SURVIVAL INSTINCT

'Perhaps the cards will favor neither of us.' Bold words. Bold words that quickly become untrue as Lukas gets a fairly decent start, and words that become simply insulting as he lands squarely on the number that both of them have been chasing. There's a blank look of acceptance that settles on her features as she runs a hand through her hair, a long sigh of defeat following suit. It's not her night. It's really, really not her night. She's lost count of how many challenges she's failed to win, though she's thankful it doesn't result in her losing money. Instead, it just results in her losing sanity and decision-making ability with every drink that's downed. Unclipping the charm from her belt, she sets it on the table for him-- a reminder of his victory, and a reminder of her bitter defeat. Yet despite the harsh loss, Shamir offers him a hint of a smile. "You know the drill. Loser takes another shot- so, of course I'm taking you up on that." "Also, Lukas? That was foul." @deliverred

"Come one, come all! I've the finest wares from all over the world-- Dagda, Enbarr, even as far as places like Valentia. Never heard of it? Now's your chance to see what they've got!" An annoying merchant that's running back and forth among patrons, making a show of displaying all of his creations... but the real thing that draws Shamir's attention is the mention of her homeland. It's rare enough to see keepsakes from it considering how much of it was decimated in the war against Brigid, and her curiosity ultimately wins out. A few steps is all it takes to survey what the guy's got spread across his table, and she immediately recognizes an effigy of a goddess that was quite popular in Dagda. Not that she ever had anything to do with the worship. With enough knowledge, though, Shamir reaches over to pick it up, rolling it over in her hands. The merchant skitters over, waving his hands as she does. "Ah, careful miss! That's a bona-fide artifact straight from the shores of Dagda! There's no way to replace it if you break it..." He laughs nervously, glancing up to see the studious gaze of the archer. She turns it once more, tongue clicking as she spots an inconsistency in the wooden sculpture. The people who made these took care to nail every detail. This one is shoddy, crudely crafted, and clearly done by an amateur. The robes aren't elaborate like she knows them to be, and the goddess is portrayed as something more ... traditional than what it's actually supposed to be. "Hey, you realize this is a fake, right?" Shamir calls out, holding it up higher. "You're selling it for this much? It's worth nothing. The craftsmanship's shoddy, and it's not even the real thing." The merchant immediately bristles, jabbing a finger in Shamir's direction. "How dare you! What do you know about this, huh? I carry only authentic products; to accuse me of having counterfeits..." He feigns a disappointed shake of his head and a shrug of his shoulders. "I see. You're jealous! Looking for a discount!" Jealous? That's a stretch. Shamir's smile turns into something taunting as she waggles the wooden statue in his face. "I know because I'm from Dagda, dumbass. Nobody would carry one of these." It's then that his face blanches and several customers turn to glare at him, putting back the "artifacts" that they had shown interest in. "W-wait! This woman, she's out of her mind! A simple lie, and-- and--" "Give it up. Quit selling this crap for outrageous prices." @ivorymoonshadow

There's been no shortage of stealth assignments that have been dropped right into Shamir's hands, yet this one has stakes higher than the others she's carried out. The sigh of annoyance that escapes her as her fingers trace a route on the map she's been supplied gives her thoughts on the matter away well enough-- there's too many goddamn hero-wannabes at this Academy. Nobles who've been held on a pedestal, expected to kill and maim and thinking that it's honorable. Impressing Mommy and Daddy on the battlefield with no regard for anyone's safety in the matter. They're too young to be placed in these positions of power. Too young, too brash, and absolute fools. Chasing the dream of their names etched into the annals of history... and instead, those names will be etched into the stone of a grave. Her free hand comes up to rub at the bridge of her nose. The person she's with seems capable enough, but the apprehension remains. Jobs like this are easier alone, she's quickly learned... but she can't exactly turn them away. All she can do is carry the brunt of the operation and get in quickly, quietly, and snatch their student out of the depths of enemy territory. "This is the route these ships tend to take. As you can see, they pass through this port-- otherwise, they're too busy clogging the damn canal to continue their embargo. Lucky for us, that means they aren't going to run away anytime soon." Her fingers outline the docks in question, circled in red. "It's the only opportunity we have to get on the ship. Quietly. Doing this under the cover of night is our best shot." Her eyes glance up at the companion with her, expression steeled with all business. "I'm open to other ideas, though." "The second we blow our cover... the second we lose this student. I know these types, killed plenty of 'em, they won't hesitate to slit a kid's throat if they think we've got the upper hand. No room for mistakes." She taps the surface of the map once more before straightening, bow slung over her shoulder and knives tucked into her thigh sheath. "Travel light. Equipment makes it harder to move silently." "I guess names are in order, too. I'm Shamir, one of the Knights. Anything you want to add? I usually operate on these alone... so it'll be new having someone coming along." @senerist

luigi be in that mansion with no hoes or weed... just ghosts and shit

She's heard the saying 'ants in the pants', but Shamir never really understood the mental image it painted until now. Sin's fidgety, he's a little crotchety, and she's not quite sure she's ever seen him this... out of sorts. Supposedly, this manor had been 'haunted' by vengeful spirits, or whatever the locals painted it out to be-- the reality is that it's likely been taken over by squatters that use the dilapidated mansion as a sort of base. Whether that's just bandits, thieves, or something worse... Doesn't matter. Church of Seiros said they've gotta go and the problem's got to be solved: that's all that she cares about. "You gonna ask that question one more time?" She sighs with a shake of her head, hands on her hips as they stand at the entrance. If anything, the most dangerous thing about this place is the fact that the roof looks like it could fall in at any moment. "We're fine. I've got a knife, you've got a knife. We really don't need anything else. The bows are extra at this point." And a bit inconvenient, honestly-- shooting at short ranges like this was always such a pain. She could pull it off, sure, but she'd rather have more distance. There's plenty of people at the Monastery that truly care about these sorts of things and have strong beliefs that ghosts, spirits, and something like demons actually exist-- Shamir is not one of them. She figures if they were real, there were plenty that would've come for her by now; the list of people she's killed is endless. Remembering their names had long fallen off of her list of concerns. "Come on. We can get this done fast." A hand on the door as she pushes it in, wincing as it creaks. Incredibly loudly. Shit. "Well, if there's anyone in here, they know someone's coming. Watch your corners." @chryssaetos

There's numerous, quieted curses that slip from her lips as she wars with the damned needle in her fingers-- it's not that she's never been able to make do for basic repairs, but it's the fact that this particular bout of damage is a bit larger than what she's used to. The whole reason she's keen on archery is to keep her distance, to observe from the back lines, and to avoid getting her ass beat by overzealous soldiers that are all too eager to hold up the head of an enemy; this time, a sword had torn right through the fabric. A close call, certainly. But that's what daggers are for: in the rare instance that someone gets too close. Shamir's long since been familiar with how easy it is to jab it into the perfect space on the neck to ensure that her enemy won't be getting up again. She's pricked her fingers more than enough times, and she's about ready to call it quits for the time being when Mauvier's voice breaks the otherwise quiet dusk. It doesn't particularly surprise her, but her brows are arched when she turns to look up at him-- which hurts her neck a little, considering their difference in height--... and she can't help but feel a little relief. Shamir never likes pawning her tasks onto other people, but this is a little different, she supposes. "You could say that," The archer mumbles, finally opting to toss her jacket to the side along with holding up the needle as a means of explaining herself. "Got hit in the last battle. I was fine; my jacket wasn't. I can repair something simple any time, it's a valuable skill on the road as I'm sure you know... this is outside of the realm of 'simple', though. Might just be time to get a new one." Ugh, the thought makes her shake her head. There's a hint of sentimental value to this one, but what it's really about is the amount of gold she'd have to shill out for a high quality replacement. Cheaping out on battle gear is never a good idea. "What're you doing out at this hour, huh? They got you out on night guard? Or can you not sleep?" Perhaps hers is a hint of the latter; after all, Shamir can only enjoy this type of quiet at one point in the day. When all the students have retired, and she gets to enjoy the low light of the Knights' hall with hardly anyone around. It's generally when she decides to do her equipment maintenance, so curious eyes aren't poring over her every movement. @contempenitent

Ah, so he does recognize her. Can't say she's too surprised by that, considering the last time they ran into each other properly was during a life-or-death scenario. The thing she does remember the most about him, however, was how... chaotic he was-- and that sentiment seems to stay true, judging by the fact that Fogado has landed himself in this situation. "Probably the same thing you are!" The archer shouts back as she lets loose another arrow, this time hitting the ground in front of the dog and forcing it to swerve. It loses a bit of steam in its pace as a result, and Shamir shifts on the towering branch in an attempt to get a better shot. They're making enough noise as it is. "Do you have a plan?! Keep running!" There's so many questions running through her head, but all she knows is that she needs to make sure he doesn't get eaten alive by this thing. Taking a deep breath, Shamir steadies herself before letting another arrow go, and this time it strikes exactly where she wants it to-- in between the eyes, a pitiful whine escaping the creature before it slumps to the ground. A sigh of relief follows before she hops down from her perch, wiggling through a gap in the hedges to come check on the student. "I can't tell if you're brave... or just stupid. Where did you think you were going?" @losojos-decupido

It was only inevitable that Shamir be tasked with investigating this hell-hole of a place, especially with the various rumors circulating of experimentation. That's a slippery slope, and crest beasts were enough of a problem without the added weight of other demonic creations running amok, and so she had agreed to perform surveillance of the nearby area in order to gain as much information as she could. A perch up in one of the larger trees, it's easy for her to see a good portion of the garden grounds. She remains crouched in the shadows, the dense foliage keeping her mostly out of sight-- she doubts that anyone would be looking up in her direction anyways, and if they did.... well, she could play it off. It's not like she's doing anything blatantly illegal here, anyways. She does, however, recognize a noise that sounds nothing like a human OR any animal that she knows; violet eyes sweep across the grounds until she encounters a hunched-back beast that lumbers forward with an awkward gait. It's too.... twisted to be considered any kind of a dog, and it's certainly nowhere near human-- but she wonders what's drawn it from its slumber when she spots a silhouette that looks awfully familiar. Is that... who she thinks it is? Fuck. That creature is already lunging forward to break out into a run once it catches a whiff of Fogado's scent, and Shamir does the only thing she knows to do. Nocking an arrow takes only a split second, and before she has a chance to think about anything, it's already sailing down towards the hound. A sharp whistle is the only evidence of its movement, sticking deep into its shoulder and evoking a guttural cry that surely gives the impression that it's pissed off even more now. They can deal with it later. For now... "Are you going to stand there and stare? Move!" @losojos-decupido

Perhaps she didn't expect to be paired with so many people who were this isolated-- yet... now that they're all coming down to the end, Shamir lets out a long sigh. It's not surprising to her that she's out on the heels of Jeralt and this young man she's not acquainted with, and she offers a shrug of defeat. "My bet was wrong, too. So I guess I got beat on both fronts," The former mercenary grumbles, reaching for the almost empty glass of wine that she set on the ground outside of the jacuzzi. "But hey. At least I'm not alone in getting knocked out on this round...?" Shamir takes a swig of the remainder of her drink, but quickly comes to a freezing halt upon hearing Lewyn's introduction. "A.... student?" She turns to face him, eyes wide as if she had been struck with a bat. Yet it quickly morphs into something more akin to suspicion laced with distrust, a frown stretching across her features. If someone like Seteth were to find out that the Knights were participating in such ridiculous endeavors with students.... (albeit unknowingly), she's certain she'd never hear the end of it. "What happens in the jacuzzi stays in the jacuzzi. Understood?" @grxstnnefealltoir

These guys certainly know how to dampen the mood sometimes, but Shamir's keenly aware of the fact that she's putting fingers down right alongside some of the others. She's also mildly disappointed that her own statement didn't cause someone to be crucified in the middle of the jacuzzi in front of everyone else, but it could be worse. "Shamir. Of Dagda, technically," She shrugs at the introduction, mulling over possibilities in her head. There's no way she's playing into the more serious topics, not when liquor courses through her veins in this moment. Deidre's statement doesn't catch her, and she offers a small chuckle. "Sure, I can use a sword. But nobody taught me- I learned through trial and error, and getting my ass kicked. I prefer the bow anyways," She reasons, finally reaching a moment where she's not losing another finger. She's hot on Jeralt's heels for being the next eliminated. "Let's see.... Never have I ever... Broken a bone. That should have some good stories, yeah?" All of them here are on the battlefield in one way or another- Shamir's come close to having her shoulder broken from a vicious blow, but generally she can keep out of harm's way. "I'm lucky, compared to others I know." @nohrianoutlaw

'Perhaps the cards will favor neither of us.' Bold words. Bold words that quickly become untrue as Lukas gets a fairly decent start, and words that become simply insulting as he lands squarely on the number that both of them have been chasing. There's a blank look of acceptance that settles on her features as she runs a hand through her hair, a long sigh of defeat following suit. It's not her night. It's really, really not her night. She's lost count of how many challenges she's failed to win, though she's thankful it doesn't result in her losing money. Instead, it just results in her losing sanity and decision-making ability with every drink that's downed. Unclipping the charm from her belt, she sets it on the table for him-- a reminder of his victory, and a reminder of her bitter defeat. Yet despite the harsh loss, Shamir offers him a hint of a smile. "You know the drill. Loser takes another shot- so, of course I'm taking you up on that." "Also, Lukas? That was foul." @deliverred

Shamir can't say she's surprised by some of the topics offered, some more straight-laced than others. Yet her composure slowly becomes shaken as Captain Jeralt puts down finger after finger, yet to hit a single question where he doesn't do so. Her shoulders are shaking in laughter that she's trying her hardest to keep down, even as she loses a few of her chances in the meantime. "You've never eaten meat?" Shamir mumbles under her breath, seemingly in awe of this revelation more than others. "Crazy. As for you, Captain Jeralt.... You gonna cough up the story about that lap dance or not?" A sly smirk makes its way onto her face as she glances at the man with the eyepatch, whose money she had put on in the first place to win. Even though it's looking that Jeralt may take the crown, she can't be too upset. "I'm somehow not surprised you've given one." Either way, the show must go on. Leaning back against the edge of the jacuzzi, Shamir lets out a hum of thought before a brilliant idea pops into her head... and the grin on her face turns into something far more sinister. "Alright. Never have I ever...." "Peed in a pool." She's watching intently for whoever's finger goes down first-- and she will NOT be trusting them in the jacuzzi. @nohrianoutlaw