• Closed • Stealing A Statue

[Yanahalqah]

Vhalar 34 Arc 716
Tristan's house

Clouds had started to darken the skies as of late, the trials becoming shorter the further the season progressed. Fortunately, there had been no real days with truly bad weather yet, Vhalar allowing the mortals to adapt to the change in seasons before actually starting the Cold Cycle. And then it still would only be a prelude.

Winds howled though, blowing the browning leaves from the trees and through the streets. The Marilyn skirts –barely a day old, and already becoming popular and scandalous-- worn by more daring women who'd had left their warm houses this trial were grabbed and lifted by the gusts. Lecherous eyes stared lustfully as the girls did try to hold their skirts down. They did succeed in concealing their underwear to those in front of them, but the perverted individuals walking behind them were still treated on magnificent sights. Yana did not suffer any of that –except for the view, that is, but she wouldn't exactly call it suffering-- as she wore pants. Not only because she currently was on a job, but also because skirts were a hindrance.

The Yludih went through the small list in her hands again, her eye flicking back and forth between the building she was keeping an eye on, while preventing the wind to steal the piece of paper away from her fingers. At first glance, the list was nothing special, just a list with names of different people. However, if one gave it more than a casual curious sideways look in passing, they would notice there were numbers listed next to the names, as well as the words “statue”, “beat”, “cat”, and “break j/f”. Those served to jog her memory, should she forget what exactly she needed to do. At first glance, though odd, the list was nothing special, and everything listed was separate. Yet, all items on the list had multiple things in common. Firstly, they had approached, or had been approached by Yana. Secondly, those numbers next to their names was how much they had offered to pay for her services –half of which the Yludih had already pocketed, having gone through exhausting negotiations to achieve it. And lastly, all people having enlisted Yana's services wanted something from Tristan Venora. Some desired payback, others a certain statuette of a certain man.

The first of her current clients she had met perhaps a trial or three ago. He had been looking for someone not unwilling to dirty their hands, and somehow had ended up at Yana's table at Ye Olde Inn. Jack White, a slender man with long bond hair, was an actor for the Rynmere Theatre. He claimed to be quite the prodigy, but for all his years of experience on stage, no-one asked for him to star in one of their plays anymore. He had auditioned for many roles, but never once got selected. Wacky characters were his favorites, his forte, but even those he did not get to play. And why? Because he had once been the lead in one of Tristan's earlier plays, a performance that been a flop. After that, his career, in full bloom up until that point, was over. No more roles for him. No big ones anyway. At first he'd still gotten smaller roles, side characters to play. A chance to redeem himself, the directors had said. But that was only early on. Later he was refused for each and every role in each and every play. People forgot about him, the greatest star, Jack White. And it was all Tristan's fault, for coming up with that debacle of a play! He'd been insistent on getting Yana to bury him alive, but the ridiculously high price she'd charged for that –on purpose, of course-- had changed his mind. He did not have that much money to spare, so he'd settled for a good old beating.

That request had made Yana think. What if there were more people who found they had a score to settle with Tristan Venora? What if there were more that wanted revenge for one thing or another? Claiming that Jack's money was insufficient, but that she was willing to make a deal, she managed to get the failed actor to tell any others he might know of her, and send them her way. At the same time, she did some digging herself. Results had come fairly soon, her own search yielding two other people on the same trial. Jack's help netted her three others over the span of the next two, and eventually, she'd even been escorted to a mansion, where an old, successful merchant woman wanted to speak to her.

The trial before

“I need you to collect a statue for me,” Gojira spoke, her old wrinkled face somehow resembling that of a really ugly bipedal Jocadon with bad breath. The woman was a prominent figure on the economic side of Andaris, perhaps Rynmere as a whole.
“A statue.” Yana made no effort to hide her frown, but did keep her disgust at the poison cloud of perfume wafting from the woman suppressed.
“Indeed. Is that a problem?” Her tone made clear that if it was, Yana had no further business in her mansion.
“It depends on the size,” Yana stated calmly, not really impressed by the sharp tone with which this woman tended to speak.
“I've been told it is about three foot tall, perfectly movable.”
It would still take some considerable amount of effort though, Yana thought, fingers steepled, doubting she'd ever get that thing out of the house and to this mansion without some sort of--

“Naturally I will be providing you of a cart to transport the statue safely, as well as a sail to shield it from rain and weather conditions.”
The Yludih nodded, that would be helpful. Like this it could be done.
“Can I ask why you wouldn't just buy it?” Surely Gojira had money enough.
Madam Gojira Godmounter crossed her arms and huffed in indignation.
“I tried buying the statue of my fiancé,” she said, “but that sculptor refused to sell it! He'd only sell it to the model!” Fire gleamed in her eyes. “Get me that statue by any means necessary. I will use my influence to cover up any illegal methods used, or any charges filed against you. Along with a reward as handsome as my husband, of course!”

Except that the model of the statue had risen from fiancé to husband in the span of mere trills made Yana doubt the woman had everything together in her head, the deal did sound really attractive. She nodded.
“But,” Gojira warned, one finger raised, “that is only if you succeed.”
The Yludih only nodded again, not making any promises. “That's a deal,” she said after a moment of consideration, after which she was escorted back out of the building, given some more details on the location of Tristan's house, as well as where she would find the cart.

Present

There were more names on the list of course, but save for one, they were not very memorable. One rival playwright, who'd had his own scrips refused in order for the Theatre to focus on Tristan's time and time again, wanted Lord Venora's jaw and fingers broken, so he would not be able to pick up a quill for a long time, and his speech would be impaired as well, thus rendering him unable to relay his ideas to a scribe. Petty really. There was also a gambler who believed Tristan had been cheating, having teamed up with a thief during many games of cards, causing Yana's client to lose dozens of gold nel. Yet another--

Her eye detected movement, the door to the Lord's house swinging open. Two men left, one which Yana did not care for, the other matching the description she'd gained from her clients perfectly. One peasant, and one Tristan Venora were leaving the house. Did he have his slave come with him on errands? Apparently so. But Yana did not think it a problem. Surely she could handle a spoiled Lordling and his slave. The Yludih gave chase, not running, but with fast strides to catch up. The both of them turned into an alley. This was perfect! Yana upped the pace, managing to bridge the distance just before the two reached the darker part of the alleyway.

“Excuse me,” she called, twisting her voice to sound a little demure and shy, batting her eyelids in the presence of his Lordship, pretending to be charmed by his looks. “Lord Tristan Venora?” It was a question she did not need to ask, but it was merely to make him turn around. She had managed to get close enough already. In an instant her acting fell away to reveal indifference as the redheaded woman threw a punch, fist aimed for his stomach. The goal was to have him double over because of the impact, then knee him in the face.

[Quio]

They had popped by Tristan's --again-- because, as Hart said, "He has the best wine."

Quio couldn't really argue with that. But being near the noble made him... antsy. Especially after the last time they had held a true conversation. After the few well-placed questions that had been asked. And evaded.

The Lord was a little to smart for his own good.

And Hart was a little too stupid.

They had just left the Venora's house. Women in swirling skirts paraded the streets, blushing and trying to keep their modesty. Hart was leering around like most of the other men. "Eh, that one, Quio?" he asked, nudging the Yludih in the shoulder, and Quio gave the girl in question a cursory sweep of the eyes. He rolled his shoulders. "Mph."

"Oh come on, she's so cute, you're no fun."

"She's so young!"

"Young? Young! Not any younger than you! Maybe a year or two less, but that's it!"

"But. She's so-- so, uh--"

"Female," Hart sighed, and great, now Quio had a blush to match those of the maidens. "You know, you don't dabble near enough, I say," Hart went on, and then he turned to Quio and saw his reddened face. Hart immediately pretended to swoon.

"Oh, U'frek save me, your face! So fem! No, no it looks good on you! All you need is one of those skirts!"

"Hart!"

"Or okay, okay, at least let me do up your hair like those girls. No-- why, it's so gorgeous. Just for one night! And those chokers! Armbands, blah, but chokers? Hell yes."

"Hart," Quio hissed.

"Yes dear? Change your mind?"

"Hart, shut up. There's someone behind us."

"Oh."

The footsteps on the cobbles were quiet, but distinct enough to catch: someone behind them, coming up quick. Hart wasn't smiling or teasing now; now he looked to Quio. With a moment's decision the Yludih steered them both into a nearby alley, thinking if he could get Hart behind him, he could block their pursuer, and then--

A honeyed, coy female voice spoke. "Excuse me? Lord Tristan Venora?” The pair abruptly stopped. Hart was already smiling once more, perhaps in relief, his blue eyes lit like the ocean in the morning. "Yes?" he asked.

"It's just one of your admirers," Quio sighed, turning towards the girl. He had barely enough time to realize --she's wearing pants? not one of those skirts?-- before the woman's fist flashed forward and buried itself hard into Hart's stomach.

"Ack."

The half-Biqaj doubled over, and Quio saw the next hit coming. The only thing he could do was yank Hart abruptly upright again, hoping the knee would just graze him, not break his nose or mouth.

Then he shoved the other man behind him, and he himself faced their adversary in the front of the alley, his hands ready and up.

The woman in front of him. Eye patch, red hair, trained face. It was the latter that got to him. She almost looked bored. He was not liking this one bit.

"Stay back," he warned. Hart was just behind him and to the side, one hand laid upon the crook of Quio's elbow, as if imploring him to put his fists down. But he wouldn't.

"We already gave you your money!" the Yludih spat. "What more do you want?" It had to be another merc from the agency, and yet there was obvious evidence that Quio had already been beaten down once-- the bruises on his face and scuffs on his arms and hands, the split lip.

Seriously, what the fuck more could she want?

"I can't let you--" Hart started to say, but Quio said, "Shut it."

"I'm the one you're looking for." Hart spoke over him. He tried to step forward and Quio put out an arm, blocking his way. Then the Biqaj paused. His face confused.

"Wait, Quio. That's not-- she said Tristan Venora."

And Hart was right. She had.

It took a moment for him to reorient. Calm down. Calm down. Quio breathed. Trying to be cautious now, rather than full pissed, he said through teeth still bared, "Woman, I don't know who you are but for immortals' sake, next time do your gods-damned homework! This ain't Tristan Venora. Now beat it."

"What he means to say," Hart said, casting Quio a quelling glance and speaking in Common, in case she didn't understand Rakahi. "Was that I am not Tristan Venora. You have the wrong man."

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"

[Yanahalqah]

Her fist hit right where she wanted it to, the surprise attack having the intended effect. However, as Yana brought her knee upwards to slam it in Lord Venora’s face, the noble was quickly pulled out of the way. The Yludih only hit the air where the man’s face had once been. Now the peasant was between him and her, hands raised in a fighting pose. This was going to be harder than it should be. Perhaps she should have waited until Tristan Venora had been alone, she pondered, drawing her dagger and falling into fighting stance. Her opponent showed signs of already having been clobbered half to death, somewhere in the last ten trials or so, and while Yana was sure that the man had to still be hurting quite a bit, she did not want to underestimate him. If it came to it, she would cut him down.

The man spoke in the language of the Biqaj, angry words spilling from his lips. Yana was just about versed enough in Rakahi to get the gist of what he was saying, even though she did not recognize some words, or would have been able to repeat what he’d just said. Well, not as fluently anyway. She prepared an answer, digging through her lexicon to piece together a sentence, but before she could speak, the peasant and Tristan Venora had an inner dispute of some sort, which ended –oddly enough—with the Lord himself calming his slave, peasant friend, or whatever the other man proclaimed to be, down by reminding him Yana had called for Tristan Venora. Something was … not entirely right here.

She learned what exactly it was soon enough, translating the words the peasant –Quio, the other man had called him—in her head. She frowned, thinking that perhaps she needed a refresher course on Rakahi, only for Tristan Venora to confirm what she had heard before. That Tristan Venora was not Tristan Venora at all. Obviously, she doubted this. Why would she have to believe a man who knew she wanted to beat him to pulp. She pursed her lips and raised her only visible eyebrow, but did not drop her combat pose. She was prepared for tricks and attempts at deceit.

“Sure, and I am the Empress.” Her grip on her dagger tightened. “Slim figure, long dark hair, high cheekbones, blue eyes. Possessing the typical Venora beauty… I would say an accurate description of yourself, given to me by my clients. Don’t bullshit me.” Though, there was one thing that made her doubt. Tristan Venora was supposed to be a rather pale man, and this one was, well, a bit on the tan side. Also the clothes did not quite match up, but she had heard from several of her clients that Tristan liked to dress up as someone else. Apparently he’d even pretended to be King Cassander once. So this could very well be Lord Venora, dressed up as a sailor type, meticulously having applied cosmetics to give his skin a bit of a tanned color. “Even if you were his doppelganger--” she continued, cutting herself off to think, a new frown forming.

According to her information, Lord Venora was a bit of an oddball among nobles, with strange hobbies, behavioral patterns and pastimes. While she was not sure whether those things would encompass him meeting up with his doppelganger, inviting the man to his home, the possibility did exist. Or had Lord Venora seen this coming and had begun meeting with his lookalike just for this situation? Was he that crafty? Impossible. Coincidence then? Shit. There was no telling whether it was him or if it was not. What were the odds of this happening? Statistically speaking, this shouldn’t have happened, this shouldn’t even have been counted among the plausible situations she might encounter while on the job, that’s just how small the chances of this happening were. Bah.

Yana let out something that was a cross between an annoyed growl and a sigh, letting go of her fighting stance, but not sheathing her blade just yet. “Well, then who do you claim to be, and how do you intent to prove it?” Should she indeed have the wrong person, and he could prove it, she would have to go look for the real Lord Venora, beat him before these two alarmed the guards, and steal the statue. What a drag. Bah, there had to be something else she could do…

[Quio]

The dagger was in her hand and Quio's own grip automatically went to the weapon that was at his belt. His face was grim. He did not want this to happen. He especially didn't want it coming down to a knife fight. A normal fight was bad enough, but with daggers... nobody would win.

Luckily, the woman at least seemed to be listening. Not that she believed them, but she hadn't leapt forward to stab either one of them yet, and he supposed that was something. For now, he kept his own dagger sheathed.

"The description you give is an accurate one, if flattering," Hart said, "But unfortunately that doesn't matter. I am not Tristan Venora. We're... brothers, of sorts." That was an assumption, as they hadn't yet confirmed with Tristan's father if he might have had a bastard or not, but it was the best explanation they had. It made more sense than I just look like him. "Doppelganger is a good word for it," he agreed a moment later, one hand resting upon his stomach where the woman had sucker-punched him.

"Proof..." he said then, frowning. He and Quio looked at each other. Quio shrugged. Hart sighed. "I'm afraid I don't have any proof but my word. I am Biqaj, or at least half so. I own a ship, the Jovy Akor, named for my twin sister--" he said, then stopped and made a face. "Wait, nevermind that. I own a ship called the Blackheart--" he gave Quio a withering look, "--which lies at the docks outside the city. But it would take a day or so to travel there to confirm, and I doubt you want to spend that time. Likewise I could write my mother, but I fear the letter wouldn't find her in a prompt manner, if at all."

He paused, thinking. Then he seemed to come up with something. The seaborn brightened a bit.

"Okay. How about this? Let's make a bet."

Quio let out a groan.

"Hush, you." Hart's eyes, which had lost some of their usual good gleam before --probably due to the fist that had connected with his solar plexus-- had began once more to sparkle. He rubbed his hands together excitedly.

"I flip a coin. Heads, we win. Tails, you do. Heads, you let us walk away unscathed. We promise to not alert the guards. You can try again another day. Tails..." He hesitated. Quio was shaking his head. Hart ignored him. "Tails, we help you. I don't know what sort of designs you have upon my lookalike, but as long as you do not harm him, we'll figure out a way for you to have your revenge, or complete your mission, or fulfill whatever thing it is that is motivating you. Deal?" He reached out a hand to shake, and Quio stepped between them, not letting the merc touch Hart again, not even for that. Hart scowled at him and tried to shoo him away. Quio didn't budge.

"Then I suppose it's up to the fates," the seaborn eventually said. He fished in his pocket and brought out a silver coin. It was an Andaris nel; heads was a crown, tails the dragon of Andaris. He showed the woman both sides, and then placed it on his thumb and flipped.

The coin rolled through the air. Quio had to resist the temptation to bat it into the nearest gutter and negate the whole thing.

Then tink! The sound of light metal against the cobblestones. They gathered around.

"Oh," Hart said, somewhat disappointed. "Tails."

"Hart--" Quio warned. "We shouldn't."

The other man flapped a hand. He turned to the mercenary briskly. "Well. A deal's a deal. We'll help you do whatever it is you need to do. But like I said-- I refuse to take part in harming Tristan, or his slave Faith for that matter, so throw that right out the window. Having said that... what do we have to do?"

"I do not like this," Quio muttered, but it fell on deaf ears.

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"

[Yanahalqah]

Of course there was no proof, no way to know for sure that this man was not Tristan Venora. On the other hand, there was also no way to find out if he wasn’t a doppelganger. Well, not if Lord Venora indeed had one. But the man had a proposition for her, a bet, he called it. It was a simple coin toss, and a fifty percent chance at winning, while great odds, did not really tempt her. Because she also had fifty percent chance at losing. Well, until the doppelganger stated what they’d stake on this gamble. Suddenly the possibility of her victory had risen to one hundred percent. She could no longer lose. It was a win-win situation.

Either she let them walk away, without any consequences for her, or, she could gain their aid, on the condition that she did not harm Tristan Venora. The former was actually more favorable to her, but that was only if she kept her promise. Nevertheless, she did not lose anything with this bet. Even if she lost, they would walk away, and she’d search for Tristan Venora anyway, and fulfill her mission. Easy as pie. “It’s a deal,” she agreed, preparing to shake hands with the doppelganger, but the other man did not allow it.

While she did not let it show, the stupidity of these two men amused her greatly. Well, for now. In any other situation, those kind of knuckleheads would only be a hindrance. But here they were playing into her cards without even knowing it. It was too perfect. Perfect to the point that she started to doubt their stupidity. Perhaps they were far more intelligent than they let out, and were luring her into a trap? She’d have to be wary, no doubt about it, prepared to do what it took to come out on top. But until then there was no harm in using these people. Without a handshake she was free to do as she pleased. It was as if someone had given her a contract, but had refused to let her sign it, while still sticking to the terms of the contract themselves. But Yana was not bound by the rules of the gamble now. Not that it would have mattered if she had been. She would have ignored them if she felt like it anyway.

The coin spun through the air then, clattering onto the cobblestones a moment later. It spun for a few ticks, then fell on one of its faces, displaying tails. Yana had won. She smirked. The doppelganger fully intended to keep his end of the bargain, it seemed, and the other man appeared to be hesitant, but did not resist. He did not like it, he said. Naturally, he was right to feel that way.

“Well then,” Yana announced, “we will be stealing a statue.” Her one eye darted from one person to the other, thinking of the best course of action. If Faith was inside the house, they would have some problems. That girl was annoying and a bother. Somehow she never went along with anything Yana desired her to do. She always did something different. Before this trial, Yana hadn’t known that Tristan was the new master of the slave, and that she lived in this residence. Now she did though, now she could take it into account. Tristan was likely to be at home as well, as she did not think he’d have guests over if he was not.

“You,” she said, pointing at Hart, “will distract Tristan Venora. Is the slave at home? I hope not, else you’ll have to distract her as well.” The Yludih turned to Quio then, having decided his role as well. “You will come with me. I’ll need you to move the statue.” This way, he could not object with as reason that he did not trust her alone with his friend. “Doppelganger, wait two bits before you knock on the door and start your task. Make a ruckus once you are inside, but don’t be obvious about it. Count at this pace.” The Yludih did a short count down herself to allow him to adapt to the pace. “Start now.” She motioned the other man then, guiding him to the backside of the house.

They arrived there just about thirty trills short of two bits at the back door, Yana counting the time in a focused manner, once more having unsheathed her dagger. She’d tried the door, but it was locked. The key was still stuck in the lock though, she could see it through the small window the door possessed. “Do you know where the bearded statue is kept?” she asked her stooge, continuing the countdown in her head. Two bits had passed, but she waited just a trill or five longer, allowing for the Lord to answer the front door. Then, she smashed the hilt through the window, shattering it. Her arm snaked through the hole, fingers reaching for the key, turning it. The lock clicked as the latch was retracted, and Yana had her limb return to her side, opening the door from the outside. “Do anything to try and make me fail –or make me think you are doing so—and I will deem our deal void,” she warned, not finding it necessary to state what the consequences would be. He could figure it out himself. After one last glance in his direction to stress her words, the Yludih stepped inside.

[Quio]

"Steal a statue?" Hart said aloud, then, "You don't mean--?"

"I think she does," Quio said. "Lord Peake Andaris."

Suddenly, despite his reluctance to have a part in any of this, Quio couldn't help but struggle to hide a smile. That statue? They were going to steal that one? Hart was doing the same. The two Biqaj exchanged a significant look and then both turned their eyes innocently back to the mercenary, saying nothing. She was due to be suspicious of their mirth but she would find out why they were smiling soon enough. Soon as she saw the statue in all its naked splendor.

Suspicious or not, she started giving orders and the men both merely accepted their roles, not giving a fuss. Quio was just relieved Hart would be out of harm's way. And it made sense that he himself would be the one to help move the statue. He was bigger than Hart, more suited to heavy lifting.

"One, two, three, four--" The lookalike started counting aloud, copying the mercenary's rhythm, and then he turned and stalked back towards where they had come from only a few bits before. He glanced over his shoulder once, giving Quio a last look, but then shrugged and faced forwards, taking up his station at Tristan's front door.

Quio, meanwhile, was following the merc around the side of the house. “Do you know where the bearded statue is kept?” the woman asked him brusquely.

He kept his answer fairly succinct. "I've only seen it once, Faith brought it out from a back room, not the living room, likely the bedroom or perhaps a sculpting room." At her threat he grimaced at her, nodding that he understood, and then they waited.

---

Around the front of the house Hart was counting under his breath. He tapped his foot as he counted. "One hundred eighteen. One hundred nineteen. One twenty." He reached out and knocked on the door.

As soon as it was answered he was rushing inside. "Tristan!" he said, perhaps a little too loudly. His eyes were going everywhere, and he looked quite panicked. "Okay, so you've got to help me or I am in deep shit. Deep shit, brother!"

He took a steadying breath, then began ostentatiously digging through Tristan's things, clattering around, going like a whirlwind through the house, always keeping Tristan's attention directed away from the side room, more towards the front door. "So I know we just left but I fucking lost my necklace. Remember those necklaces we showed you before? Ruq usually has mine on him, but today I insisted on wearing it, and now it's fucking gone. I had to tell him to go ahead without me before he could notice. If I fucking lose it..." By this time he looked extremely panicked and was searching like a madman. "You don't understand, man. That necklace is like..." He paused, lost for words. "It means everything. It's like a marriage band. It's very important. And it's not here, fuck!" He continued looking about helplessly.

---

At the back of the house the mercenary had used her dagger to shatter a window and from the living room they could hear things being moved around and Hart's panicked voice. Quio sincerely hoped that the woman wouldn't think Hart was babbling on in such a fashion about her. If she thought Hart was spilling her secrets...

He moved his hand back to his dagger, just in case.

Then she'd opened the door and they were inside.

Luckily, the back door seemed to open to the kitchen, rather than to the living room. Unluckily, the kitchen was on the opposite side of the living room from the bedroom, where they needed to go. They'd need to sneak through the living room to get there.

They ghosted on silent feet through the house. As they moved, Tristan and Hart came into view. Hart was tearing through cabinets and looking under furniture, eyes wild. If he saw Quio and the mercenary tiptoeing across the living room, he gave no indication, his eyes moving right over them as if they weren't there.

Quio held his breath and hoped to the immortals that Tristan would not turn around and see them.

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"

[Tristan Venora]

Tristan loved Hart, more than he loved all the real Venoras combined, with the exception of Andráska maybe who was the only one of the bunch that had at least some potential. And he hated his grandmother for depriving him of a man as great as his half-brother for so long. He wasn’t sure how he was ever supposed to make up for all the time that they had lost, but he decided to give it a try nevertheless. To that end he had invited Quio and him into his home, even though he wasn’t at all sure about Hart’s boyfriend yet.

The man was awkward and always seemed to be a little uncomfortable, for a reason he could not quite figure out. He had been more than happy to share a bottle of Venora Red with them though which made up for his shortcomings to some extent. By Ashan’s balls, the man could drink! Maybe he would arrange a drinking competition one of these trials and promise people a hundred golden nels if they could drink Ruq and him under the table (if they lost though, Ruq and he would get a hundred golden nels). He would probably get rich that way!

Unfortunately their meeting ended much too soon. As the half-Biqaj and the fake Biqaj walked out of his door, Tristan looked at Mistral, his cat that sat in his corner and played with a ball of yarn (or rather mutilated it in a most brutal manner) sadly and sighed. ”Maybe I should ask them to move in“, he mused. ”But where shall I put them? I already had to put Faith into the storage closet. Not that she actually sleeps there very often …“

He stopped abruptly as he heard a knock on the door and exchanged a confused look with Mistral before he quickly opened it. As Hart rushed inside, his eyes widened. ”Didn’t you just leave? Not that I mind that you came back, but …“ He broke off as his brother informed him that he was in deep shit. Deep shit? How? Why? What had Hart and Quio done in the five bits they had been gone? Had they been attacked or robbed – or both? Come to think of it, where was Quio? Had somebody abducted him?

”Hey“, he complained as Hart started digging through his things in panic. ”What are you doing? Faith just tidied the whole place up this morning!“ Of course Hart didn’t stop, but started babbling something about a necklace instead. He spoke so quickly that Tristan had trouble following him and could just stare at him in confusion. ”How can you lose a necklace that you are wearing?“ he asked before he decided to help Hart look for it nevertheless because he was his brother, and brothers helped each other. He bent down. Maybe it was lying on the floor, under the table or one of the chairs? Maybe Mistral had stolen it? He looked at his cat in suspicion. Mistral was still in the process of mutilating his ball of yarn though.

It was just then that something occurred to him. He stood up again abruptly and stared at Hart. ”Marriage band?“ he asked incredulously. ”When did Ruq and you get married, and why was I not invited to the wedding?“

Meanwhile Yana and Quio would be happy to notice that Tristan didn’t turn around. He was too busy staring at Hart and wondering about a wedding that had probably never happened.

[Yanahalqah]

The doppelganger did exactly as asked, executing his task excellently. The loud noise of him clattering and babbling camouflaged the shattering of the kitchen window, and entering was no problem at all. Without the distraction it would have been quite difficult to get inside unnoticed, but that was never really the plan. A good old sucker punch would get her into the hall just as easily, if she'd been at the front door when Tristan had answered. From there she'd simply have beat him until he was out cold, then moving to steal the statue. Now that plan had been discarded in favor of a more favorable one. Though the involvement of two extra players made Yana uncomfortable. She did not doubt she could knock both Hart and Tristan out quickly, the other Biqaj might pose a problem. Not to mention that it was three on one, and the Yludih's proficiency in combat was not the greatest among mercenaries and squires alike. To be more precise, she ranked somewhere near the bottom, she was sure. Nevertheless, there were ways to win when outnumbered, not all of them necessarily involving combat.

From the extraordinary clean, though obviously often used kitchen, a door led to the living room, where both Tristan Venora and his half-brother were currently standing in. Yana cast a glance through the chamber, seeing the Lord had turned his back at them, and the distraction was doing his job perfectly still. He could see them without a doubt, but gave no indication that he did. Good. They could proceed.

The Yludih lowered herself into a low crouch to move stealthily through the room, something she'd picked up in Uleuda last season. Her temporary companion did the same, and together they did their absolute best to reach the next chamber without being seen or heard. Sadly, that was an impossible task. There was someone except the doppelganger in the room who was onto them already. Fortunately, it was but a cat. It had been sitting in a corner, tearing at a ball of yarn with its claws and teeth, pulling string from the spherical body and throwing them around as if it were intestines. Yana stopped moving momentarily, her eye on the cat.

Well, “cat”. It was the ugliest, wildest and rough-looking cat she'd ever laid eyes on. It gave of a vibe of utter malicious intent, reminding her of bandits and thugs. Despite it's small size –it was a cat after all-- the beast did cut something of an imposing figure, with its piercing eyes, wicked looking claws and teeth, and its fur darker than the blackest night. Yana could not imagine that creature could get along with anyone, let alone Faith. It seemed to have been spawned from hell itself, having come into this world to torture and maul anything that crossed its path. It was simply beautiful. It was a shame she'd have to kill it later.

In the time that she stared, the cat stared back, frozen in the position it had been in but a moment prior, teeth piercing the colorful body of the yarn ball. But then its muscles rippled beneath its fur, ready to begin moving at lightening speeds. However, as it launched itself from its location, the strings of yarn it had been strewing about tightened around its body as if they were chains, stringing the magnificent creature up and sending it sprawling, three of its legs tied together while it slid over the floor, mewing and hissing in frustration. It sounded absolutely viscous and demonic and Yana found she wanted a cat just like that. A creature like that was worth caring about, even if it existed only in this rotten world. Even if she had to summon it from Hell at the cost of her own black and hollow soul.

In the time the black hellspawn was still preparing to launch itself towards Yana and her accomplice, the Yludih became acutely aware of the danger the cat posed. If it caused Tristan to turn around while they were still in the room, they would be in trouble. Yana would have to resort to plan C, which consisted of beating up everyone in the room, and she was not sure if that was feasible. Plan D was much simpler and less risky, but would not net her coin. Plan D suddenly was demoted to Plan F –changing from “Dashing” to “Fleeing”-- even though she had not other plans in between. But, she could think of something, she was sure.

With a quick motion of her hand and wrist, Yana gestured to her accomplices that they'd be moving quickly, and that the half-brother of the Lord had to keep drawing Tristan's attention. Then, she started to run on the balls of her feet, causing as little noise as she could, reaching the bedroom in an instant. She pressed her back against the wall right next to the doorway, giving herself a relatively good view of the sitting room, while staying mostly out of sight herself. Her eye spied nervously, wondering if they were still in the green. Her body was tense, ready to propel herself through the room and hide under the bed or in a closet should it be necessary.

Off Topic

<3 Mistral

[Quio]

OOC: Sorry for taking so long to reply! I've totally been swamped the last few days.

It seemed to have worked. Tristan didn't see them. Hart seemed to have his full attention. For now, at least, it appeared they were in the clear...

...and then there was the cat.

How had Quio not known that Tristan had a cat?

If the thing could even be called that.

The creature in question was a furry black beast with bright, suspicious eyes, somehow unlike any other cat Quio had ever seen. For a moment, some strange remembered phrase stuck out in his mind --something Tristan had once said about a noble who bred cats, and something to do with necromancy?-- but then the moment had passed.

Across the room, the animal watched the two intruders, covered in mutilated string. It flicked its tail. Quio, frozen where he was behind the mercenary, was reminded of a wild cat watching a mouse.

Apparently that was an apt enough description.

All at once the cat coiled as if to spring at them. Wild indeed. Quio actually flinched as it prepared to leap. But then --thanks to the yarn-- the feline only ended up spitting and hissing on the ground in a lump, its feet all tied together. Ahead of him, the merc took her opportunity and fled on tiptoes across the rest of the room, and Quio followed absurdly close behind her, right on her heels. Trying to get out of sight. They plastered themselves to the wall in the next room, holding completely still and listening, listening...

From the living room, Hart's voice, sounding genuinely surprised: "Tristan, I didn't know you had a cat."

Let's go, Quio motioned from his side of the doorway, but the mercenary looked planted. He waved a hand to catch her attention --she was still staring out into the main room-- and then motioned again, more emphatically. Let's go. Though she may want to play it cautious, Quio had a feeling the longer they were in the house, the greater chance they had to be caught. Considering how she had threatened them, he just wanted this over and done with. And it wasn't like Hart could distract Tristan forever.

So whether or not the woman agreed, Quio would begin sweeping the bedroom for the statue. Though now that he thought about it, it probably wouldn't be in here.

The first time they had been over, Faith had let slip a little secret about her and Tristan's late-night rendezvous... and so the Yludih very much doubted the two would be able to uh, rendezvous with the naked Lord Peake Andaris looming over them, judging them with his cold, statue eyes.

Or at least, Quio himself wouldn't be able to rendezvous like that. He assumed other people might have the same reservations.

Though then again, Tristan could be an odd one...

From his place searching the bedroom, the false Biqaj shook himself a little, trying not to imagine that any further. It was better to just go with what made the most sense. It was likely that the sculpture was in another room. Plus, now that he had quickly looked around, he really didn't see it here.

He just hoped it was still in the house. What if Tristan had managed to sell it?

...

Though really, who was he kidding? It was a naked statue. No way that thing was going to sell!

Or... okay, naked or not, the Yludih had to admit it had been well made, so perhaps someone into the arts would have liked it...?

And if it was true there was no demand for the thing, then why did the merc want it?

Quio caught himself sending the woman a speculative look and shook himself again.

Immortals but he was thinking too hard about all this! Stop it. He had to stop thinking. It didn't matter. He just needed to do what he needed to do, and then get out.

Though it all was very curious. And sort of goofy, besides.

Frowning to himself, the Yludih motioned again to the mercenary, and moved quietly on into the next room.

---

Out in the living room, Hart was answering Tristan's bemused questions as quickly as they came.

Tristan: "Didn’t you just leave?"

Hart: "Yes, but I'm back now!"

Tristan: "Hey, what are you doing?"

Hart: "Tell Faith I'm very sorry, and I'll help clean up, but I really need to find this!"

Tristan: "How can you lose a necklace that you are wearing?"

Hart: "It has a rope cord. It must have frayed and fallen off."

Then, "Marriage band?" This time the other sounded so incredulous that Hart had to stop what he was doing and look up at him. The look on Tristan's face... "When did Ruq and you get married, and why was I not invited to the wedding?"

He was just so astounded. Hart couldn't help it, he almost let out a laugh. "Tristan," he said. "Ruq and I have been together a long time. Like..." He shook his head. "Just a really long time. Long enough that we thought, you know, why not make a vow about it?

"Anyways, having a Biqaj ceremony was sort of a no-go... it was too much work, and you know how Ruq is around other people. But in the end, we stood on the deck of a ship and swore that we were promised to one another. And that's about as married as a person can get." He paused. "Though our 'wedding' was more symbolic than official."

"As for why you weren't invited, well! It happened about two arcs ago, give or take. We didn't even know you back then. Sorry." He seemed to be considering something... then Hart smiled brightly, his eyes suddenly wicked with mirth. "I mean, if you really wanted, we could have another ceremony-- A Rynmere wedding, even. And you could come. Though Ruq would absolutely hate it. Still... we'd do it for you."

While he'd been speaking, Hart had slowed from his frantic searching into a momentary still. Now in the lull there came the noise of something flopping around behind him, and Hart turned to look. "Tristan," he said, sounding almost as surprised as his doppelganger had before. "I didn't know you had a cat."

The thing seemed to have fallen onto the floor in the living room, all tied up in string, and looked about as vicious as it did helpless. Hart --who loved land animals-- couldn't help but crouch near the sharp little feline, and he reached out a hand to help free it, not realizing what a monster the cat really was.

Suddenly though he looked up, worried. "You don't think this lil' guy could have taken the necklace, do you?" He looked around the cat but didn't see anything. "He wouldn't eat it, would he?"

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"

[Tristan Venora]

”Oh“, Tristan said, a little disappointed, and pouted as Hart informed him that Ruq and he weren’t really married, but had just made some sort of vow. In his opinion they really needed to get married. They were such a great couple and so amusing together! The laws of Rynmere currently didn’t allow gay marriage which was all the more reason to do it. Fek the laws, and fek those stupid, conservative old men and women that thought they could tell people how to live their lives! Maybe he’d even persuade some sort of government representative to take part by promising them lots of alcohol and girls (or boys).

“If arranging a proper ceremony is too much work for just the two of you, I can help you. If Ruq’s shy, we can make it a small and very private event. We could do it in Venora! There’s a little beach that would be perfect for it if you want to avoid running into Grandmother Ebony although, personally, I would love to see the look on her face. I’d make a sculpture to honor the two of you, and Faith would cook for you. She’s the best cook in all of Rynmere! We could take a few bottles of Venora Red from grandmother’s wine cellar as well!”

The noble was talking so quickly now that poor Hart would probably find it hard to follow him. His eyes shimmered brightly, and he was brimming with excitement. He absolutely loved weddings - just not his own! He never wanted to get married. He just enjoyed sleeping with his slave far too much! “Making a promise to each other on the deck of a ship is nice as well of course”, he continued. “It sounds romantic. I attended my friend Elyna’s wedding last season. They got married on the beach as well. But still, you need something proper, with witnesses and guests. András would probably attend the wedding if I told him about it. He’s my cousin, so he’s your cousin as well. He’s a really great guy …”

He was just about to list all the people he thought would attend such an unorthodox wedding (that might not ever take place), when he heard a noise. He broke off abruptly and spun around. There was Mistral, with strings wrapped all around his body. The cat somehow managed to look both miserable and angry at the same time. The sight nearly broke Tristan’s heart. “Be careful!” he warned Hart. “Mistral bites.” He walked over to the cat as well, to help free it or perhaps simply save his half-brother from a fate that was probably worse than death.

As Hart wondered whether Mistral could have eaten his necklace, he rolled his eyes. “Mistral’s occasionally stupid, but not that stupid”, he said. “He might have taken it because he thought it was a gift for him though. He thinks everything is a gift for him, and he absolutely loves shiny things.” He bent down and looked into the cat’s eyes. “Mistral, did you take Hart’s necklace?” he wanted to know. Mistral answered by hissing loudly at him. “He says, ‘Fek you two.’”, Tristan translated for Hart.

“I don’t think he’ll help us”, he remarked and started searching the floor where the cat had played. Unfortunately the necklace was nowhere to be seen. “Maybe he dragged it into the bedroom while we weren’t looking?” he wondered. “He sometimes sleeps in my room when Faith doesn’t. Or maybe the necklace is in Faith’s room? Or under the kitchen cupboard?”