#merchantmelicus

Such enthusiasm.  Are you nearly so enamoured with your regular day-to-day tasks?

But I digress.  I have a shipment coming in, and I’m afraid it’s arrived just a little sooner than I’d anticipated - I’ve nowhere to store it for, say, the next week or so.  Would you be willing to hold onto it for a wee bit?  I’d be willing to pay you handsomely, of course.

Ugh…

[heavy sigh]

Despite how much James didn't want to attend the masque, it didn't turn out to be as terrible as he anticipated. Granted, his date spent the majority of the time dancing with other men but.... Nevertheless.

He sipped his drink (fifth one that night. Whoops) and leaned against a nearby wall casually, scoping out the crowd to see if he could spot Jasdaë anywhere in the mix. She didn't seem to be with the dancers at all... where had she gone off to, then? 

A sudden commotion towards the front of the room caught his attention. It looked like some bloke had a... Gun, holy shit. Someone had a gun to the princess's head. James hurriedly looked around for Jas to make sure she was okay. He caught sight of her red curls fairly quickly due to them being right next to the man holding the princess hostage.

Sweet fucking hell.

She said she wouldn't do anything illegal that night! They had PLANS, dammit--

Oh gods.

People saw him come to the masque with her. With a wanted criminal who was currently yelling at knights to keep their distance. James downed his drink and decided it was best to... keep his mask on from now on. And the hood up. Yeah. Shit.

Some knights wheeled the king out to speak with the bloke with the gun, who instead went into some incoherent speech. What an accent. Maybe he was just too far off Probably that. Whatever. Who was that fucker, anyways? Holding hostages with Jasdaë... What a fucking mess.

Suddenly a shot went off, then a chandelier crashed to the floor and James did his very best not to drop with it (and his stomach). There was what looked like a fight that ensued, but he was much too far to see past the crowd. It seemed too risky to join in on the clamor, despite everything in him screaming to go check on Jas. Something was wrong. What if she was hurt? Gods, what a mess.

However, the clamor quickly came to an end. James stood on his toes to try and see what had happened, but it was no use. Did they kill them? Was Jas alright? Unable to withhold himself any further, James started to push through the crowd.

Only to get yanked back out.

"AUGH-- Fuckin' hell what in the--" He tore away from the stranger's grasp and turned to see that rude tailor that Jasdaë took him to the other week. "Must you use such vulgar language?" The fellow hissed, rolling his eyes. He had his nose crinkled again. Like he did the entirety of James's fitting. Did he really smell that terrible?

"Have you seen--"

"Not now," Guinnein interrupted and grabbed onto the boy's cloak again, then snapped his fingers. James was overcome with a sudden feeling of complete emptiness-- and not emotionally, either. It felt like someone sucked all his guts right out from his mouth. Terrible. He squeezed his eyes shut to try and distract himself, but the empty feeling was gone as quickly as it came and it honestly felt like he exploded for a moment.

Counting Azrael’s scars was a feat that Malon was never entirely sure she would complete. For one, the sheer number was astounding and secondly, she was almost certain that there would be more in places her eyes hadn’t quite had the pleasure of seeing. Sometimes she caught herself wondering about the ones that might be hidden and the thoughts would send her face into a cherry-toned conundrum that usually ended with her knocking something over.

But the others…

She had counted twenty-seven so far. The twenty-seventh being the one she’d recently spotted on the back of his hip earlier that day. Shaped like a hook but jagged enough to match number thirteen which lay across his shoulder and chest right next to scars number seven and eight— the bullet wounds. Number 13 had a name now, though; Wolfos Attack. She nodded silently, reminding herself of her new label and the notion seemed to catch Azrael’s attention. He raised a brow at her and heat filled her cheeks as she quickly turned to busy herself again with the cleaning of her new gun. She glanced at him again after he’d lost interest, her eyes falling on a new piece of lightened flesh that marred his forearm.

Kafei and Azrael do not get along very well but still have that spark to continue together. Kafei does not understand why Azrael keeps to himself so much but tries anyway to accept him as he is, knowing that he’ll share his life when he is ready. Azrael grows annoyed with Kafei’s persistence but appreciates his attempts any how.

Desmond:

Desmond share’s Azrael’s dark hair and eyes but Kafei’s skin color. His hair is often worn in a pony tail with bangs surrounding his face. He has Kafei’s nose and Azrael’s jaw. He would rather dress casually than as his parents would dress him in more pristine clothing.

Link drumming on the banister impatiently, waiting for Malon.  It had taken him maybe five minutes tops to finish dressing in the suit and mask he had selected for himself.  He had opted not to wear the mask just yet, at risk of limiting his vision too much to clearly make out the steps.

Twirling it about, he paced the hallway.  His nerves were in a perpetual restless state it seemed, and Link was only too aware of the cause.  Malon's dress had looked lovely enough in the shop, but the thought of her actually wearing it was... well, a bit too much to take.

Fluff

Azrael dropped the empty bottle onto the floor next to his desk as he pinched the bridge of his nose. It rolled a short distance before joined four others in the corner of the room. Running a business was fine until the numbers didn’t add up. You’d think after a couple hundred years there’d be a way to make math easier…

“I’m back, boss.” A voice entered his office, “And I’ve brought some pastries.”

“I don’t need pastries, lad. I need an answer to this problem.”

“You haven’t left this office in three days and the only thing you’ve eaten is half a bagel that you brought in with you.” Rovell set a box on the desk.

Azrael wasn’t entirely sure why he’d hired the young man. His network of information was quite useful, but there was also something about the ex-priest that made him feel at ease. At the very least, he was good at running errands.

“How did you know I haven’t left? And where’s my rum?”

Rovell smiled gently, holding the bottle just outside the reach of his waiting hand, “You hired me for my network.”

Azrael looked up. There was something about the youth’s smile. Something that caused him to hire the young man in the first place. The corners of his mouth twitched just barely, but Rovell caught the ghost of a smile.

“Aye, lad. That I did. Now hand the bottle over.”

Rovell drew the bottle back, ever smiling. “Not until you eat.”

With a deep scowl, Azrael threw open the lid to the box of pastries, unceremoniously lifted one out, and crammed the whole thin into his mouth. He held out his hand again.

“Close enough.” Rovell handed him the bottle.

Azrael washed the pastry down with a large swig of rum and turned his attention back to the books. Taking his cue, the ex-priest began to leave.

“Good luck, boss” He closed the door behind him.