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VV can attest to my hereness, though that was lacking a little while back.
Assassin-Lucius

Lucius dutifully set up the easel in the private booth, enjoying the feeling of heavy wood as it slotted into place. God the people of this era were spoiled for choice when it came to, from his perspective, high quality equipment. Sure, it was hardly a noble phantasm's level of quality (not that he was even sure what an easel shaped noble phantasm would even be made of...) but the easel was a good oaken construction. The grain was even and healthy, free from knots, and its construction almost clinical in its cleanliness. Honestly it was amazing how much had changed since he....died?

Yeah, that covered most of the bases he was pretty sure.

Still for how much things had changed...

"...the more they stay the same..." He noted looking out from the booth and over the spectators. The crowd practically vibrated in their seats, their mewling voices that brayed for the forth coming combat drowned only slightly by the thin veil of glass that separated him and his master from the plebeians. "Hmph. Atleast in my day we conducted ourselves with a little decorum. Atleast nobodys naked and being violated by a lion..." He lamented, stepping away from the easel to allow his master to prepare her work.

Looking down at the combatants did little to ease his annoyance. So these were the legendary Knights of The Round Table? So far, not so impressive. "I thought this was to be a battle of knights? I was expecting to see the shining glory of the northern barbarians greatest heroes...not a little girl and a blonde woman in a suit." He grumbled halfheartedly. In truth he could see little wrong with either opponents form as they readied themselves. It was just he'd rather be the one doing the fighting than watching from the side lines. As grateful as he was to Master Lalaurie for bringing him back into existence, it was a...frustratingly domestic one in so far.

It was not without its upsides, sure. With no grail to fight over he could actually enjoy the little things again. Like a sense of being...and breathing! But he was a warrior and had...needs. Needs which, right now, could only be experienced vicariously.
"I'll bet a fiver on the blonde finishing it before three clashes. Ginger's out of their depth." He said idly, hoping to drag his master into a game. Already trying to sort out what sort of embarrassing nick knack he should buy to annoy her with when he won.

@Rune_Alchemist
@VitaVitaAR
Alrighty, Edits were made and added to the change log. Couldn't really come up with a good alternative for the Contract that didn't feel redundant so we'll just do the one phantasm. Thanks!


Hey all, decided to try my hand at making a servant for the shits n giggles.

Was trying to make an assassin that hadn't been done in the main series before, but kind of went off the rails. Stats are closer to a Lancer (since he was a mercenary and only really famous for an assassination that was effectively three soldiers beating an old dude down).

Let me know if there are concerns or requests you'd like me to make!
Gillian

Gillian trudged through the smoldering battlefield about as casually as one might expect him to, occasionally punting a lost scrap of armor to the side to clear a path towards its heart. Though strangely his gait was...a little faster than it normally was to those that knew him. Perhaps the dismissive way he treated the carnage hefted upon the area was a mere facade to hide a deeply hidden empathy for his enemy...more likely though it was the chittering noble man at his flank. The man's manner of speaking was grating at best, seeming to have divorced itself from common tongue in ages long past despite still using words from it. Not helped at all that the man was apparently an avid collector of 'knight accoutrements and paces of valorous noteliness' and VERY much eager to speak to the closest knight at length of his collection. The knight in question, sadly, being Gillian.

"I can see why these ruffians did set up camp here, old boy!" Mortimer said, continuing on a rant that Gillian had largely relegated to white noise. "This particular cleavage of land has something of a history of being the dogs where staging grounds are concerned."That caught Gillian's attention, if only because it the only half coherent thing the man had said in the last few minutes. "What do you mean?" He asked hesitantly, unsure if he dared wake the sleeping giant that was this mans ability to talk his ear off. On his other flank, Gillian could practically feel the other two prisoners eyes on him, their warning silent but far too late.

"Oh my yes. Good wood in these parts you notice? Lots of hardwoods..." He said and Gillian took a quick look around. The man was right. The bulk of it was oak, but a few birch trees were stubbornly poking through the shrubbery. "A biggin part of the local eneconomy's tide to the timber craft. I fancy a bet a good portion of the capital her self source its timbers from here around."

Gillian nodded his understanding before speaking. "Doesn't explain why this is a good staging ground." He said flatly. "More over, if the lumber here is so profitable why hasn't this area been cleared? I see a flaming tree atleast a thousand years old that would have turned any mill an obscene profit."

Mortimer shrugged. "Would if either side could. We're on a boarder between two major groups of holdings, so jurisdiction on who has ownership of the land is a bit...fuzzy. None helped by the highway that runs through 'er. Trust me, if'n there was any way I could give the go ahead and strip the land without four or five other nobles having a giraffe I would. If any of us tried to kick up a fuss about it, the Royal family is liable to get involved. Or worse...the buggers at the chamber of trade..." He added, spitting the last words as if they were particularly vile. "As it stands we mostly use it for sourcing saplings for larger plantations and game for the peasantry. "

"So nobody can work the land and everyone stands to lose a profit if too much attention gets brought to it. And as a result, even though a highway runs through it, the local nobility doesn't really monitor it closely. So its a great spot to organize troops without being too cut off from a supply line..." Gillian finished running a hand down his face. It was so calming to find out that this was, atleast in some small part, due to people not wanting their coin purses to be short a few silver.

"We give as good as we get." The Dandy huffed, obviously having told this particularly tid bit of info enough times to know what some might think. "Since none of us commit troops or resources this far out of our holdings, if the surrounding villages or even our estates are captured, its still a good days ride to here. Its just as good a staging ground for the capital as it is for invaders. If not better." He said with an air of certainty.

"Why, during the Red Flag Wars your previous captain even used this region for her own ends." He added smuggly, twirling his mustache with no small amount of pride. Gillian stared at the man for a moment, eyes widening at the implication. "Captain Sylvia fought here?" He asked, somewhat stunned. While he'd never met the woman, she was still a hot topic among the order. Especially these days.

Mortimer deflated a bit. "Ah well.." He began, the characteristic enthusiasm of the man dulling a bit as he was caught in the white lie. "Less fought and more commanded forces here. A few minor skirmishes only I'm afraid. It was why I was out here in the first place. I was out getting the old elbows greased and looking for historical pieces when I spied the camp. Thought I'd found something important and decided to have a dekko." He explained halfheartedly.

Well...that certainly explained how this idiot had gotten caught. Gillian wasn't really sure if he should chalk that up to good or bad luck.

He was about to ask more when he spied the child captain, currently being loomed over by several others. Gillian's hand practically shot out, grabbing another knight by the collar and quickly (and unceremoniously) dumping babysitting duty on him. Mortimer, for his part, looked immensely pleased just to have someone new to talk to.

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@HereComesTheSnow@OwO@VitaVitaAR

"Don't think the tree had a name Larette." Gillian said, sauntering up to the group and only pausing to give Jarde a brief (but respectful) nod. "But if you're asking about the half a man under it,...Rick?...Mack? It escapes me at the moment but I remember it being short for something..." He said as he spared a glance to their fallen brother in arms. He rubbed a claw across his chin for a second, as if to think hard. "Ah no wait. It was Jack. Poor Jack. To be felled by lumber..." He said, eyes lighting up with amusement.

In truth, Gillian couldn't remember the name of the knight. Mostly as he never bothered to learn it. It made things...easier. Their life wasn't exactly safe and they were all aware of that. Even on milk runs like this, things happened and sometimes those things killed you for no good reason. Larette seemed like the type to cope with remembering the dead, which was fine. But he wasn't. The fact that his method probably enraged her probably also helped.

"I recovered the other prisoners by the way,...you know. Before they were consumed by the fires. You're welcome, by the way." He said flatly, waving a claw to as though to dismiss the dead man from his presence. The half corpse stubbornly remained in view of all. "They're fine. A little shaken and the girl needs some decent food in her, but otherwise fit to travel." He reported, more addressing the group than reporting to their 'captain' directly.

Looking the girl over tough...she wasn't too much worse for the wear. Apparently the battle with the bandit leader was more hetic than Gillian first thought it was. There was a light haze of purple on her neck, likely bruised from a strangle attempt, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. But there were other things...smaller and long forgotten by the majority of the Knights here. The small shake in the brats fingers, the eyes slightly too wide for the emotions behind them. The Brave mini-captain, it seemed, was coming down from her first combat high.

Gillian released an annoyed sigh, rubbing his face and biting back a back handed compliment he'd just thought up at Larette's expense. They seriously hadn't even bloodied this kid before putting her in charge? He wasn't sure if that was a product of the blind faith some had in this asinine little tradition or just old fashioned cruelty. He would bet on it being both though. "Danbalion." He huffed, voice free from its normal din of sarcasm for once and instead tinged with the brusque tone normally reserved for recruits.

"Go sit on your horse. You're gonna feel like warmed over shit in a couple. That's a good thing. It means you got the job done." He adds, locking eyes on the younger knight and crossing his arms, signaling that refusing wasn't an option. As it stood, he'd half a mind to throw the kid onto her mount before she got a chance to answer. "Jarde's got a good head for this. If he asks you something, agree. Otherwise just...ride this out." He says, voice softening just a twinge at the end as he turned his glare back to Aria. If his little comment about the other knight hadn't gotten to her, then he was pretty sure this would. The ride back to Aimlenn was going to be a long one for him, and he was pretty sure she'd make sure of it now.
Gillian


Gillian had followed Tyaethe's lead when the charge had started, comfortably jogging behind the vampire as she tore into the bandits with contemptible ease. It took all of about thirty seconds before he became bored of the whole..brawl wasn't really a word. These bandits were an honest to Reon joke. "Kerfuffle." He said to himself, deciding that was the more apt phrase as he darted away from the evolving melee, only just catching a quick glimpse of something akin to sexual climax flash in the vampire woman's eyes as she spotted her next victim. ...good for her.

Darting into the small labyrinth of tents (now somewhat bisected by a tree fire) Gillian found little resistance, but he'd largely accepted that was going to happen. Adding further to the slaughter was hardly going to be productive, and with Tyaethe around...he didn't really see much point into finding this Garry-mima or whatever his name. The more pressing (or atleast interesting) matter to attend to was freeing the hostages of the bandits before they were endangered further. Either from the fire or the bandits.

"Mayon's slick button Garric hurry up!" someone yells over the din of combat, drawing Gillian's attention as he skidded to a halt to duck behind a small stack of crates. Peering over he spied a trio of bandits, attempting to smother a small blaze that had begun to encroch on their tent. "I'm trying man!" One of them whines, presumably the aforementioned Garric. "This is bullshit. If those whores die Jeremiah's gonna fucking kill us..." he continues, throwing a heavy blanket over a growing patch of flame.

"Correction. He'll kill you. I aint fuckin' telling him." the third says, standing guard with his spear held casually to his side while his companions worked to snuff the flames before they became a problem. "The fuck I got to tell him?" Garric whines back, shooting the spearman a heated glare. "Cause fuck you. I'm a virgin, I got shit to live for." The spearman snarks back, smoothing back his dirty blonde hair.

"Cram it both of ye." The oldest among them barks, smothering the last of the blaze before wiping the sweat from his forehead. The other two go quiet as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small set of keys. "We're movin' the three of 'em to the meetin' spot." He says, voice firm with a borrowed authority.

"Actually..." Gill says, stepping out from his hiding spot and watching as the two of the three men draw their weapons. The oldest, a human with salt and pepper hair mumbled darkly to himself, though it was impossible to hear him at this distance. "I think I'll take ove-." He says, his stride towards the trio being interrupted as he threw himself to the ground, narrowly dodging a spear of ice as it flung itself from the oldest mans hand.

"Sloppy." He thinks, quickly standing to meet the other two as they charged him. The third remained back to begin his chanting again. He should have known better. The crossbowmen from earlier were clue enough that these bandits weren't without their few brighter minds. He'd written off a witch being among their ranks out of arrogance and only Parnella's panache for surprise attacks and the mans lack of aiming experience had saved him from an embarrassing death.

The spearman was the first to close the gap, planting his feet firmly and thrusting. Gillian swatted the blow aside, before stepping back as Garric charged in, swiping at him with surprising speed. "They've got training." Gillian noted, throwing an elbow that clipped Garric's shoulder and sent him into a roll before returning to his feet. Not the sort of recovery a bandit just learns through trial and error.

Gillian swatted away another thrust by the spearman, who had circled to the left to cut him off from charging the witch. "And they're familiar enough to work as a group." he thought, having to quickly draw his arms in to block another swing from the swordsmen. Normally he'd just set himself on fire and tear through them. But...the risk of setting the tents on fire and accidentally killing one of the prisoners made that not an option.

As much as it pained him to admit it, and though he doubted it was an intentional manuever on the bandits part, they'd actually manage to put him into something of a bind. The spearman and swordsmen's spacing and pressure were perfect. They lacked the technique to really land a blow on him, but he couldn't really deal with one without the other attacking and diverting his attention. The witch though...that was a different problem. That spell wasn't exactly high art, even to Gillian's rather abysmal knowledge of the arcane, but it had power behind it.

Looking over at the old man, it was clear that it wasn't without its draw backs. He was still chanting, carefully attempting to muster forth the energy needed to cast the spell again. So smart enough to know how to cast, but not smart enough to know how to fine tune his control. Good. That was a weak link Gillian could exploit.

Gillian kept on the defensive, blocking blow after blow as the two martial bandits slowly drove him back, only occasionally swipping out at his assailants. "Fuckin hell Barnaby!" The spearman yelled as his spear pinged off Gillian's arms once again. "You fucking napping back there? Kill him already!" He added, stepping back as Garric rushing the knight, swinging for Gillian's neck.

Gillian had to resist the urge to thank the nameless spearman for being so kind as to provide a cue, stepping back out of the blades reach and shooting his hand forward, clipping Garric across the shoulder once more and sending him into a roll towards his companion.

Barnaby the witch flung his spell forward, a lance of frozen hate propelling itself towards its target...before slamming into the back of Garric, who was just popping up from the roll he'd just entered. Gillian took in the look of shock on the poor swordsmen's face as his eyes glanced down at the blossoming pain in his chest before he crumbled to his knees, the ice lance wedged between his ribs holding him aloft as his torso began to lean forward.

His surprise spread to the spearman, who turned his gaze away from Gillian to shout at his remaining ally. The knight wasted no time in rushing the distracted man, his three clawed hand slamming itself through the mans throat and silence the protest before it began.

Barnaby stared at the scene for a moment, his knees buckling from beneath him as the last of his mana left him. His eyes widdening as the knight before him inched closer, a demented grin spreading across his lips. "So as I was saying..."

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Escorting the prisoners to the edge of the camp was uneventful...if a bit worrying. In the tent Gillian only found three of the four supposed hostages. Bruised and perhaps a bit irritable from their rough treatment, but otherwise healthy enough to follow him to the camps perimeter. It was a boring couple of minutes, mostly consisting of the older woman reassuring the girl that they were safe now that the knights were here and no, the man covered in gore who let them out is definitely not a bad person. Gillian wanted to argue that point, if only to kill time as he watched the melee unfold before them.

All in all, not a horrible showing by the baby captain for her first venture...he supposed. Admittedly by the time Gill had brought the three to safety the fight against the bandit leader had descended into an obscenely one sided dog pile. The lone male prisoner, a fine dandy of a man with a well trimmed mustache that seemed no worse for wear despite his capture, seemed somewhat amused by the whole display, asking Gillian if the Roses were always this passionate when they, quote, 'saw fit to bring low the enemies of goodliness.'

Gillian really didn't have the heart to tell him that this was them exercising restraint...

and

After the encounter with Pelanu, Sazel had moved on in her quest to get drawing materials, however, to her dismay, by the time she arrived at the academy’s supply shop the staff was away on a break. Of course, she could wait thirty minutes or so, but that was too much for Sazel. ”Ah, I guess the path to greatness is never easy.”

Then, on the side of her vision, she caught sight of the announcement board, approaching it, she noticed the current list of clubs and gasped. ”There is an Artisans club?” that was even better than what she had planned, with their aid, she could finally deal with the greatest obstacle on her quest to solve the mystery.

Marching down the halls on a quick pace, the metal buttons of her unusual outfit chiming as she went, Sazel quickly reached the door to the club, opening it as gently as an overexcited girl with poor common sense could, which meant opening it quickly and loudly, striking a pose as if she had just broken some magical barrier.

Sazel is greeted by a sparsely populated room, only seven or so individuals in total. Most were huddled around a buxom young woman who at first glance seemed to be nude, save for a thin cloth draped over her shoulder and flowing loosely between her legs. A few students, and the model, turned to the young Bestia invoker as she barged in, pausing their sketching to look at her with annoyance before settling on mild surprise. Apparently they were expecting someone else from that entrance. Behind the small group was an elevated desk, at which a silver haired young girl(?) was laid face down, heavily snoring and ignoring the rest of the gathered party.

The young noble took a moment to take in what she was seeing, though her reaction was not one of awkwardness at the sight, first because she didn’t particularly follow social convention so the repulsion to nudity hadn’t been hammered into her mind, second because she knew the basics of what art academies did from one time in which her aunt took her to the one in the capital of her duchy. Of course, this room was way, way below the standard of that one, even though that one was already a dreary example of what an academy should be

She ignored the stares at the moment, simply walking around the half-dozen artists and the model, stepping towards the elevated desk before taking a deep breath. ”Good evening! Are you the leader of this club? I need to speak with them about serious matters!” she told in a loud piercing tone.

The young girl looks up at this new noise, purple eyes glaring holes at Sazel for interrupting what was decidedly nap time. ”I am, unfortunately. What do you want? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of very important work?” They ask, shuffling a few papers and laying their head back down. ”If this is about the modern art expo we did last week only two people were seriously injured and the school agreed that it didn’t happen. So whatever claims to damages you have should go to Cogsworths’ office for rejection. Not mine.” They add, grumbling slightly.

”Interesting! Another student who can do things while they sleep, I used to think I was odd for that skill, but you are like the fourth person like that I have met. As expected of a club leader, I guess!” she observed with a slow nod before her eyes shone at the mention of modern art. ”Ah, so it was your group which held that one exposition? That is cool! It sounded very fun from the descriptions, made me wish I was there, but I guess I just never cared much about art… until now!” she slapped her hand on the desk, looking quite dramatic as she finished the sentence.

”I need to learn how to draw as quick as possible! There is something that may or may not be important in line, leading to things that could possibly have consequences!” she started, arms up, metal thingamajigs chiming. ”And as such, I decided to join your club, after all, where else would I find people willing to help, plus, there are free pencils! So please, tell me the ways of the art of… art…? How do I start? Is it by drawing naked girls?”

The girl stares at Sazel, eyes glazed over as if not paying attention. ”...First off. No, the pencils are not free. We PAY for those. Or atleast they come out of the club budget. So if you’re here to snag from my pencil horde I swear to god I will hentai hog tie you to the school flag pole.” She says, eyes stern as she sits up fully and glares at the other members. ”That goes for all of you fucking moochers. You especially Clark! Yes I know it is you fucker don’t think I don’t.” She yells, a few of the members flinching but continuing to sketch.

Turning back to Sazel the girls sighs. ”But other than that yeah you can join the club. Normally I’d tell you to fuck off but the school has informed me I can’t reject people from the club for being a hassle. I’m Fran. It is...a thing that is happening to met you.” She says, offering a limp hand to shake. ”As to how to learn...we’ve got books for that if you want to borrow some. We’re also doing a workshop on anatomy right now, so you can join the others in sketching Rena in still life for review. That’ll tell us at what level of inept you are working with and I can show you how to improve from there.” she adds laxly, sounding like she would only do so under protest.

It took some time for the bestia to fully get she had been accepted, she was receiving too many mixed messages from this club leader. ”Wow? For real? You know, from the amount of curse words I thought this would be harder, the chroniclers had me writing a three page report on the spot and I am not even allowed to disclose the tests for the exploration club.” she shrugged. ”But hey, what type of person complains about easy things, not me, that is who! Ah yeah, my name is Sazel Zivrik, Bestia summoner, Adept tier one.

Sazel raised her hands to behind her head and walked idly to the bookcase, taking the one that seemed to be the most newcomer friendly and skimming through casually. ”Hmm… yeah… seems to be what I imagined it would be… hmm! Bleh, this is boring, I will just go to the more interesting practical bits and draw some butts or whatever.” with that, she took a pencil and a blank canvas.
Fran grumbled something incomprehensible and laid her head down, ignoring the new comer as they settled in. A few of the other club members gave her a cursory nod before going back to their own work. The model, however, shot Sazel a playful smile and nodded to an empty space in front of her, evidently inviting the girl to join their little semi-circle.

Sazel nodded back before dragging a chair to the empty spot, sitting on it and placing the canvas in front of her, keeping the guide open on her feet before starting to look at the model, imitating the people in the pictures the book by closing one eye and raising the pencil.

A few of the other students chuckle at the display but otherwise do nothing. The model sits quietly, holding her pose comfortably. Now that there is a chance for closer inspection, it looks like the ‘naked’ girl is in fact somewhat modest. If one counts flesh colored panties and tape over her breasts as modest. The quiet persists for a while, only the occasional clearing of a members throat or the snore from the club leader disturbing the silence.

After twenty minutes the girl from the back stops snoring and raises her head. She checks the clock on the wall for a brief second before speaking. ”You losers have 15 minute remaining to finish your sketches.” she states blithly, earning her a few glares from the other club members. ”...don’t give me the ‘tude. Skirmishers reserved the room for a post work out dick measuring contest. Don’t like it tough titties.” She says, finally picking up a pencil and starting her own sketch silently.

Sazel does her thing for a bit, having arrived late being new to all this. Seeing the worries of the model in staying modest she quickly connected the dots and understood who they were expecting when she ‘invaded’ their room. Soon, time was over, Sazel pouting softly at her work… it wasn’t anything to call her a brilliant newcomer, but… it wasn’t that bad either, already a step up from her doodling from before, albeit more time should have been spent on the structures of the body and the overall picture instead of spending so much effort into useless decorations and patterns over the canvas. She sighed. ”Whoa, who would have guessed moving a pencil around could be so tiring. Hey, Fran, you said I could borrow books, right?” she asked, turning, wondering if the leader would even be up or focused on whatever dream dimension work they were so busy with. ‘Well… if they weren't, they couldn’t say yes, but they also couldn’t say no to say, borrowing some books, paper and a handful of pencils’ Sazel thought, smirking.

”Fuckin fine by me…” Fran grumbles, not looking up from her work. ”Literally said you could. Just leave your sketch with me or Rena...Thats the naked girl, and we’ll have notes for you next time.” She says, scribbling quickly across her canvas. Looking at it, it seems Fran didn’t even bother trying to copy the model, instead sketching out the rough structure of a much thinner girl, fully clothed, girl hunched over some yet as defined compartment. ”Just be sure to practice every night. You’re fucking worthless right now but you’ll keep being worthless if you don’t bother. And I can’t be ass’d to review the same shit over and over again.” She huffs, a tentacle sliding out of her clothing and quickly snatching up a finer point pencil as she leaned in to fix some minor detail.

”Yep, I get that this is worthless alright. If I drew the mysterious girl from the photo the teacher had, people still wouldn’t be able to recognize her. And oh! Of course I will train a lot, the sooner I do this, the lesser is the chance of me forgetting the features.” Sazel explained, forgetting she hadn’t even given the proper context on the situation yet. ”Thanks for the help today, and thanks to you too, Rena.” she said, keeping the courteous tone, even though now she was on a 50/50 on whether the chronicle club would see an anonymous report on the state of the art club as soon as she had her sketch of the mysterious girl made.



Lorcan shot Eric a withering look, forgetting his manners for a brief second before reclaiming his plastic smile. ”I'm her cousin.” He said sweetly, the small bubble of annoyance at Isobel for blowing his cover somewhat overshadowed by her partial nudity and his sudden renewed agitation with this cheeky upstart pleb. "And while I am familiar with her general...rowdiness." He adds, looking over at Rutul. "This is a somewhat new level. Its not exactly like Ear Wrym's can communicate across the country...New one then?" He asked, taking off it coat and tossing it to Isobel casually to towel off with...or cover up. Either would be a blessing at this point.


As soon as Lorcan heard the glass shatter he sprang from his seat, leaving his half eaten breakfast mostly left to defend itself from an unidentified projectile as he reached into the realms and back to his dorm. In a flash of red light he felt the familiar weights of his saber enter his hand and Warin on his shoulder, the confused little psuedodragon hissing upon its emergency entry. ”An attack here?” he thought, his mind whirling away at which of the neighboring countries were both well equipped enough (and stupid enough) to attack L'Mordryn. A few of the students had jumped at the sound, but most were fixing him with queer looks before returning to their meals, seemingly unsurprised by the chaos and wonton destruction of their dining hall.

Looking down at the decimated table the previously hardened edge of readiness shattered against the one thing that consistently did so. Isobel sat up from his food, or at least where his food HAD been, as if she hadn't just been hurled bodily through a window. Bits of glass and food sliding off her bronzed skin, a little winded but thankfully (he noted) otherwise unharmed and greeted him and his prey...friend. Friend.

With the twin realizations that this wasn't an attack and that Isobel was safe now firmly in hand Lorcan's stand relaxed a little...Right before he noticed Isobel's clothes. Or lack there of. His voice failed him as he caught an eyefull of his 'cousins' figure as she turned back to her assailant; finely toned back muscles under chocolate skin shining warmly as they moved and drew his eye down her frame to the rather generous peppering of yogurt on the small of her back.

His imagination went wild with the image, his brain awash with fantasies he knew to be objectively wrong that both upset him and warmed his face to a crimson shade that Rutul would be jealous of. He was still standing as Isobel turned back to the two young men, taking a seat casually, Lorcan's face flushed to its zenith and eyes desperately flitting between spots across her figure as he attempted to lock onto something that DIDN'T send his brain into histrionics before finally settling on her eyes.

"I'z butt her what now?" He asked smartly, voice cracking a little as he began to reclaim his normal composure. Warin spares a moment to stare confusedly at his master, the little psuedodragon now just as lost as his host. Deciding his master was clearly in need of a hard reset the little monster carefully nipped at Lorcans ear. The mild pinch was enough, Lorcan reaching up and half heartedly swatting away the diminutive jaws as his brain returned to him.

"Ahem..." He tried again, this time more coherently. "Good morning Isobel. Two questions. Firstly, the fuck." He says, gesturing to the crash site and the pouting dragon licking its wounds outside. "Secondly...w...why are you half naked?" He asked, using all his willpower not to look down at her bust, still slick with sweat and heaving evenly with her deep breaths. Ok, so maybe he failed not to look. But only for a moment or two.
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