Pascal

An Unsettled Debt (LighttheDark and Pascal)

The maid was the one to act first, yelling for the Princess to run. Kamron groaned—he should have realized that this wasn’t going to be easy. He hit the woman in the head, hoping only to knock her out, and then let fall to the ground as the Princess began to run. He couldn’t waste time checking to see if the nurse had actually fallen unconscious, or was, in fact, still living. No, his task was to fetch the Princess. She had a bit of a head-start, but he was able to keep up with her easily, and soon close the distance between them. Fortunately, she seemed to run the exact opposite way as help had been, and so they were let utterly alone. The woman tripped and fell to the ground as the rain continued to pour down.

Seeing her on the ground, he immediately closed the distance, and knelt down over her, pinning her to the ground. “You couldn’t just go along with things… could you?” He asked. “See… I really didn’t want to have to hurt you. I am sorry for what I am about to do.” He said, sighing before he brought his hand back and then punched her in the face. Fortunately, she would fall unconscious after only a single blow. He lifted up her body, surprised by the weight before realizing that her clothing was the cause. It was waterlogged, and she hadn’t even been wearing a proper cloak. He carried her with minimal difficulty towards the port, but he knew he wouldn’t get out of the alleys without someone noticing his catch. He changed course and brought her to a shop he knew, one which had a rather dubious back room, and broke into before he was spotted.

He placed the princess down by the counter, and then dealt with the owner, who came running down the stairs. He pushed a bundle of money into the man’s hand, and told him not to come downstairs until the morning. The owner looked at the money, and then nodded quickly before turning to go back upstairs, refusing to see or hear anything that was about to happen. Kamron honestly hoped that the princess would come to quickly, as he wanted to get moving once more. He grabbed some clothing that was good for traveling, including a pair of boots that were probably too big, and dropped them in front of her. If she wasn’t away, he would nudge her awake with his foot. “Hey, you need to put these on.” He unconscious and redress you myself.” He added, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

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

Dave had always been good at talking to his friends. They had similar interests (granted, those interests were often for illegal activities) and had spent enough time together to know what the other people were comfortable talking about. Dave had not had such opportunities with Bransen. His first encounters with the man had been cordial enough, escorting him around and generally looking a little menacing. To go right from there to interrogation was hard on their relationship, though. Dave couldn’t get past the idea that he was just some thug, a suit, a body without a brain. Yea, his brain wasn’t huge, and he couldn’t do calculus or build planes or anything, but in his world, he hadn’t been dumb. He didn’t even think he was particularly dumb now. He was the reason they had gotten as far as they had, switching cars, plates, getting supplies, and doing things that would keep them off of the radar. He had made what he thought were the good decisions, and he answered Bransen’s questions as best as he could. The response he received from the man, however, was less than Dave had hoped. It was like he had taken two steps forward only to move three steps backwards.

The man had barely responded to his ideas, which were really just trying to confirm that they would continue to work together. Had he still been interrogating the man, he would have called him a liar in a heartbeat. The man looked sick at the prospect of continuing, and Dave could tell that something was very wrong. He had messed something up, but he had no idea what. Bransen mumbled something to agree with him, and Dave made one more attempt at conversation, talking about missing being connected to the net. Once they had new identities, they would be able to start that sort of thing again, make new friends and have new lives, it would just take time. Dave hadn’t changed his name when he had moved to Chicago, but he did have to cut all ties and start fresh, to maintain his own sanity.

The last attempt at conversing with his traveling companion, however, was met with a vacant look, and Dave knew that his words had meant nothing. The man made some excuse to leave, and stumbled into the bathroom. Dave sat in shock for a few moments, and then shook his head as he had gotten up. He wanted to tell himself that the stitches had just made Bransen a little queasy, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He had misjudged the man, thought that they could have a conversation, be somewhat friendly towards each other, but he was wrong. Dave cleaned up the supplies from the table, busying himself quickly so he didn’t have to think about the disappointment. He put aside enough things for Bransen to take care of his foot again in the car, whenever the man felt up to it. He then packed up the rest of their things and went outside.

It was probably best to get a new car, and so Dave looked around the parking lot for a few moments. He saw a few contenders, but decided to go to the front desk and check out first. Getting someone to come to the desk so that he could return the keys was annoying, but fortunately the man left the desk as soon as Dave was done, giving the man the opportunity to look at the lost and found siting behind the counter. He grabbed the two sets of keys that had been there, and brought them out to the parking lot to see what luck he had. There was a sporty-looking thing, red with a racing stripe down the middle, and a rather boring looking dark blue Jeep. While the little one was more his choice, he knew that it would be noticed quickly, no matter what he did to the plates, and so he picked the Jeep, grateful that this time he would have the keys. Again he switched the plates, cautiously since it was day-time now. Fortunately, it seemed that everyone in the motel was likely still hung-over from their activities the night before.

Once the cars were settled, he went back to the room and brought everything out, packing up the Jeep quickly and getting ready to go. All he needed now was Bransen. Dave went back into the room and knocked on the bathroom door. “Hey, umm… I am ready to hit the road. The car is all packed, and we might want to get going before anyone notices… Oh it’s a dark blue Jeep now.” He turned and left the room once more, glancing over to make sure that he hadn’t left anything incriminating behind. Dave got in the car, and fiddled with the stations, hoping to find something decent to listen to. The second pop-tart still sat in the cup holder on the driver’s side, since he knew he would want to munch while he drove.

The passenger’s side was empty, apart from a plastic bag on the floor that had what Bransen would need to re-patch up his wound, if he wanted it. Their bigger bag was in the back on the floor. When Bransen returned, Dave would silently put the car in gear and begin to drive. He had failed miserably at small-talk before, and Bransen had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in conversing, and so Dave stayed quiet. He could do silence, and maybe even make it all the way into New York earlier, if they didn’t stop for food. He figured Bransen would prefer that, since he had gotten rather annoyed at the mention of having to stop at another motel for the evening.

-.-

Kit seemed to try to maintain his composure, which amused Thompson a bit. She sat quietly, waiting as he called HILDA defective, and put all of the blame on Tucker—convenient since he was gone. “Mr. Marshall.” Melissa Thompson finally stated when the man was done spewing whatever thoughts popped into his head. “Most individuals, when asked a question, see fit to answer that question. When speaking to me, most individuals see fit to reply concisely. I had yet to meet an individual, who not only refused to answer the single request posed to them, but instead babbled incessantly, saying nothing of any consequence, until you. And please, feel free to take offense to that statement, for I have spoken to your former partner, and even he boneheaded as he might be, was able to answer a simple question.”

Mr. Marshall was annoying. He was annoying, cocky, arrogant, and many other synonyms that she had no desire to name. If he had been a capable individual, then she wouldn’t have been in such a position, so early in the morning. “Perhaps HILDA does need some reprogramming. After all, she did predict that you would be capable of performing such a job, and clearly that was incorrect, and your intelligence was…over-estimated as much as Mr. Tucker’s loyalty. So I will take this incredibly slow for you.”

“You have stated thus far that Mr. Tucker compromised the mission, that he is rogue. Tell me how, and why. What changed in the storage unit that made Mr. Tucker side with the intended target and betray you? You have worked with the man, if only for a short while. I take it you did not predict such an extreme level of betrayal ahead of time, because you certainly would have called us up earlier.”

Melissa Thompson knew absolutely nothing about what had happened after they had captured Berkman. Something had clearly changed, because Mr. Tucker had taken the evidence and the man, and left. Had Berkman offered him money, power, drugs? She had predicted these circumstances before she thought that Tucker would have grown a heart and actually wanted to help the fellow clear his name and go up against all of Hawtholders. No, Kit Marshall was supposed to be the intelligent one, so for all Melissa Thompson truly knew, they had all planned this together. Hilda had run the analysis—of course the program was still highly trusted—and it was far more likely that Marshall had been the mastermind behind any plans made than Tucker would have been. Perhaps Marshall was left behind on purpose, to throw off Hawtholders while the rest of his new allies set up something else, or had time to get away.

Thompson hadn’t gotten anywhere in life by trusting people, and she had no intention of starting now. “I expect a full report of the events that transpired Mr. Marshall, immediately.” She said and clasped her fingers together as she turned to face him. If he would refuse, she would happily get her own interrogators in here to help him finish his report. However, Marshall still needed to prove his own innocence, and Hilda had given Thompson some indication that Marshall was running on very high levels of adrenaline, and a few other chemicals that implied revenge might be an apt route for them to use to control the operative. For now, though, Thompson would wait until the man climbed off of his high horse, and began to take responsibility for what had happened in the unit.

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

Hearing the door open, Dave’s gaze shot upward, and one hand instinctively went to the bag that contained the weapons he had pilfered from Hawtholders. Fortunately, it was only Bransen, and the only thing he was struggling with was a variety of foods that had obviously come out of a vending machine, and Dave’s coffee. He accepted the paper cup quickly, letting it warm his hands before he began to sip it. At Bransen’s comment about it being difficult to drink, Dave haphazardly shrugged. “It grows on you.” He said, and took a large sip before looking over to the assortment of things that Bransen had acquired from the machine. He glanced over the assortment, and then helped himself to the muffin, peeling off the wrapper before drinking a bit more coffee. “Wanna split the poptarts?” He asked, since there was an obvious imbalance between the number of people in the room and the number of items that Bransen had gotten. “Or you can get me a pack of my own.” He grinned. Dave wasn’t in a particularly sour mood that day, even with the strange dreams. Having the time to shower helped him re-center himself a bit, and as he bathed, the dream faded away until he barely remembered more than Bransen talking circles around him, and his dad being in New York. Since neither of these things were false, or particularly noteworthy, he was able to let it go quickly.

After the food was settled, Dave began to get his own wound sorted out, not sure what they would be stopping again in the evening, and whether he would have time to take care of it later. The suit noticed Bransen moving closer to him, and he glanced over to the man before he heard Bransen offer to…do what, exactly? “huh?” He asked, pausing what he was doing long enough for Bransen to take control and push his sleeves up and suggest that he would wrap it instead.

“That’s alright.” Dave chuckled a little. “I’m not a doctor either.” He said, glancing down at Bransen’s foot. Did the man seriously think that Dave had any medical training whatsoever? As Bransen touched his bare skin, Dave flinched a little, and then immediately scolded himself mentally for flinching do to only the man’s cold fingers. The engineer said that he owed Dave, and the man grinned a little before lifting up his coffee with his free hand. He wasn’t going to protest—if Bransen finally wanted to start pulling his own weight, then that was all fine and good.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked when he saw Bransen look up at him a bit nervously. “If you would rather just take a shift driving the car--that is fine too.” He suggested. It wasn’t like Bransen needed to sew the wound shut or anything. It was just a matter of dabbing it with disinfectant, drying it, and then placing a clean bandage on top. However, things that seemed easy to Dave were not necessarily going to seem common sense to a ‘learned’ individual.

Bransen seemed content on continuing though, and Dave humored him by continuing the conversation. “Yea, we can probably get there tonight, but by then the roads will be a bit dangerous, so I would rather wait till morning. I figure we can find one more motel tonight near the city. It has been too many years for me to feel comfortable walking around the streets as late as we would probably be if we rushed. The plan is still the same though, yea? We get new IDs and go to Canada and just…disappear?” Dave wanted to confirm it with Bransen again, even though there had been no information that would sway the decision otherwise. Once Bransen finished with his arm, he would offer to look at the foot once more before beginning to pack up their things.

“It’s weird, I keep reaching into my pocket to check my phone. I am so used to getting notifications, or even just checking the time…It makes me feel like I am missing something when I don’t. Do you feel like that?” Dave asked, oblivious to the fact that Bransen, in fact, did have a cellular device in his pocket. Of course, Bransen wasn’t using it for the things that Dave was suggesting, but he was misinformed all the same.

“I think we can take the same car there…but if you want to switch it up again, I can go hunting for different plates.” Dave suggested. Unlike Bransen, he didn’t have any problems walking, and now that he had actually gotten some sleep, he didn’t particularly mind doing the leg work. Within an hour the pair would be back on the road, the beginning of another long stretch of driving, and hoping that New York would bring them some sort of peace.

-.-

It was three in the morning when the door to the storage unit finally opened. Melissa Thompson stood there, in a pinstripe suit with her heals that seemed to have a way of avoiding all of the puddles that had formed with the rain. She looked upon the scene with her perfectly manicured nails (underneath a thin set of black gloves) and styled hair, in a way that one might have expected to see from someone going to a business meeting, rather than having just been dragged from bed.

In fact, Melissa had been in bed when she got the message. HILDA had sent a notification to her home device detailing suspicious activity of Davian Tucker’s personal accounts. Hilda had used that piece of information, and completed a search to find out where he was. Unfortunately, both Davian and Kit were revealed to be nowhere near the storage unit. The software then pulled up footage from the unit, finding that Davian had left with their suspect, putting him in the trunk, but Kit had not left. There was no camera that could see inside, but the GPS footage, when lined up with the video, found that Tucker had both of the cellular devices. Two quick withdrawals followed by excessive use at a gas station gave the computer enough data to compute with 70% certainty that the man was running from Hawthholders, and so Melissa Thompson was summoned.

If Kit was awake, she would merely gesture to the large black vehicle that waited outside of the unit. She had honestly expected him to be dead, and if he was unconscious, she would step forward into the unit and quickly check her pulse. As had been the case with Tucker’s phone, Thompson had the clean-up crew on speed dial, and they would be called to make sure the unit looked like nothing suspicious had occurred here. Hilda took care of wiping the tapes of the unit, though. The drive back to headquarters wasn’t far, but Thompson didn’t give Kit the chance to say much. There were two large suits that had opened the door for him, and sat on either side. Melissa had been sitting in the front passenger seat, busying herself with giving Hilda updated protocols for the search. Thompson didn’t speak a word to Kit until they were in one of the holding rooms in one of the Hawtholders buildings. She escorted him to the room, which was adorned with only a single table and two chairs. There were cameras, so that Hilda could run scans of his sweat, facial expression, and other body ticks to determine the truth or fallacy of his statements.

Melissa followed Kit inside, and took a seat on the opposite side from Kit. She crossed her legs and slowly pulled off her gloves, laying them on the table beside her before turning to Kit. “Explain to me, Mr. Marshall, the course of events that led to you losing not only your acquired target, but your partner, and the stolen documents that you were originally tasked with returning.” She stated, her words firm and her gaze stern.

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

Name: Davian Tucker. He goes by Dave, and doesn’t bother to correct people when they assume it is David. He isn’t fond of the name Davian, and most of his former friends call him Tucker.

Age: 26

Gender: Male

Hair: Dirty Blonde - he sometimes wears it layered just above his ear, though he has been known to buzz cut it occasionally too. He lets his face get a bit stubbly when he is busy, too, though he shaves it before important meetings and such.

Eyes: Greenish- can seem to change colors a bit based on what he is wearing

Physique: Dave is athletic. His job requires him to be able to run miles, and though they don't require defined abs, he has them too.

Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Dave used to have his eyebrow and ears pierced, and one might still see those if they got close enough. He even had snake bite piercings on his lower lip, when he was in a more rebellious phase. He has a tattoo of a barcode on his forearm, another attempt he had made to be cooler to his friends and to defy the parents who never noticed he had one.

Personality: Dave responds well to certain kinds of authority- but never demands. People making demands reminds him too much of his step-mother. In terms of his own life, he is highly unambitious. He doesn’t think much about the future, or care to think much about the future. The only thing he does take seriously is his job. He suffered quite a bit before he learned the benefits of a smile and sucking up, a lesson he learned best when he was in high school. He is on the cusp of an internal crisis, because of his lack of direction in life.

Family: He is fifteen years younger than his next youngest sibling. He has two older step-brothers and an older step-sister. They are all his step-mother’s children, his father only had him, and he married Davian’s step mother when he was still a young child. His step-mother had already raised her children. When Davian moved into the house, her youngest had just gone off to college. She was more than a bit distant, acting like she had already done her part to raise her own children. Davian’s father was never around. He worked from before Davian woke to after he went to sleep, though he did see the man occasionally, like at family holidays and such. The holidays were always geared towards the adults though, and Davian had to go to bed before they did anything fun. By the time he was old enough to enjoy the events, no one came to family holidays, having families of their own. His step-mother went to her children’s home, and Davian, who was supposed to spend it with his father, usually spent the holidays eating Chinese food and sneaking from theater to theater with all of the Jewish people in town.

Significant Other: No current relationships. He was dating another girl within the company, but broke it off when she wanted more commitment—going to dinner for the holidays with her family. He doesn’t date men, and when he has the occasional urges that need to be satisfied, he goes to a club, and finds someone to bring back to a hotel. He makes sure to be out before the guy wakes up, though, not trying to form any relationships with them. He likes to think that he isn’t really gay, that he just has better luck with men, and he is desperate enough for attention that he takes anything, but he is really just lying to himself.

Education: Davian barely finished high school. When his step-mother and father found out he was failing, they threatened to kick him out, taking his car and his possessions. They were stunned that he was doing poorly, and tried to take away his freedoms until he improved things. Dave wasn’t used to these types of restrictions, and so he fought back. He rebelled quite a bit, getting piercings and a few tattoos. He did graduate high school, though it was partially due to him giving a couple of blow jobs to the one teacher who refused to offer extra credit to the slacker.

Career: Davian’s job title is Security Escort. His job is rather simple usually. He makes sure that people don’t wander off when they are going to secure areas. He knows which people should be in which places, and doesn’t abandon people so that they could wander off and potentially steal information, technology, or complete some sort of attack on the company. He got the job through a friend, when the office had opened and was hiring a variety of positions. His friendly attitude has made him quite well known among some of the technical workers and supervisors, and he has even been requested at certain locations because of his attentiveness when he is at work.

Lost the original, but I think I had used something like this---appearance:

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

Dave wasn’t thinking about anything about their situation being romantic. He was focused entirely on sleep, which Bransen promptly interrupted with some irrelevant comment about ditching him in the morning. Dave let out a groan into the pillow in response, something he hoped was indicative of the fact that he wasn’t interested in discussing that, or discussing anything else, for that matter. “Sleep, Berkman.” He muttered. If he didn’t get some sleep, then he wouldn’t be going anywhere in the morning. It only took a few moments for Dave to fall asleep, but his sleep was far from restful.

Dave dreamed about New York, and about his father. The dream was… unrealistic, of course. He was trying to find a way to get to New York, but every road that they were going to take was patrolled. The men were wearing black suits, and they looked as menacing to Dave as he had probably looked to Bransen. Somewhere in the dream, they had to ditch the car and were on foot. When they finally picked a road, sirens followed them immediately, and he could hear the radios of the suits, his father’s voice on the other end, demanding that they arrest Dave. Permission to use lethal force granted he heard the stern voice command, and then the guns came out. Dave felt a sharp pain in his leg as a bullet hit his shin (though the man was unaware it was more likely to be Bransen’s heel hitting his leg). He fell to the ground, and asked his partner for him. “Berkman, give me a hand.” Bransen had been a few feet ahead of him at the time, and the man stopped before turning quickly on his heal. “You expect me…to aid you? Is it possible that you are such an imbecile that you perceive us to be working in some sort of comradery?” He asked. The suits were getting closer, and Dave was barely able to follow what he said. “You are, quite simply put, a Neanderthal. And evolution is not sympathetic to those individuals who do not possess the skills that are compulsory in the quest for survival. It is your time to die, suit. I only maintain the wish that I had been given the opportunity to dispose of you myself.” He sighed.

“You can.” Another voice chimed on. One of the suits approached the pair and gave Bransen a gun. It was only when he was close that Dave recognized the salt and pepper hair that was so neatly trimmed, and the clean shaven face that he has seen more in pictures than in his actual life. Davian’s father gace Bransen a gun, and the man regarded it slowly, turning it over in his hands. Davian’s father began to apologize to Bransen, and say that they knew he was in the right, and Dave had been the monster. “He deserves to die.” The older man agreed, and then took a step back so that Bransen could pull the trigger.

Dave threw his arms up to cover his face, and heard the gun fire before he was started from his sleep by Bransen nudging him. Dave opened his eyes in surprise, his heart pounding from the stress of the nightmare. He was holding onto the pillow tightly, and it took him a few moments to gather his composure once more. His eyes flickered to the window and he groaned. “Is it morning? It is morning, isn’t it… I don’t do mornings.” He rolled over and buried his head in the pillow once more, unaware that he was finally giving Bransen a bit of space, or that he had been a heat-seeking missile the night before.

Though Dave wished it, there was no way that he was really going to go back to sleep now. He knew they had to keep running, that they had to get going to New York, but his dream had been far from pleasant, and he wasn’t ready to face the day. After a few more moments of trying to bury himself in the blankets, Dave rolled a bit more and managed to get completely out of the bed before standing. He was in his boxers and the t-shirt that he had been wearing beneath the button down. He didn’t particularly care if Bransen saw his tattoo, or the cut on his own arm that he had hastily stitched back together not too long before. He had changed the bandage the night before, but it would be best to change it again soon. “I am going to take a shower. We probably have hot water again, after your spa last night.” He complained, though his complaint was mostly about being awake in the morning. “I can change the bandage on your foot again this morning if you need it, and show you how too. In the meantime, if you can tolerate walking, you should see if this place has one of those continental breakfasts, or at least coffee.”

Grabbing his clothing so he could go into the bathroom, turned back a moment later. “I like my coffee like a goth kid likes their…everything. Black.” He said, and then closed the door behind him. Dave would take longer this time, actually taking the time to get clean, and hoping the Bransen would manage to find food somehow. A part of him wondered if the man would run, and another part of him hoped that the man would. Things would be so much easier if they were apart, for Dave at least. Though the man thought he was better on his own, his dream had made him question that a bit. He exited the room with damp hair, and enough scruff on his face to make him actually wish he had gotten a razor at that CVS the night before. At least he exited the bathroom fully dressed, and he dried off his arm quickly so that he could do his own re-bandaging first, incredibly grateful that it didn’t seem to look infected, despite the hasty method he had used to close it in the first place. If Bransen had was there, he would look around expectantly for the coffee, and hopefully something sweet for breakfast as well. If he wasn’t, Dave wouldn’t likely be too concerned yet. Instead, he would enjoy his peace and quiet, savoring it while it lasted.

An Unsettled Debt (LighttheDark and Pascal)

His information was short and to the point. The princess was with only a single hand-maiden, and was frequently in town on her town, in and out of local shops. It was like someone was purposefully making this easy on him. Either that, or he was being set-up in a bigger way than he could have possibly predicted. Kamron watched from the shadows as the princess left the shops. It was raining, which was another blessing on the thief’s plight. There would be very few people out and about. He couldn’t hear the conversation between the princess and the maid, but he saw the princess gesture towards a less occupied path, and he waited until they started down it to move up quickly behind. The sound of the rain helped to drown out the sound that he had made catching up to them, though he was still quite light on his feet. His boots, unlike the Princesses, was made for walking through all types of terrain. He caught up to them quickly, and spent a few moments debating how to take care of the maid before he proceeded.

When the thief acted, it was very quick. He rushed up behind the pair and grabbed the hand maiden, pulling her arm behind her back and pushing her up against the wall. He pulled out a small blade and pressed it gently against the woman’s back, and then turned to the princess. “If you scream, call out, or do anything sudden, I will kill your hand-maiden. Nod if you understand, but do not speak.” He directed, pulling on the woman’s arm slightly to make her call out, and hopefully get the princess to agree more quickly.

Would the real Orion please stand up?

I know Mahz helped a few people change their names from snafus and such. Perhaps you can inquire about him changing it?

An Unsettled Debt (LighttheDark and Pascal)

The ship was called the Ocean’s Whore. It wasn’t a particularly beautiful name, but it wasn’t a particularly beautiful ship either. The massive vessel had seen some good days, but most had not been so kind to her, largely due to the black flag that waved high with the wind…or rather, the captain who had adorned the ship with such a flag in the first place. It was late afternoon, and had been a difficult trip for Kamron, but he had made it to the ship, and spoke to the captain, as he had been instructed. The arrangements were settled. He had a map with the position marked where the ship would be waiting. Once he had his cargo, he would take a skiff from the docks to the ship. They would provide him transport, no questions asked. It was the best deal he could get, and though the price was steep, it was necessary.

The once-small-time thief left the pier, and went back to the horse he had commandeered from a man too drunk to notice a few days before. He would ride to the castle, get the princess, and then bring her to the group who had tried to destroy his life. The Midnight Society, usually just called the Society, demanded the girl, and while Kamron would have never taken a job this big, he was out of options. They had some sort of magic, or religious text, he didn’t know. In any case, he was sick, and he was going to get worse until he delivered the girl. He had been stupid enough to wait a few days already, doubting that it was real. But already his hair was beginning to thin, and this think black vine was beginning to appear on the skin of his chest, spiraling out slowly, every day stretching further across his body. Soon, he would truly look like a monster.

The man made his way to the castle, and paid off a servant for information on when the princess would be coming and going. Ideally, he could catch her outside of the castle, because going inside of the place and getting back out again would be incredibly difficult. However, if there was no information provided that helped him to catch her outside and largely unguarded, then he would simply have to slip in as a servant and try his luck at that. Kamron didn’t know much at all about the princess. He knew that there was a younger brother, heir to the throne, and that she was around marrying age. He was pretty sure he would recognize her by her clothing, but he knew also that she was fair skinned and blonde...though that was about it.

An Unsettled Debt (LighttheDark and Pascal)

CS:
Name: Kamron Blythe

Age: 23

Appearance:6 feet, 160 pounds- lean and thin.



History: Suffering from the classic case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time, Kamron was arrested when he tried to purchase a bracelet for his mother from a man who was a rather well-known thief. Kamron’s home had been burned down in an ‘accident,’ though he never believed it to be such, and he was using the last of his savings to try to replace the bracelet that his mother had loved dearly. The guards were hunting the thief because the bracelet and a host of other jewelry was stolen from a nobleman’s home. Kamron was never sure if they mistook him for an associate, or simply wanted to make an example of him.

His punishment was to be branded with the mark of a thief, a burn that would mark the skin of his right hand, and prevent him from ever being deemed trustworthy again. Some politician had dreamed up the idea that it was more humane than cutting off the hand of the culprit, but Kamron didn’t quite agree. Just before the sentence was executed, word reached the prison that the palace was having a party, and needed more hands. Kamron was rounded up with the other prisoners, where the representative from the palace picked almost twenty men to be sent over. As one of the chosen ones, Kamron’s punishment became a life of servitude, rather than a life in shame. He didn't accept this, though, and found a way to escape. He hid on the streets, in the places that no one wanted to look, and became the man that the guards thought he had been.


Name: Elionwy
Age: 19
Appearance:


Personality/Bio: Firstborn to the king and Queen of the Kingdom of <kingdom>, Elionwy grew up learning languages, politics, and other proper, princess-y things - how to play music, how to dance, how to politely turn down a suitor... She grew up learning nothing else, expecting to be queen. But at the age of fifteen, her parents had a son. Suddenly, Elionwy was no longer heir, at least in the eyes of her father. She has spent the last four years waiting for him to make the announcement official... while trying to prove to him that she deserves the crown.

*I couldn't get your picture up because I don't have the link.*

Awesome it's back!

i'm here! and I am the only one who matters, lol.