Pascal

[Genkai] Magical Drifting [Pascal]

That sounds good. We can always save Devon and Rhys for the second post. I am not a stickler for needing everyone in every post.

[Genkai] Magical Drifting [Pascal]

I am thinking not yet. If he has encountered her, she wouldn't have stuck around necessarily. Would you like to start, with a bit of typical ana stuff, and then i can work in Kieran?

Oh, I was thinking that perhaps he was injured, and he goes to the other world to get help, because healers are so rare and because there isn't anywhere safe for him to get his wounds treated. Does that sound like a decent way for them to meet?

[Genkai] Magical Drifting [Pascal]

I think it's good that they know each other. I think we should kick off with the modern setting. Perhaps just Anabelle and Kieran, if you don't mind taking it slower. We could have Devon and Rhys meet in the magic world if you want as well.

Though, I do love the idea of Kieran bringing Devon to the modern world at some point.

[Genkai] Magical Drifting [Pascal]

Name: Kieran Fernier
Age: 21
Magic: Spirit
Appearance: (In modern world)

Background: After his parents disappeared, Kieran ended up living with his two uncles. As he grew, he was introduced to the other world that to which they had access. He only visited a few times with his elder uncle, Ithric, when his uncles deemed that it was too dangerous for him to be around. When Kieran reached adulthood, Ithric passed away, and his other uncle left the home to mourn. Kieran thought about leaving, but he discovered the means that Ithric used to traverse the lands, and began to cross between the worlds. Kieran always dreamed of the future and the past, but he still struggles with interpreting his visions. He is naturally much better at sensing magic and magic users.

Name: Rhys Alderan
Age: 26
Magic: Elemental
Appearance:

Background: All mages were hunted in the great war, with every mage useful to the enemy for another reason. Elementals were blamed for the droughts, and when they were found by the hunters, they were forced to draw water from the ground for the enemy’s plants, and other such things. Rhys isn’t very good at controlling water. Having grown up in a time when mages were being hunted all of the time, she was never able to hone her ability. She ran away from home after causing a natural disaster, knowing that her former friends and family would come under scrutiny. She tried to stay away from towns, but, with little survival skills of her own, ended up working as a bar wench at a tavern in one of the larger cities, trying to stay hidden.

[Genkai] Magical Drifting [Pascal]

Alright, I am back, and everything looks great! I am starting CS shortly. I am not intending to put a lot of background in the CS, so that we can learn more about the characters as we go. If you don't mind, I think I am going to have my male spirit mage having recently inherited his position, so he isn't the most familiar with the 'modern' world. He likely visited it every year or so, but didn't stay for long until he was an adult.

Advanced Writers, Please!

Getting right to the point here...I need a partner who can help me create a world, characters within it, and an engaging story. I will create NPCs, and I expect my partner to as well. If I wanted to drag someone through a game, I would play both characters. Please be willing to talk OOC about the plot, and contribute ideas as well.

You must have decent grammar. I don’t mind if prepositions are used to end sentences, but if I see a post more than three lines long with no commas, semi-colons, or other forms of (appropriate) punctuation, I am done. In terms of length, I tend to write between three and eight well-developed paragraphs, depending on the flow of the game. (This is 600-1600 words per post.) I try to be flexible, but tend to match what my partner writes in terms of detail and plot progression.

General settings: I will play in worlds with common or rare magic, or worlds without. I enjoy science fiction settings, and a variety of fantasy settings. I have a lot of ideas, but for the sake of brevity, I would prefer to discuss specific ideas over PM. I do prefer to have some mature themes, gore, violence, romance, in my games, so I request that you only respond if you are >18, and have ideas of your own to suggest as well.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)

The engineer was still hobbling a bit, and Dave couldn’t help but wonder if he had patched up the wound well enough. He knew the supplies that he had made the cut with were clean, but there was still the potential that he hadn’t cleaned it out well enough. Bransen had even climbed out of the trunk and stepped on the dirty ground. If Bransen’s wound got infected, they would be fucked. Hospitals were…complicated, with insurance, proof of identity, questions being asked…they were problems that Dave didn’t want to deal with. He might be able to argue that Bransen stepped on a blade, but Dave was not interested in someone asking that many questions. The fewer the questions, the better, and the best way to avoid questions was to avoid going to the hospital, and so Bransen couldn’t let that wound become infected.

Maybe Bransen just had a low pain threshold, or wanted Dave to feel guilt over what he had done. Strangely enough, though, Dave didn’t really feel guilt about any of it. He had been doing his job, and he had prevented Kit from going completely bat shit on the captive. Hell, he was practically a hero, compared to Kit Marshall.

After watching Bransen for a few moments, Dave got into the passenger’s side, doing absolutely nothing to adjust the seat. He was courteous enough to put on his seatbelt, but he was more one to shift in the seat, rather than adjust the seat itself to find a comfortable place. In a strange way, their car habits in that moment told a lot about their personalities. Dave was one to deal with the cards he was given. He didn’t think about how to change the circumstances of the situation, but he adapted and he dealt. Bransen liked to have things a certain way. He was more demanding, and he felt like he needed to manipulate the world around him to suit his tastes. He disapproved of what Hawtholders did, and so he had taken their data and ran away with it. He influenced things, rather than letting them influence what he did. Did that make Bransen more proactive? And Dave reactive? That might have been a bit of a stretch of the metaphor. Perhaps Bransen simply adjusted the seat because he was shorter, more neurotic, or an insecure driver.

Dismissing his other thoughts, Dave paid attention enough to get Bransen on the main road before he promptly passed out in the passenger’s seat. Unlike the night before, he didn’t have many dreams. He slept soundly, and heavily; he didn’t even attack Bransen. It seemed like only a few moments before Bransen nudged him, needing something. Dave ignored the first nudge on his thigh, shifting a bit to continue sleeping. When the pestering didn’t cease, and was followed by words, Dave reluctantly opened his eyes and lifted his head. “Is the car on fire? Are there cops?” He asked, his lips working a bit slower than he had wanted, making his words come out a bit sore. His head and neck were damn sore from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. How had that seemed comfortable when he went to sleep in the first place? He let out a groan, though Bransen might not be able to understand what he was trying to convey from it, or from his previous words. The sun was still out, though it was beginning to set. Dave shifted a bit and turned to the man, the grumpy expression on his face the result of having just woken. “Yea” He said, finally processing the words that had accompanied Bransen nudging him awake.

Dave removed his arms from the crossed position they had held, and he turned to face Bransen. “We want to keep on the I-80—“ He paused to yawn and then continued, “Basically till we get to the New Jersy Turnpike….That’s another…. 90 miles away…ish, I think…. If we do that, we will be stuck in the city after dark… Even I am not in the mood to do that. And I have no desire to deal with the turnpike after dark. So let’s find a place to crash for the night. In about… an hour, hour and a half. If we start seeing signs for the turnpike, then we definitely get off quickly. I know it’s early, but we both need the sleep. Then tomorrow, first thing we can track down the right people and hopefully be out of the city again by nightfall.” It was an ambitious hope, and relied heavily upon Dave’s former associates not all being in jail, but it was the only chance they had. “Does that work for you?” Dave asked, though he couldn’t imagine Bransen disagreeing—and having any other suggestions worth considering.

--
Kit Marshall was given a few hours to rest and get ready for the meeting. In the meantime, Melissa Thompson had cameras on him. She slept a little, but made sure that she looked impeccable before a single soul saw her. At 7:30 am, she ran on the treadmill in her office, watching three different screens with information about what Marshall had been doing. Kit had gone to the medical wing, and Melissa read the report from the doctor. They gave him acetaminophen, and the report explained that he didn’t really have any lasting concerns. He was not diagnosed with any broken bones, or even a concussion. It was likely that the attitude he took with her was, in fact, he actual attitude. He had been a great disappointment, and the feelings he expressed about Berkman and Tucker the night before made him a wildcard.

Hilda reported that Kit clearly took things very personally, and he likely had gone on a power-trip with this new task. There was a high probability that he would go about the retrieval with a brutal nature, and the chances of retrieving Mr. Berkman and Mr .Tucker alive (and for a proper interrogation) was slim. Also playing against Kit Marshall was the concern Melissa Thompson had that Kit couldn’t conduct an interrogation. He would likely end up killing the pair before they got any information. While Melissa Thompson didn’t know if the pair would even have much information for the pair, she would certainly need to know if any information had been given to others, or copied.

The chances of Hawtholders continuing to employ Kit Marshall were slim. He was a risk, with his erratic behavior, and his inability to work with others. She certainly wasn’t in the mood to pair him up with anyone else, especially not a stranger who would struggle to control him. The problem with putting a more brutal person alongside him was that Kit might just grow worse, and one person sent to bring in Mr. Berkman and Mr. Tucker needed to maintain their composure and wits.

On another screen, Hilda was continuing to give Melissa Thompson updates about where Berkman might have gone. Based on what was missing at the storage unit, and the video footage there, she had figured out what Mr. Tucker had taken with him. He had weapons that he could sell off, and he had gotten a fistful of cash. His card had been abandoned, and she could tell that he had committed fully to whatever Berkman’s plan was. After all, he had given away his credit card. While many who ran from the police kept their personal cards and things because they hoped to get back to their lives eventually, Mr. Tucker had literally given away his entire savings. He could have simply thrown the card in the trash, shredded it, or kept it on his person if he planned to return to his life. Perhaps he was worried that he would make the same mistake as Berkman, and use his card somewhere, leading them right to him. Still, that didn’t mean he had to let people use it until it declined at a gas station.

No, giving away his card was giving away his lease on life. He knew that what he was doing was a death sentence. There was no returning to his life when he had no money, which perhaps made him a bit wiser than Melissa had realized before. There were two distinct possibilities that occurred to her as her treadmill regime ended and she slowed the pace to a walk. One, Tucker had a reason to believe that death was the only conclusion, perhaps because he knew that running wasn’t going to last long. This possibility led to the ending that he was on a suicide run, and somehow felt compelled to sell out Hawtholders before he died. The second possibility that was under serious consideration was that Tucker was running from his identity. He was abandoning the card because he was going to run from ‘Dave Tucker’, and was planning on becoming someone else.

Going to her pull up bar in the hallway, Melissa Thompson jumped up and began to do pull-ups. “Hilda.” She brought up the AI on one of the screens, glancing over at it in between pull-ups. “Do a search on any reports with Hawtholders on police reports.” She requested. If Tucker and Bransen were trying to take down Hawtholders, then they would have to go to the police. That was their only option, and they had many contacts with the police. Hawtholders had contracts with the police departments of the largest cities in the United States. They supplied nonlethal riot control supplies for different situations, along with more lethal options. They were even working on prototypes of hanguns that could carry multiple types of ammunition at the same time. There would be two or three cartridges in the gun, and options, like the safety, to switch between the different cartridges. It was going very well, an and the trials thus far were showing that the most difficult aspect to execute tended to be user safety—making sure that it was easy for the officer to tell which option the gun was set to. They had also developed an automatic safety option, which put the weapon back to Safe mode when it was holstered again. With all of the work that Hawtholders was doing with police departments, they had people everywhere.

Tucker and Berkman’s faces were already all over the television, but Tucker had learned from Berkman’s mistakes, and they hadn’t gotten any leads in the time that the two men had been missing. She knew she was missing something, she just wondered if Kit Marshall could possibly be the man to figure out just what it was. Melissa switched from pull-ups with her arms to hooking her legs over the bar and working her abs as she pulled her body up. She listened to the reports, or lack thereof, as she continued the repetitions. At 9:30 am, she took a shower, and then downed a protein shake before re-composing herself. By 10:30, she was back in the office in a meeting, and at 11:45, she was back in the room where Kit would be returning.

At noon, the door opened and Melissa Thompson watched as Kit walked in once more. He looked much more composed, which was good, because he had drugs and time on his side. “Good afternoon, Mr. Marshall. I hope that you have rested well, and had time to see a doctor as well.” She said, not bothering to say that she was sure he had done such, since she had already read up on his meeting with the doctor. As it was, she had no reason to continue to invest in Mr. Marshall. He was a sore loser, had a bad attitude, and was cocky. None of these qualities were valued by Ms. Thompson, and she didn’t see how he would be of use as they continued to search for the now two traitors. “Do you have any new information that we need to take under consideration moving forward?” She asked, keeping her tone neutral, and the focus on Kit. It was his responsibility to prove his value, not her responsibility to find a use for him.

[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)

Dave chose McDonalds, purely because he saw it first. He pulled into the parking lot, and for once was surprised that Bransen actually had a good opinion. He said it would be best it stay away from security cameras, and Dave nodded in agreement. “You have a good point.” He said. He hoped that they wouldn’t trace the pair to McDonalds, but if they had the software for the facial recognition set up with a wide enough area, it was possible that they would appear. When the engineer said that they should go separately, Dave agreed as well. Perhaps Bransen had just needed proper sleep, because he was actually seeming somewhat competent now, for the first time that the suit could recall since they had met. “What do you want?” Dave asked. “I will go through the drive through while you go to the bathroom, and then I will go a few minutes later, when we finish eating.” He explained. That would probably be the best way to avoid them getting noticed.

Fortunately, by the time Bransen emerged, Dave had gotten the food and parked the new vehicle. He might have ordered a bit much, getting a very large fries and drink to go with his meal. The McFlurry was in addition, and he was sorely disappointed about the size. They were seriously getting smaller. The suit probably should have been more worried about money, but he knew that they would unload the car in NYC, and hopefully make some cash from unloading some of the other things that Dave still had from Hawtholders. Of course, he needed to talk with Bransen about what they would sell. The gun might come in handy, but they didn’t have a permit, and if their car was searched on the way to Canada, they would be fucked. It would be safer in lots of ways to get rid of all of it, and they would have enough cash to make it to Canada and go their separate ways, should they both actually make it that far.

Dave was enjoying the silence, though that was entirely because he was preoccupied with the food in front of him. He didn’t notice the way Bransen ate, though if Bransen had woken at a few inopportune moments of the drive thus far, he might have found Dave’s lingering upon his face for a few moments longer than necessary to simply affirm that the other man was still sleeping. Bransen wasn’t an unattractive man. The problem was simply with his personality. The engineer acted as if he was better than Dave, just because he had more book smarts. Dave didn’t like that quality at all. It was the same quality that Kit Marshall had; the man had always acted like Dave was some sort of lesser being, a stupid suit, and even though Dave had only known both of these men for a short while, he found that quality incredibly annoying.

When Bransen said that it sounded terrible to dip French fries in ice cream, Dave shrugged. “Not everyone can handle the awesome that is French fried McFlurry” He said simply. When Bransen asked if he could try, Dave nodded and held out the cup. “You guess?” He asked, shaking his head with Bransen’s assessment. Bransen continued, saying that he couldn’t mix business with pleasure. It was a strange way to phrase the idea of dipping fries in ice cream, and yet again Dave felt like Bransen’s snobbishness was trying to come out. Why did the man have to overcomplicate things so much? He tilted his head a bit as Bransen looked towards the window and mumbled something about other people being able to do it….whatever it was. Dave was sure that Bransen was talking about something else entirely, but he had no idea what it was.

“You’ve got issues, Berkman.” Dave said, shaking his head. He ate another fry before he continued. “I mean, who considers any part of a McDonald’s meal to be ‘business’?” He asked, laughing a little. He wasn’t going to seriously question Bransen’s way of life, but the man had to have some serious priority issues if he considered either fries or McFlurries to be anything short of unhealthy deliciousness. The meal lapsed back into quiet, and Dave ate just about everything that he had ordered. When he was finished with his meal, he put everything back in the bag, and then stepped out of the car briefly to drop it in the trash. He still had a bit of soda left, but he planned to drink that over the next few hours. Dave went into the McDonald’s to pee as well. Though he wasn’t as bathroom shy as the other man, he hoped that the large gap between when they were seen would help prevent them from getting noticed. Returning to the car once he had relived himself, Dave waited until Bransen was done and ready to dump the trash before he spoke again. “Hey, do you want to switch spots and drive for a bit?” He asked, totally ready to take a bit of a nap. Though Bransen hadn’t answered him before, he assumed that the offer was still on the table, and his tone was rather pleased at the idea of getting a break with the driving.

Bransen agreed, and Dave moved into the passenger seat when the engineer got out to dump the food. He moved the seat back a little so his legs had a bit more room, and switched the soda to his side as well, getting a bit more comfortable in the seat. If Bransen asked, Dave would tell him which direction he needed to go to get back on the highway. After that, it wouldn’t exactly be a difficult drive, and so Dave relaxed. He would fall asleep after about an hour if Bransen stayed quiet, but the man could easily stay up as well, and would certainly do so if Bransen looked tired at the wheel.

[High-Casual/Advanced] Something Like Conspiracy (SlummyChap & Pascal)

Of course Dave had noticed the other man fall asleep. He had wanted to strike up a conversation many times, though he had always fallen short of forming coherent thoughts. Whenever he seemed to have something he thought was worth mentioning, he looked over and noticed the man was, indeed, still unconscious. He would have felt stupid, waking Bransen if he wasn’t going to say anything important, and he usually decided that his random commentary was lacking in the intellectual quality that was no doubt necessary to hold Bransen’s interest. Thus, Dave kept his comments to himself, even though he clearly saw this woman picking her nose in one of the cars that traveled along-side him for a little while. He noticed a humorous license plate, FRM MYX, though the car took an exit after only being in his vision for about a mile. Dave briefly began to track the models of the cars as well, though he soon lost track of whether he was seeing the same vehicles again, or different ones, and so gave up.

Over an hour passed, the station he had picked was fortunately still working alright, the time during which they were under bridges aside. He had seen a few signs for attractions that could have been worth a visit, if the pair weren’t running for their lives, of course. No, had Dave been traveling of his own accord, or with some of hide friends, he might have suggested stopping off. He could almost imagine the look of anger that would have surfaced on Bransen’s face if he had woken up outside of some ‘world renowned brewery’…especially if Dave had abandoned him and gone inside. Dave laughed to himself at the thought, though he continued driving.

In all honesty, Dave wasn’t used to the kind of quiet that Bransen perpetuated. He was used to small talk, and random talking about trivial things. Even though he had nothing to say, he still had trouble with the silence. Eventually, it was Bransen who broke it, and Dave almost called out in victory for having held out longer than the other man. It should have been an extra victory because Dave actually had to be awake the entire time he was driving, while Bransen got to sleep for almost the entire drive. Dave glanced sideways as the other man was rubbing his eyes, and asked in a hoarse voice if they wanted to switch. “You sure you can stay awake?” He asked in response, not even giving the thought enough time to process. It was meant to be a friendly jab, but Dave was doing a horrible job of remembering that Bransen wasn’t a friendly person. Had he waited a little longer, he might have realized that the offer on Bransen’s part to actually do something to help their situation was so rare that it needed to be cherished, rather than poked with a stick. Indeed, in Dave’s mind, Bransen had done almost nothing since they had paired up. It was a miracle that the engineer had survived as long as he had, really, with how uninvolved he was in his own life.

“Sorry, uh. Let’s stop somewhere and get a quick bite. Then you can drive if your foot isn’t too fucked up.” Dave added after a few moments, knowing he shouldn’t have poked fun at his driving companion. Dave figured if the man tried putting pressure on it and couldn’t walk, then driving would be out of the question, at least for a while longer. A few moments passed, during which Dave saw an exit sign that had denoted a few food places that would be coming up on an exit about a mile or so ahead of them. “There are quite a few places coming up… Which do you prefer, McDonald’s or Wendy’s?” Dave inquired. Most people asked McDonald’s or Burger King, however Dave already had an item in mind that he couldn’t get at the King. If Bransen chose Wendy’s, Dave would spoil himself with a frosty. If they chose McDonald’s, then he would get a McFlurry. Either way, Dave would be content for a while longer, and wouldn’t have to resort to drinking just to finish the trip. He planned to get food as well, but it was the desserts that determined where Dave wanted to go for food.

He glanced once more at Bransen as he pulled into the parking lot. “Do you want to go in?” Bransen didn’t look…that bad, and Dave figured that the other man would have to pee at least. He certainly did. Dave would have gone through the drive-thru to get the food if Bransen was uncomfortable, but either way he would end up parking for a bit, so that they could eat and he could use the bathroom. Dave would get some real food as well, if a burger and fries could really count as real food, of course. The fries would be dipped in whatever frozen drink he acquired, using that as his condiment of choice. “You ever have fries dipped in ice cream?” He asked Bransen before putting another one in his mouth. Dave had planned on saving them for the road, but that was already quickly failing, and then the car would smell like fast food, which was another reason that he should enjoy the food now.

-.-

Melissa had made it clear that she meant business, and apparently Kit was bright enough to realize that he wasn’t going to talk circles around her. He began to explain that the target was restrained, and they used force. She didn’t bat an eye at this—and frankly would have been surprised if they were trying to get around using force. She had, after all, given them plenty of tools with which they could garner information. Had she believed that Bransen would have fessed up to everything, then she would have simply brought him in and skipped the whole affair with the brain and the brawn.

Mr. Marshall seemed to realize, at the very least, that Berkman was grasping at straws. So had his argument been convincing enough to sway Mr. Tucker to join his side? There were two distinct possibilities that came to her mind as Mr. Marshall explained Davian’s actions; either Mr. Tucker had a conscience, and only just realized during the interrogation that Hawtholders had some less than wholesome activities, or Mr. Tucker was tricked by their captive into believing that he had something to gain by helping the former engineer escape from Hawtholder’s clutches. Mr. Marshall explained that Bransen got under his skin, that the man’s attitude prompted him to attack the other man, and it began to sound to Melissa as if Kit had lost control of the situation, forcing Mr. Tucker’s hand.

Her eyebrows went up a bit in response to Kit’s explanation, including the fact that he was bludgeoned unconscious. She had a good number of questions forming in her mind, but Melissa knew the benefits of letting someone finish composing their thoughts. They often answered the questions before she could ask them—or their rambling enticed them to give away some other piece of information that they had not intended on saying, something to help direct the guilt. Hilda’s readings during the interrogation would give Melissa quite a bit more information about the discussion she was having with Mr. Marshall. One of the most notable results would be the extreme degree to which Kit’s adrenaline rose as he talked about Bransen getting under his skin. It would become even more apparent that Kit probably would have done something regrettable had Mr. Tucker not been there to deflect from the situation. It would also tell Melissa that the likelihood of Marshall being involved in some sort of scheme with the pair was incredibly low. He was more likely to try to snap their necks than he was to be in league with them.

Kit tried to change the subject, bringing up the nature of the activities in which Hawtholders was involved. Was he seriously trying to put Melissa on the defensive once more? Of course she knew what activities they were involved in. Unless he was saying this because he wanted some sort of pay off. The stupid man suffered the same flawed reasoning as many other men had before him. He believed that he was important, that he mattered. He was just a cog in the machine, a grunt worker necessary only to carry out the tasks that Melissa deemed unworthy of her time. And apparently this man wasn’t even good for that. The only reason he was alive right now was that he had information that was very important to the security of the company. “The security measures within the walls of Hawtholders have been re-evaluated. Of that, Mr. Marshall, I can assure you. I can also assure you that what goes on inside of Hawtholders, especially the affairs of the payroll department, are absolutely none of your business.” Melissa leaned forward on the table a bit, her ability to maintain her composure rather eerie in some ways. “What you need to decide, Mr. Marshall, is how you will continue to be an asset to Hawtholders from this moment on.”

Taking a deep breath, Melissa straightened and stood up from the table. “Hawtholders is continually growing and improving. Without us, this world would be in the dark ages. Our pursuits are, indeed, global, and every good company needs good, loyal employees. So I would like you to take a few hours, Mr. Marshall. Compose yourself, sleep, go to see a medical provider in our care wing if you deem fit. Then, by noon, decide where you fit into Hawtholders' mission, and come to my office then with your decision.” Giving him a few hours would give her time to ho have him watched, see if he did anything that would make her more suspicious of his loyalty. Of course, he could do all of the things he needed within the Hawtholders buildings themselves, but he would be watched via camera. Melissa would be able to confer with HILDA, and decide what they were going to do with Mr. Marshall. He could be a valuable asset, but she needed to run some simulations and decide if he was worth the risk of keeping alive any longer.

An Unsettled Debt (LighttheDark and Pascal)

Kamron should have known that this wouldn’t have been easy. Of course she wouldn’t simply put on the clothing and cooperate with what he was demanding. The girl’s voice was weak, and her demands were almost humorous. She said she wasn’t a whore, and yet, with the fancy dress clinging to her from the rain, she didn’t exactly look high-class. He stood with one hand holding a blade, and waited as she then demanded to be released. It was a joke. Even if he did release her, she was going to simply have him beheaded anyway. He wouldn’t have been any better off than if he just told the Society that he wasn’t going to obey their demands.

Her small monologue ended with her asking his purpose, and who sent him, though Kamron wasn’t distracted by her question enough to notice that she was going for the small dagger in her purse. “Looking for this?” He asked, pulling out the tiny blade that he had already removed from her person. Kamron tossed it to the side. “It doesn’t matter why. It matters that you do what I tell you.” He reached out and grabbed one of her wrists, and then twisted it around her back with her free hand. “If you do not change your clothing, I will change it for you.” He stepped forward quickly, pushing her against the wall. He still had a blade, and it was pressed gently against the woman’s back. He was told to bring her back alive, so the Princess did have that point at least. He didn’t want to kill her.

Instead, the man turned the knife a bit, and twisted it so that it began to cut through a bulge in the fabric. He dragged the knife down quickly, cutting her clothing and rendering it largely useless. He released her wrist, and spun her around so her body was facing him. He took the blade and slid it between the fabric and the Princess’ skin. “Don’t move…” He warned, and then slid the blade down, cutting the dress off of her completely. “Now you need to put these on.” He said, gesturing to the clothing he had provided. He stepped back from her, confident that she wouldn’t want to leave wearing that clothing anymore.