did. Nothing more, nothing less. If Count Calbert decided to kill someone, then they’d have something to blackmail him with. If Lady Lottie killed him, then they’d have someone else to use. Simple as that. [i]So don’t try to be a hero, Pete.[/i]

Peter sat on his arse to make sure he’d have to put in the extra effort if he was going to stab Count Calbert. He pulled up his knees closer to his chest and used them as armrests as he closed his eyes shut. The muscles in his fingers contracted and relaxed repeatedly, itching for the count to give him a reason to use the dagger which remained in his hand. But he stayed focused on Count Calbert and Lady Lottie’s exchange. Trying to be neutral and detached.

Heels against the stone alerted Peter that one of the two people was coming down the stairs, but it was the loud scrambling of his fellow snooper that snapped his eyes open. He watched the woman practically trip over herself to make her escape. Considering how restrictive ballroom gowns were, Peter was impressed that she managed to run as fast as she did and climb a tree. She wasn’t lucky enough to be unnoticed by the count, though.

As soon as Count Calbert passed the barrels, the ginger sheathed his weapon and stood up. [color=BBC7E1]“Wait… W-What do you mean again?”[/color] He heard the faint noise of movement and softer footfalls come from above. By the time the young woman started to run down the stairs, Calbert was up in the tree.

Just as Lady Lottie passed him, Peter quickly followed right behind, masking his own footsteps with her louder steps. She was too distracted by her pursuit of the count, her vision narrowed considerably. Worryingly so. Had the plan been for her to have an unfortunate [i]accident[/i], all he had to do was extend his arm and lightly push. Then she would’ve went tumbling down the stairs. It was that easy. Duke Lorenzo should know that. But where was he and why was his stepdaughter alone? Where were the guards? Was he so stingy that he didn't think to hire bodyguards? Couldn't she have a damn attack dog at least? Anything to protect her? Was he even trying to protect Lady Lottie from Count Calbert?

Right as Lady Lottie reached the last flight of the stairs Peter made a sharp turn and silently dropped down from the ledge. He turned to see if the Duke’s daughter noticed, but as he thought, her attention was consumed by what Count Calbert said. He silently dashed towards the tree he saw the other two climb up and hid behind a neighboring tree trunk.

[color=0072bc]”I wonder what the punishment for stealing from a royal castle would be. [i]Certainly death, yes?[/i]”[/color]

Death, kill, execution, suicide… Count Calbert threw these words around like an alcoholic threw coins at the bar. How casually he used the words only convinced Peter that Count Calbert didn’t truly know what death was —that or he was a bona fide psychopath. The count was a learned man, so he knew the definition of death and he might’ve even seen a couple of dead bodies before, but he didn’t actually understand how terrifying [i]dying[/i] was. He never felt death’s chilly breath down his own neck or was overtaken by absolute dread as he watched the lights fade from his loved one's eyes. Death, especially the less peaceful variety, was something that happened far, far away from him. Maybe he believed himself to be above it. A harbinger of death, of sorts. Having control over those who lived and who died. Schnockered by wielding such power for so long. [i]So long to forget.[/i] Peter smirked, tongue licking the gap between his teeth. Predators rarely see themselves as prey… but death. Death played no favorites. 

The woman in blue, on the other hand, was of the unruly kind. Peter liked unruly. She had a certain quality to her which felt… familiar. Deliciously illegal. He would’ve liked to get better acquainted with her. Although, based on the satchel she was carrying and the mismatched boots under her dress, Peter was pretty sure the blonde’s name was nowhere on the party guest list.

Even better. Fritz could use someone like her. It never hurt to have another rogue in the crew.