#mishaitaul

The day had started out godsdamned cold, and the freezing winds blowing through the harbor weren't showing any signs of slowing up.  Nevertheless, noon found Marius hurrying through the streets of HagaFosiel, coat drawn up as high as it would go and hands deep in the pockets of his coat.  All the cold air in the world couldn't have been able to deter him -- no.  He was on his way to see Misha, and he was on a mission.

The conversation he'd had with Kitty Knight in the forest of Neas had stuck with him even after the Mancers' return to HagaFosiel, as had his promise to her.  A safe haven for magician kids who wanted no part in the war -- that was an idea worth braving the icy winds for.  What with the execution of the traitor looming close, the timing of it all could've probably been a bit better, but, well.  Marius didn't know when he'd next be in the city again, and so he was going to make use of the time he had.

Tucked under his arm was a whole stack of reports with all manners of data he wasn't quite sure he was going to need, most of which had been nabbed from Tarac after pestering the poor man long enough to stop protesting.  Marius had briefly debated whether to ask Tarac for some input on the whole matter, but the guy was busy enough, and besides -- Misha would be entirely honest with him, and she'd knew best what  Varamadras would think of it, too.  Whether Misha would even want to look at the reports he had procured was another question entirely, but Marius figured that it'd be good to have everything even vaguely essential on hand, just in case.

Throwing open the set of large oak carved doors of the city offices with all the might he could manage, in he strode, the rubber soles of his dress shoes falling with thunderous applause upon the marble floor. It was no secret. Today Markus Arcain was officially stepping into the ring on Borus' behalf.

Whether it would make any difference however, he had yet to find out. 

"Hello, can I help you?" Asked the small female demoness behind the counter as he walked right on up to it. 

"Yes" he started throwing her one of his Diplomatic smiles. "My name is Markus Arcain," He continued stressing every last syllable, knowing that his usual humility was going to get him no-where today. "Second in command, Group number 4, B company, South Gate Guard. I wanted to know if I could request an immediate audience with Lord Fveran. I have some urgent business I need him to attend to."

"Um, well no one below the rank of group leader can actually request an audience with our lord," She replied with a downturn of her lips, almost as if she was sorry on his behalf. He had guessed that this might be the case, though she had yet to see his full arsenal of tricks "But I can find a representative to take down your complaint if you'd like." she continued, like it was she trying to make the best of this situation 

"Oh really, well I'll just have to go tell my father Lukas Arcain, Member of the Cold North Elite, that I can't see his old friend Se'ref. Im sure he'll be sorry to hear the policies have become so stringent in the past few years"

Name dropping It was a tactic he rarely ever used, mostly because he hated to. But today was a claws out, no holds barred, do whatever you have to do type of day.

And on these type of days nothing was above Markus Arcain.

"I-I see." She stuttered out, and Markus almost felt a slight pang of guilt for playing her like this… almost. Grabbing a small little notebook nestled under the desk she flipped through the pages, stopping about halfway through to scan her finger down the page. "Uh Well Lord Fveran just entered an important meeting" She said looking up at him "I might be able to get you in after that is finished."

"Awesome" He nodded at her as he turned on his heel looking for somewhere to sit. 

"The meeting could take all day though," she called after him "You sure you want to sit here for that long?"

"What do you mean, you can't let me in?  Where else am I supposed to go?  D'you honestly want me to climb over the fence, or scale the walls, or tear down the gates in a grand flood of awe and destruction and rotten fish?  Is that really what you want to happen?  Because it will, darling, if you don't let me through."

The guard shook his head, exasperated.  "Look, sir, I just need--"

The man needed papers, something, anything at all, to make sure that Marius was actually who he claimed to be.  He'd made that painstakingly clear over the course of the last fifteen minutes -- if you didn't have your papers, you couldn't enter the castle the Mancers' higher-ups had been stationed in.  Didn't matter that the guard had greeted Marius by name when he had left the castle in earlier in the day, and had done so when he had approached on his way back, too, in fact, they'd been going through that routine for almost a week now.  And he'd never needed any papers to authenticate himself.

Except now he did, and, well.  What papers?  He rarely kept battle records for longer than a day; normal reports didn't even last an hour -- Lord and Lady, whoever had come up with this grand idea had clearly not been thinking while penning it down.

"Ain't happening, love."

They glared at each other, the guard pointedly placing himself in the middle of the gateway, Marius, just as pointedly, trying to step around him. In practice, this ended with neither of them getting anywhere, until Marius, already short on temper, tried to bodily push his way past the other man. The guard, in what must've been pure malice, no doubt about it, spun around much too quickly and jabbed him in the side where he'd been wounded in the battle for Alcart, causing him instinctively curl up around the wound and back up.