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𝖇𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖉 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖘
𝖇𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖉 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖘

location: ???
interactions: Atlas & Medusa | Apollo & Artemis@smarty0114
mentions: Tsukuyomi@Fabricant451

It had been days since the incident at the Olympic Club. Both of them, as the other divines came to find out. Most of it had been swept under the rug in regards to the mortal populace, but there was only so much that could be kept quiet when dealing with the other gods.

Ares’ sudden disappearance had the others on high alert. Even caused for the most unlikely of beings to come together to locate him. What did that mean for those who weren’t born of war? Could they even pretend to be skilled enough to protect themselves? Were these fiends targeting only the Greeks? Were the other pantheons safe? Or was it only a matter of time before they too were singled out and made into a chalk outline somewhere in the streets of Seattle?

Seattle was filled with hiding places. Overflowing with them, even. Of course, it was easy to hide when no one knew what they were looking for, and until a few nights ago, very few outsiders had ever known of the group that skulked beneath the city.

Of course, the headquarters of this wicked band of immortals was not one of sewage water and filth. It was a lavishly decorated bunker, protected by steel walls and layers of concrete, hidden away by an unnecessary amount of security measures. As far as hidey holes went, it was quite a nice one.

Medusa had grown sick of hiding. She had been hiding all her life, first from bold men and their swords, then from hunters, and now from the very gods who’d cursed her in the first place. The revenge she’d nurtured was beginning to grow ripe, so ripe she could taste its sweetness on her tongue.

“‘Dusa,” Atlas’ voice stirred her from her thoughts, “you’ve got a new job.” The titan sat down across from her, crossing his legs at the knee.

“Oh? Need me to run backup again?” Medusa’s eyes ran up Atlas’ frame, and she smiled as he seemed to shiver. Even the great titan who held up the sky was afraid of her. Her and her eyes.

“No, this one's for you, and you alone. Cronus knows how much you love your goddesses. This one’s not a toy though. We want her.” Atlas produced a file from a jacket pocket and handed it off. Medusa opened it, flipping through the pages with a lazy nonchalance.

“Tsukuyomi. Interesting choice. What makes you think she’ll take the bait,” Medusa said, eyes now focused on the file in her hands.

“She wants her wife back. And she’ll do anything to reach her. She’ll see things our way, I have faith.”

“And what do I offer her besides? Power, and safety in the new world? This pantheon Cronus is building is growing awfully cumbersome.”

Atlas, ever the zealot, scowled. “It is not for you to question Cronus’ plans, witch. You do as you're told.”

Medusa’s gaze returned to Atlas, landing on his throat, and her eyes flashed a brilliant golden color. Suddenly, the titan’s neck was stone. He made an attempt to choke out words, but they would not come. He clawed at the marble that now made up his airways, and found no purchase. “You forget yourself, Atlas. I joined this cause willingly, and for it, Cronus empowered me. I am slave to no god, nor titan.”

The titan scowled, and Medusa’s eyes flashed, and his neck returned to divine flesh. “Apologies. I assure you, Tsukuyomi’s involvement will not lessen your power here.”

Medusa stood. [color=87a96]“Oh, I’m sure it won’t. I’m much more useful than you, Atlas. Keep that in mind.”[/color]

Artemis had always thought that the air at Moon River felt fresher. Even all those years ago, when she’d found it long before the mortals had, she’d thought it crisper. It made for better walks and better moods, and it certainly made it all that more enjoyable to see Apollo waiting on the edge of the property, surrounded by her girls and stripped down to his underwear.

“Is this really necessary?” her brother shouted out at her, as she strode up. His clothes were lying on the ground, turned inside out by the guards, who held him hostage with sharp knives and sharper eyes. This scene was not alien to either sibling. Often Apollo demanded her attention, and often she responded like this. Like any sister, she did not appreciate having Apollo in her room.

Artemis took a moment to laugh, a light, breezy chuckle. “No, probably not, but it’s quite entertaining.”” The goddess clapped, and the girls fell back. “Leave me, girls.” The guards turned and set out towards the compound, though not before leveling scowls at Apollo. “I thought I told you not to come here.”

Her brother shrugged. “You did. But, I’ve-” He looked down at his clothes, then back at her. “Can I put on my clothes?” She smirked and nodded. “As I was saying… I’ve had some time to think about it, and I think you’re right.”

Artemis knit her eyebrows together. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“We should have a family meeting. To, you know, talk about our favorite, broody and devastatingly lethal brother’s recent disappearance.”

“‘Pollo, that wasn’t my idea.”

“No, but you can take all the credit if it goes wrong. And if it goes right, well, hey, I’ll let you take half credit.” Apollo slung his arm around his sister's shoulder, gesturing dramatically at empty air. “Come on, family dinner, for old time’s sake. And, also, because I’ve thought about it, and I don’t very much want to die.”

“You’re about to ask me to be nice to father, aren’t you?” Artemis did not need to be looking at her brother to know that his crazed grin had just fallen.

“Yes. Of course I am.” Apollo released his hold and looked at her, a rare sincerity in his eyes. “I wrote some stuff last night, Arty. I’ve been trying to pay more attention to it, ever since Zagreus. It was… dark to say the least.” Apollo said, holding his hand to his heart like a boy scout pledging allegiance.

Artemis bit down on her bottom lip, worry breaking through her mask of calm. “How dark? Could this be like that time you thought all the computers were gonna shut off?”

Apollo scowled. “I wrote about a man who dropped the sky, Arty. Who does that sound like to you?”

For once, Artemis was taken by surprise, if only for a moment. “Set it up at Father’s place then. Tonight. I’ll make some calls.”

𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖐𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝖘𝖜𝖎𝖒𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌
𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖐𝖊𝖊𝖕 𝖘𝖜𝖎𝖒𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. Hemlock Dorms
𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. Callen Warren

Lorelei knew as soon as she woke up that morning that she was going to be late. Did that stop her from taking a refreshing morning swim around the cove of Rothwick? Absolutely not. The Galanis girl woke with the sun and hopped straight into the frigid waters, scales appearing along her skin, tail forming where there had been two legs not but moments ago. It was bliss. Her true nature calling to her in a way that only water could. It was cruel to expect her to be on land for so long. "It scares the mortals" or some such bullshit.

They seemed to be just fine last she checked. Well, not actually checking on them. But they remained in the town willingly. Knowing that there is an academy for creatures like herself. So, they must be fine with it. Right?

As the morning dragged on she was reminded of what the day was to bring and rushed to grab her things before heading up to the school. The weather turned dour the closer she got to the gates of the academy, large drops of rain soaking her clothes making her scales crop up along the exposed skin of her arms. The sightings of Seekers strategically pacing the grounds only seemed to make the hairs on back of her neck stand on end. 'Wonder if it has anything to do with disappearance Mrs. McKay were talkin' about...'. She would have asked more questions of the baker had she had the time, but she was late already and didn't stay long enough to chat with the elderly woman in town.

Lightwood's commencement speech had long been completed by the time she stumbled through the open doors. Students milled about, the new and the old. The siren spotted Callen with her legs kicked up in front of the dorm listings, papers strewn about the table as she helped the newbies find their bearings. Zeke must've put her in charge of things again. There was something going on between those two, though she figured the she-wolf wouldn't be too pleased to hear that theory anytime soon. She couldn't resist a wild grin as she waved her down before taking her drenched self up to Hemlock to drop her bags off. And possibly sit in front of one of the fires for a bit to toss the chill off of her.

𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊 𝖌𝖔 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓
𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊 𝖌𝖔 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. Nightshade Dorms
𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. Phoibe Graves | Caleb Valentine | Charlie Valentine @Danvers

"Excellent. Just what we needed. Seekers," It was bad enough that the new school year brought with it a sense of lackluster that could only be found when throwing a hodgepodge of races together like Hawthorne did, but now there was the added benefit of being under a careful eye. More than what was already in place. Ophelia wasn't one to sneer in the faces of top notch security, but this was different. Something in the air screamed of lies piled high atop one another. It was only a matter of time before someone heard them.

Her dark eyes flickered off in the direction of a one Ms. Graves, 'If someone where to dig up anything it would be that one... Of all the students attending, Phi knew right away that the middle Graves child was one to be weary of. A false sense of security does not bode well when dealing with her. Though, she didn't pose the vampire any true harm, it wouldn't do her any favors to tread lightly with that one.

In what felt like an instant she found herself once more wandering the Nightshade halls. A blessing to be given their own area than having to slum it with the others. Pity to the ones who have to share Hemlock with the were-beasts. But, it is the natural order of things. Some just aren't worthy. Would have been insulting to think that just anyone could attend and be on the same leveling field as those that rule the night sky. A ruckus from one of the windows pulled her attention back to the present and she had to keep herself from rolling her eyes in disdain.

The Valentine twins. Ah, yes. A prime example of those who aren't worthy yet try to fit the mold. 'Ugh. They're just as bad,' she remembers thinking to herself, catching the tail end of their prank. They had some sort of falling out with one of the wolf girls; a pretty nasty one too if remembered correctly. A blessing in disguise really. They would have just brought the Valentine name into the ground should that friendship have kept up. What is it that others see in them? Their friendly nature? Pfft. If she thought more on it an answer might have presented itself, but that would require her to give too much of her already long life to something she didn't particularly care for. No. Instead Ophelia waltzed through the commons towards one of the many balconies, her vintage cigarette tin already in hand. Now she just needed a light.

𝖗 𝖊 𝖙 𝖚 𝖗 𝖓 𝖊 𝖉
𝖗 𝖊 𝖙 𝖚 𝖗 𝖓 𝖊 𝖉

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. Hawthorne

It wasn't as bright and cheery a day as Callen would have liked, but what was to be expected when the grounds around the academy are meant to be inclusive to even the vampires attending? With a heavy sigh she had marched in through the doors, waving erratically to all the familiar returning faces and even offering a solid pat to the arm or back to the newbies shuffling along. It wasn't going to be terrible, she reminded herself. It was a new year. Another start. Everything from before would just... wash away. Like it never happened. Yeah. That's right.

Everything would fall into place.

"If I don't wanna see 'em, then I won't. Manifest that shit, Cal. Manifest it!" Her pep-talk could only go so far when she turned to look back up before her and spotted the backs of two very familiar heads. With an indignant squeak she dipped and dodged into the nearest row of seats to avoid getting too close. So much for it never happened.

With the headmaster's speech out of the way Callen found herself bolting up and outta her seat as quick as she could. Not necessarily to avoid the twins - though that was entirely what it was about - but because Ezekiel Wolf had volunteered her for showing the young cubs around the grounds and offering to help them with whatever they needed. "Yeah, yeah just great. No, don't mind me," the redhead snorted to herself as she made her way through the throng of students milling about, "No, no. No reason to ask me if I wanted to help. Lemme just do it all for ya, oh fearless leader of ours. Ughhh so much for self proclaimed leader..." she grumbled to herself taking a seat behind the set up placed in the foyer next to the dormitory listings.

'Gets me outta havin' to see them for a bit at least.'

𝓞𝓪𝓴 𝓢𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓪𝔂
𝓞𝓪𝓴 𝓢𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓪𝔂

interactions: Oak & Garrett @Danvers | Argie | Baratheon Boys @Sini

It had become rowdy and loud in the Pavilion. The air was heavy with drunken laughter, some unruly, most simply cheerful. It would be difficult to spot anyone you knew amongst the crowd and even harder still to spot a lady in trouble. Bards however were used to such gatherings and one particular singer had been staggering throughout the swathes of revelers, his path akin to a bee - a rather drunken bee it must be noted - on its morning flight to fetch pollen. On more than one occasion he nearly slipped, grabbing arms and shoulders and even a leg to steady himself. His eyes were unfocused and he was wondering amusedly why everyone was part of a triplet, when something dreadfully awful caught his attention. A brute? And a lady looking rather uncomfortable? Well who better to investigate than the trusted bard!

Such thoughts passed through his head with an intoxicated absence of clarity and he had no time to think them through before he stumbled straight into the side of their table, sending goblets and tankards flying in every direction. Their contents slopped onto the floor and filled the air with the strong scent of hops & fruit, prompting several groans of protest. Oblivious to the upset he had caused, Oak pushed himself upright once more, his grin wide as he tottered over to his objects of interest, squeezing himself between the young doe and her companion. He leant down on both elbows, eyes glimmering with mischief and a sudden focus that had not been there only moments before.

"Perchance could I entertain your fine-" He hiccuped, "Your fine selves with a bout of music? Or maybe a limerick if you are so inclined?" A finger tapped against his chin idly, "I know one you may like." He turned to the brute beside him though not before shooting the girl a small wink. "There was once a giant so hairy. He was dreadfully unsanitary. He was awfully rude…and so small in the nude--"

Oaks' eyes traveled impishly down to the man's lap and not for the first time that day, was he suddenly cut off. However this was no simple goblet careening towards his head. The long bench was pushed back with enough force to send everyone atop careening backwards and a large hand grabbed ahold of his tunic, pulling the bard brusquely to his feet. "Now, now. I meant no offense-" He smiled harridly until his voice was cut short by a tightening of hairy, wine-stained fingers about his collar. Oak scrambled but his boots no longer had any purchase on the ground and all he could do was wave his arms in a wild panic, doing little more than to make himself look rather ridiculous. Oh how dearly he wished to be away from this fellow's breath. To say it smelt like a dead animal would be cruel to dead animals everywhere.

"I don't like limericks." The brute growled, spit and beer flying from his mouth. "And I really don't like bards." He placed an emphasis on each of his words, his face reddening with anger.

* * *

Orryn was no stranger to the raucous atmosphere permeating the drinking pavilions. Glancing round he saw men and women from all over the Seven Kingdoms, and some exotics besides. Put this many people together, add the excitement of violence and drown it in wine, ale and spirits… that was a heady and volatile mixture like wildfire itself. Some uneasiness tickled the back of his neck. It was only a matter of time before fights would break out over dice or women.

There were also several men in dragon livery with watchful eyes who, the Baratheon saw, drank sparingly. Maekar’s, Bloodraven or Baelor’s? Orryn pondered, deciding they had likely been posted by all three. He had been nursing a horn of dark ale strong enough to make his eyes water, something sweet and bitter. Others around him lacked his kind of restraint. Certainly, Harlan and his young stags had indulged vigorously in the bounty of grain and grape. They sat together, or rather sprawled, like lazy youths though most of them had passed into manhood. Summer knights and greenhorns, thought Orryn as he listened to their boasts and tourney prognostics.

“Half of this lot will be out in the first quarter,” he muttered to Robert ‘Bobbie Crawdad’ Cray, one of his companions.

The swarthy Crannogman was far from home, but had been with Orryn from the first day he had stepped off the ship in Pentos. Crawdad was busily dismembering his namesakes, tossing the tiny peeled carcasses over his shoulder. He was one of those characters who ate with such gusto that even if you had made a pig out of yourself, you’d find yourself wolfing down another helping. “This is not half bad,” he said, slurping on a crimson torso piece. “Nothing like Mama Cray’s cooking of course.” More slurping underlined his point. “And it makes me long for the marshes and crawfish boils of home.” Talk of the tourney would seemingly not spoil his appetite or distract him from his meal.

Orryn shook his head, ignoring the nostalgic homesickness. Harder it was to ignore the nascent hunger Crawdad’s relish was working up. He cast long eyes at the emptying bowl. “Where did you get that anyway?”

Cray pointed a finger at a red coloured tent. “Some Dornishman married a Riverlands girl and now they travel the realm, selling bisque and étouffé at fairs, markets and tourneys. They came up with their own flavour mix combining green herbs and hot spices.” It always amazed Orryn how much Crawdad could get out of people. He had that easy way about him, and though he was ten years Orryn’s senior he had kept his boyish charm. With grease dripping down his chin, Robert grinned widely. “Rather romantic. I bet they will make beautiful children.”

* * *

Having someone swoop in to rescue her, at first, irked the young doe. Always seen as something needing saving, someone weaker, it wasn’t her in the slightest and yet that is all she would ever be known for. In her mind at least. So when the bard arrived, she had shot him a glare and would have told him that she was doing just fine, she never got the chance. The brute’s grasp on her had disappeared as he focused his attention on her savior. His theatrics saved her and cast all the wrath on himself.

She was appreciative of the rescue, once she realized that she was finally free, though she now found herself irritated. At the situation. At the drunkard. At the bard and of course at herself. “All I wanted was a night to myself…” she grumbled, exhaling deeply through her nose as she picked up a decanter of red and dumped it in the drunk’s face, “And you ‘ave done nothin’ but ruin that!”

The wine to the face did nothing to help the poor man dangling above the ground. If anything it only managed to get his sights set back upon her. To which she swallowed hard and swung the arm holding her makeshift weapon, landing a solid blow to the side of his head, effectively causing him to let go of the bard. He stumbled, taking hold of his head, a trickle of blood falling into his eyes and blurring his already unstable vision. His shouts drowned out with the rest of the ruckus of the tent as Argella took her protector’s hand in hers and hauled him in the opposite direction, a laugh on her lips as they went shuffled between the throng of those congregated, “Quick as a bunny now, let’s go.”

* * *

Oak beamed back at the doe, letting her whisk him through the crowd. He clutched tightly onto her hand, her steady progress the only thing that stopped him from toppling over his own feet. Laughter spilled from his lips and they were barely paying attention to where they were going, the music only heightening the frantic joy. He turned to see if the giant was following when, ignorant of who was around them, the pair crashed into a nearby patron. Hands came up to steady Argella, the tall figure glancing down at the duo, dark eyebrows raised. "There you are…"

Garrett scowled at the bard, irritation clearly drawn across his face. His jaw tightened before his eyes moved over to Argella, unabashedly admiring her form. "Have we met before?" He asked bluntly, his gaze shooting briefly over to the pair's clasped hands, something akin to jealousy flashing across his features for the briefest of moments. "I must apologize for the interruption but I was looking for my bard." He frowned at Oaks' disheveled appearance, his tunic torn and beer staining his doublet. "Speaking of...why do you look like you've been sleeping in a ditch?"

Oak opened his mouth to explain when yells and shrieks began to erupt from the crowd surrounding them. People scurried aside as a great, lumbering oaf came stumbling through the throng, one hand clutched against his blood matted hair, unsteady gaze trying to focus on the doe and the bard. He stopped in his tracks, wobbling precariously for a moment before pointing a grimy finger at the trio. "You!" He slurred, words bumbling from his lips.

"What in the Seven have you done now?" Garrett muttered to Oak as he moved to step in front of the young Baratheon, pushing her gently aside. "Let me guess. It was another limerick?" He shook his head. "Our dear bard does so love to antagonise his patrons." The lord turned to smile wickedly at Argella, "Though it seems he had aid this time..."

With the sudden readjustment of position Argella found herself staring up at the wicked grin and feeling a nagging sensation pull at her mind. Something was so oddly familiar with him, she knew his face, but from where?

An odd thought for an inopportune time. The dark haired lass puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms over her chest once his words reached her ears, “It should be known, good ser that I aided him not. He was the one who intervened,” she huffed through her nose. As if the statement made the situation any fairer. Though she tried to be serious in the matter she couldn’t help the shy smile that graced her lips upon receiving such attention from the handsome man.

In no time however, the drunken brute had caught up to the trio, still disoriented and still lit with, no doubt what he believed to be a righteous fury - pulling her from her reverie, “You wretched cunt-monger,” his words were venomous and like gravel in the mouth and he spit with every other syllable. Enough where Argie feared the dribble would fly off and land on her or her guardian. He seemed far less concerned with the situation at hand and more bothered that the drunk was there in the first place.

Argella wanted to retaliate and was nearly successful in sidestepping the dark haired man posing as her shield, if only to take another swing towards her aggressor. Though the most she was able to do was glare menacingly at him. She hadn’t even realized she had grabbed ahold of the warm body before her in the hope to steady her already frayed nerves. It was supposed to be a fun and relaxing evening… not, this.

“This your bitch?” He hurled insults around like leaves in autumn, jutting a finger in the young Baratheon’s direction as he glared at the Tyrell, “She owes me a right apology she does. Look at what she’s done. An’ I expect to be handsomely compensated for my anguish,” he was smarmy and so self-assured in his swaying stance.

Garrett smiled, arms folded lazily across his chest. "Let me get this straight. You're demanding that I pay you for your…anguish?" He drawled, derisive laughter spilling from his lips. "Though it's understandable I suppose. You came here for the tourney yet you have already been bested by a girl." He cocked his head at the ugly man, taking in his increasingly teetering form. "It will surely bring shame to whatever mud pit you call a house."

“You pretty boys always like to be chivalrous, don’t you? Drooling over those lady bits.” The brute was drooling himself, though the irony would be lost on him. Instead, he raised two ham-sized fists, scars covering the knuckles that jutted out like subdermal pebbles. “Get your smug gob out of my way, ‘fore I make you eat that mud.”

“No,” was all Garrett said, and had time to, before a bare-knuckle jab flew fast as an arrow. The big brutish lout was surprisingly quick for his inebriated encumbrance. As if the cauliflower ears and crooked nose had been no indication: this fellow could throw a punch.

Against all odds the young Lord managed to stay upright, though there was no time to dodge and the fist slammed into his face, a sudden sharp pain blooming across the bridge of his nose, followed by a rush of warm blood. He stumbled back into Argella but managed to catch himself, stunned and likely with a brutal headache brewing. But Garrett had grown up with a rambunctious brother and was no stranger to pain, as much as he highly disliked it.

"I'm going to kill you." He muttered moodily as he pinched his fingers either side of his nose, jaw twitching in irritation. There was a sudden war cry, or at least a yell beside him as Oak ran - or more accurately stumbled - towards the brute, dragging a chair with him. He swung the chair aloft, though only succeeded in raising it to eye level before he smashed it against the man's chest, wood splintering as it broke uselessly against the oaf's surprisingly robust body. The man did little more than utter a grunt of displeasure before turning his gaze to the bard. Garrett couldn't help but roll his eyes as three more men parted the now sizable crowd, each appearing to be equally boneheaded as the last, though comically they were all of decidedly different shapes & sizes.

"You really know how to pick them don't you?" He smirked at Argella, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand. His nose at the very least did not feel broken though his tunic was sadly ruined. "Such a waste of fine cloth." Garrett shook his head before reaching down to draw a small dagger that had been sheathed at his waist, and holding it out to the young woman. "Personally I'd aim for the waist down."

A coy grin graced her features as she looked up at him, “Don’t I though?” she quipped though it seemed it was lost on him as he passed his personal weapon to her. The heat that erupted across her skin from having his eyes on her felt as if she were walking through flames. Shaking such thoughts from her mind, Argie grabbed the stylet and held on firmly, weighing it. The blade was longer than she was used to but she would make do. “You assume this is my first time wielding a knife~,” she teased, her gaze flipping between the weapon and Garrett. This was all too much, but instead of finding herself overwhelmed with it all, the young Baratheon discovered that this was exactly what she was needing in order to feel… alive.

Argella shot him a thankful smile that was short lived. With the reflexes of a cat, she surged forward, blade first; the look on Garrett’s face was of shock - at least for a brief moment - as she dashed past the Tyrell Lord and thrust her newly acquired blade into the gut of one of the drunkard’s companions. Just as quickly as she stuck him like the pig he was, she twisted the blade in deeper before yanking it out.

He stared down at her through crossed eyes and blurred vision, muttering some string of curses under his rancid breath before yanking her up by her arm. “She has some fight in her,” he called back towards the rest of his troop. She tried to kick at him to release her but he had enough brains to hold her far enough to keep her blows from landing.

“Put me down and I’ll show you just how much fight…” came her growl.

* * *

In a very short period of time a very unfortunate series of events went down. Orryn never got to have the bowl of boiled and buttered crustaceans so lauded by his Crannogman companion. Instead, after having paid a handful of coppers, licking his lips in anticipation and moving back in the general direction of Crawdad, some loggerheads rushed past him, almost knocking him over. The étouffé did not survive. Tiny red-bodied crayfish spilled across the grass like calcic gems, and he received an elbow to the gut. When he righted himself he spied a face he knew, and recognised the infamous rage written across it. After all, he was no stranger to the Baratheon fury… it was a family trait.

“Seven Hells,” he grunted out with a wheeze. Sucking in as much air as he could, he bellowed out “Harlan!” Then, like some hornet-stung bull, Orryn started barrelling through the crowd that had gathered. More fists started flying in his wake, though he trusted his younger brother able to navigate through the punches. Harlan had always been quick on his feet.

When he espied the trademark flicker of metal, he felt his bowels lurch. Argella was wielding it, and she had a mountain of a man in her sights. “Argella! Don’t!” Orryn had little hope to be heard over the ruckus, shoving a man off him and doling out a generous kick to clear a path. The knife his sister was about to use would not kill her assailant instantly, and he looked as if he could break her like a twig. Not to mention, it was one thing to be part of a brawl, but another when someone got stuck with a blade. Fortunately she picked a smaller target than the brute, but still… Did she not realise they were subject to Prince Maekar’s jurisdiction? Had she not seen the hanged and mutilated criminals? The ends of his mercy were to be found at the end of a rope. What. was. she. thinking?!

Like a spinning top, Orryn emerged from the massed bodies and charged into his sister’s attackers from behind. The Baratheon put his back into it, intending to lift someone clean off the ground. The boulder-like impact was amplified by a wrathful roar. He would not be able to take them all on, but if Harlan and his staglets and Crawdad were on their way, all he needed to do was bide time. If Argella had any brains at all, she’d try to get away while he collected her beating.

* * *

It happened in the blink of an eye. One minute she was dangling in the air and the next she was falling flat on her backside, bloodied knife still in hand. Argella frantically searched for the man who held her up and spotted him wrestling another - the reason for her release, “Orryn-!” The look shot her way, as brief as it was was enough to get her up off the ground and bolt the other way. Not before she grabbed ahold of the dark haired lord’s hand beside her and dragged him along. She would find some place to hide, out of sight, and wait for Orryn to find her. Argie groaned aloud at the hell that would soon follow from this.

* * *

Harlan was laughing like his cousin Lyonel would, only madder. Growing up in the wide shadows of his male kinsmen, he had had to play a hard and aloof game and found he quite liked the role he had chosen for him. Like Orryn had done, Harlan flung himself into the fray but with considerably less regard for personal safety. Already he felt the swelling preceding a black eye, and bruises would bloom on his torso like blue and purple flowers in the morning. The pain did not stop him though, as he only grinned the wider - pearly whites turned pink and red from the blood in his mouth. He had knocked someone down, standing over him and momentarily scanned for Orryn’s whereabouts. Instead, he spotted Argella being led away. “Let go of her!” he yelled, slurring his words through bloody spittle. There was some dandy holding her and dragging her off. Not on my watch, thought Hotspur as he felt fingerbones crunch beneath his boot.

* * *

Garrett turned, eyes roaming over the ridiculous drunk of a man, a low laugh escaping his throat. "Such demands you make." He smiled wryly, "But you are mistaken. It is in fact me that is being kidnapped. Perhaps I should have protested more but it is rare that one is stolen by someone so intriguing." He glanced towards Argella, raising his eyebrows at her playfully. His entwined fingers visibly tightened about her own as if to purposefully rile the man even further. "But now I must decline to let go. Unless she commands me of course..." He glanced down at her, his expression surprisingly serious. "Do you command me?"

She whipped her head in the direction of the voice calling out to them, as drunk and slurred as it was, she could still recognize it as Harlan. Who else would be at the heels of Orryn, jumping into the fray with no questions asked? Standing there stock still her eyes danced between the two men talking, if that's what the pissing contest could be watered down to, her jaw slack and a rosy hue painted on her cheeks down to her collarbone, dipping under the fabric of her dress. His squeezing of her hand, the heat from his faze on her, expecting her answer. Harlan on the other hand looked less than pleased with the sight before him as a whole and she could only imagine his chagrin when sober. Commotion from behind her brother pulled their attention back to the situation. Using that to her advantage she tightened her hold on Garrett and pulled him with her once more, shooting him a flirty smile, “After such a compliment how could I so easily release you?”

* * *

By the Gods but this felt good. Royce felt his fashionable doublet tear as he threw a man several feet forward. The fellow hitting an empty barrel of Arbor wine and knocked it over.. He and Orryn had their differences, but he was damn well not going to stand there and let his brother get a kicking from some drunken bastards. If anyone was to beat Orryn, it would be Royce himself. A thunderous roar escaped him as he stretched his arms out like two massive branches from the oaken trunk that was his wide chest. “Anyone else?” A maniac’s grin and lunatic’s eyes turned his fierce, bearded face into that of a demon, so when the huge brute that had previously accosted his sister squared off against him - Royce just loosened his shoulders and bent his legs lightly.

* * *

Oak had found himself staring at the ceiling. Or the fine swathes of cloth that made for a makeshift ceiling. His whole body hurt and he had lost his lute. Nor was his Lord anywhere to be seen. Turning his head, his eyes roamed over a fellow who was laid next to him. In spite of the bruises, blood and blooming black eye, the man was astoundingly handsome and the bard would be a fool to not be distracted by such beauty. With great difficulty he managed to get to his feet, brushing uselessly at his dirt and wine stained doublet.

"So, do you often come round these parts?" He grinned shamelessly, holding a hand out to the man. The stranger had no time to reply however before Oaks legs were swept out from under him as a large man barreled past, his back hitting the hard ground painfully. The force winded him and for a moment all he could do was gasp for breath, twisting to the side in agony. "You-you flop-nozzle!" He finally managed to shout as he rolled onto his hands and knees, looking around for his attacker. "I'll have you know we musicians are of delicate constitutions!"

train wrecks go here

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