WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN THERE Hidden: theme You know you've f...ound yourself in deep trouble when you're locked up behind bars in a town, village?, you're 99.9% sure no one knows exists. That was how Iván was feeling when he found himself locked up behind bars in a place he was 99.9% sure no one who has never been there knew existed. How was it even possible that he was the only one locked up at that moment? Was there no one else in that place who ever committed a crime? Not that Iván committed a crime, mind you. Oh, no, Iván would never commit a crime. At least not in broad daylight or something not sanctioned by the Quest Master. Some of those quests were technically crimes. Technically. Yet he was the only one behind bars at the moment, which was strange, considering that the tavern he visited just a few hours ago was filled with all manners of obviously terrible people. One of the poker players even had fresh blood on his sword, and he wasn't even hiding it. The bloody sword was carelessly placed right beside where he was sitting, right in everyone's line of sight. Surely, that guy should've been in jail with Iván. Oh, wait, no... I don't want that guy in here with me. The masked illusionist was meditating in the middle of his spacious cell, which was only made spacious by the fact that he was the only one in there. Throw two other guys with him and that cell would be tighter than the purple god's grip around his sanity. He should probably keep that thing on the down low while he was there, though. Scaring people off would only serve to put him in more terrible situations. The unenlightened are easily scared, after all. He sighed as a fly started buzzing around his mask. Rude. He tried to swat at it but missed it, slapping himself instead. From behind his mask, he opened one eye, spotting the jail warden, the sheriff of this teeny tiny town, who looked more like some sort of unwashed henchman, resembling that of a Western's villain. Iván was glad no one had guns in this game, in this place. He wasn't sure he could use his magic to dodge a bullet aimed at his face. "Hey, ugly! You hungry?" The evil henchman sheriff villain dude was chuckling to himself with that question, as if he found it funny, an ugly person calling someone else ugly. Henchmen are really terrible, especially when they're trying to do comedy on their own. They're only really funny when the hero bonks them in the head or something. Fortunately for him, Iván was no hero nor was he the bonking in the head kind of guy. "Nope," Iván deadpanned, closing both eyes once more, choosing to meditate again instead of confronting the vile villain. There was no point in playing mind games with someone who didn't have a brain. "Thanks for asking, though." Unfortunately, for some reason, that response ended up agitating the evil henchman sheriff dude, and he proceeded to angrily walk towards the cell and grab the bars as tightly as he could, as if he actually had the strength to break off those bars and smash Iván in the head with them. Well, technically, if he had Heroic Might, he probably could have, but then he'd have to open the cell door to get near the masked illusionist, which would actually be the opportunity, the mistake, Iván was waiting for so he could get out of there. Unfortunately, once again, this guy didn't have Heroic Might. "Hey! You listen here, you smelly, piece of cow dung!" The evil henchman sheriff dude was also terrible at insults, which was disconcerting. Was he someone's father? Poor kid. "You ain't better than me, you hear? I'm the one outside of the cell this time. You ain't gettin' outta there. I'll make sure of it, you dumb, smelly, piece of, uhm, cow dung!" Iván sighed. He was locked in a cell, alone, in a small town that was probably not even on a map, being verbally harassed, or at least the guy was trying to, by a half-wit. He hoped things wouldn't get more embarrassing than this. At least no one he knew was around to watch all of this. It would've been terrible to his self-esteem. If he had one anyway. @Portia Ahrens
''This is all the prisoners we've kept thus far, m'lady. Do excuse the filthy conditions, had we known of your arrival...'' But before the man could excuse himself further for the lack of cleaning around those parts, the ''lady'' he was talking to raised a hand mid-air, putting a halt to all his blabbering nonsense. ''I believe this is fine, thank you,'' the woman raised a hand to hide the slightly curved corners of her mouth from vision, replying with a sheepish smile that was, perhaps, not as embarrassed as it ought to be. Glancing up from beneath her lashes was none other than the hot-headed brawler, sporting an outfit than on any other occasion she would've scoffed at. The dress she wore, however, complimented her altered appearance, matching in a subtle manner the make-up that covered her pale features in a display she would've never achieved on her own. She made a mental note to kick whoever was in charge of putting all this paint on her face. Yet it served well for its purpose, and she was grateful for it since she reckoned the mission wouldn't have worked quite as well as it did so far have she chosen to wear the same pair of trousers and vest that was always on her. It wasn't the time to look combat-ready, it was time for her to adopt the position of a court woman and stay... civil, however difficult it might be. On the days prior to these recent events, she had been wandering around the Aristocracy's manor in search of something new to do other than strengthen herself and her magic. There was certainly something to be said about the comfort that routine could offer and how the simplicity of it might be found enticing by some amongst their ranks. It offered players and NPCs alike a sense of familiarity that wouldn't change as quickly as the rest of the game did, be it because of the infinite number of situations found outside the Aristocracy's reach or anything else. Yet, she was neither the type to stay still nor go on every adventure that could be described as a death trap. She just needed something to do. So instead of adapting to whatever they might have in store for her, she opted for visiting one of the villages she'd heard of during the day as she went and performed tasks of her own, seeking information that might serve her faction in future deals. If there was something she knew about the politics in this game, is that most people tended to respect them and bow their heads as soon as a person with a social status walked up to their doors. Be a little elegant, dress in a manner you would often not and you were golden! Or so she thought. The man that had received her upon her entry to the village had not ceased talking ever since, stopping by every little shop he deemed important enough as to introduce her to everyone who passed by and making a tiny compliment as to keep her pleased. Nothing noteworthy to see nor hear, except for when they reached a spot that was nearby the local tavern, which the town's chief made an effort to evade as soon as he saw her gaze turning in the building's direction. Is this what the dukes have to deal with..? So dull. If she was convinced before not to ever join any of the political affairs circling around Terrasphere's nobility, the whole situation just solidified her opinion even more. Back to the present, the town's chief widened his eyes in surprise at the very same time she did, the display both of them found at the bottom of the stairs earning two different responses from each. On the chief's end, a smug grin widened across his features, but Porti-- Lilith simply frowned, pressing her fingers against her temples in what she thought could be a good opportunity to maintain the image she'd spent to much time working on. Standing before Iván was not the Portia Ahrens he knew, but the proper and gentle lady known to the populace as Lilith Jeanne, a duchess who had recently risen to a position of power and was on a personal quest to get to know the citizens that would be under her charge. Not only that but if he paid enough attention to the features of the female, he would've noticed the thinly veiled worry that played on her piercing grey eyes. This, it was this particular situation she hadn't thought of. ''What is he doing in here?'' What the hell are you doing in here, Iván.
“Hello,” Iván deadpanned after opening his eyes in response to the question, seeing a familiar-looking face (@Portia Ahrens) in front of him. Well, not that familiar. All that make-up, and Iván wasn’t sure he knew anyone who wore that kind, that lot, of make-up. Did Majolica wear make-up? Janet? Haru? Who was this woman before him? Why did she seem so familiar to him? Could it be…? Nah, she wouldn’t be dressed that way, all elegant and ladylike. His first guess would’ve been dressed in something more…violent, something fit for fighting, for punching. Whoever this person was, she seemed like nobility. Perhaps someone from the Aristocracy? Did the Aristocracy send someone to bail him out? What for? “He committed a crime, m’lady,” the evil henchman sheriff dude sounded surprised at the question, though who wouldn’t? Anyone behind bars would most probably be behind those bars for committing a crime, especially in such a small town setting. Unless they were prisoners of war, of course, but how could such a small town get such a prisoner, and what kind of war could they survive long enough to catch someone from the opposition? If there truly was a war around, this town wouldn’t be left standing out here. It would’ve been razed to the ground, erased from existence. Its best bet would be, should war even come to its borders, to hide and pretend it wasn’t a town, but more like a bunch of abandoned buildings strewn about. The Mountain and his men would’ve still probably razed it, though. Lions get really hungry. Iván could only sigh and shake his head at the evil henchman sheriff dude. Perhaps, if the evil henchman sheriff dude didn’t let his tongue get the best of him, he would’ve afforded more time in really understanding the question. It wasn’t a general question. Such a noblewoman would know why anyone would be behind bars in such a small town. It was more of a specific question, most probably. What crime did this stinky masked man commit, who seemed perfectly comfortable meditating in the middle of the spacious but tiny cell, that landed him in this situation, all alone and unwashed and stinky? “I think she meant to ask what exactly did I do to get hauled to jail, Mister Mustache Mountain, sir,” Iván explained dryly, which only served to infuriate Mr. Mustache Mountain, the evil henchman sheriff dude who spent more time twirling that hilariously stereotypical mustache and not enough time reading his books. Could he even afford books? He probably could with his henchman sheriff salaries. How much does one earn being a henchman anyway? How much does one earn being a sheriff? Mr. Mustache Mountain took two huge steps towards the bars and clanged them, gripping what he could as tightly as he could, showing his captive a furious scowl in hopes of intimidating the masked man, though it was all in vain because Mr. Mustache Mountain wasn’t that muscular to project the implication that he could break those bars with his hands nor was his scowl scarier than the nightmarish creatures Iván has encountered from down in the Spire. If anything, Iván could intimidate Mr. Mustache Mountain just by his mask alone, turning to him without saying a word, those five holes and that smell easily making anyone run to the opposite direction. Yet Iván didn’t do any of that. He didn’t want to. Intimidating Mr. Mustache Mountain would be too easy. Plus he wanted some time to meditate peacefully. “You shut your mouth when you’re not bein’ spoken to, you hear?!” Mr. Mustache Mountain looked all serious, accidentally spraying spit at Iván. He turned to the noblewoman with a smile before turning back to his captive with that subpar scowl. “This is official elite people business. You’re not elite! You’re just some homeless guy who smells funny, and that is why you’re in jail.” Iván simply sighed in response, turning to the familiar noblewoman, “There you have it. I’m in here because I smell funny. Such is the way of this cruel, discriminating world! Abandoning my people, my innocent people, to the mechanical clutches of perverted preferences, of bulimic bias, of traitorous treachery! All I ask, my lady, which is the better way of saying milady, is that I be given the same treatment as everyone else, and that is a fair treatment. I committed no crime, yet, and as of my knowledge, except for merely existing the way my god wanted me to. Is this how we are as a society is now? Is this how far we’ve fallen? Are we persecuting good folks who make their own choices, who will their own beliefs, who are victims of fate and destiny? I am on my knees, your grace, and even without stealing a ring from two tiny people, slandering a late fat king’s blonde widow and historically untrustworthy family, arrows are already being shot at me, my head cut clean from my shoulders with all these unwarranted accusations, this unfair treatment, this mistrial of masks and men! Sanctuary! I call for sanctuary! Freedom, fairness, and semper fi for all!” The masked illusionist bowed to the ground, digging his face in it, hiding it with his arms, before sobbing, at least he sounded like he was sobbing, while both the evil henchman sheriff dude and the delicious noblewoman just stared at him confused, maybe bewildered, at a loss for words because of his magnificent oration? It was hard to tell. Almost as hard to tell as it had been hard to understand what he was saying. People get bored when they’re locked up in a cell all alone, apparently.
The woman blinked once, twice, thrice as the desperate pleas of mercy from the masked illusionist were the only sound that filled her ears, brain desperately scrambling to make sense of it all. She had never known Iván to be quite the talker, but if he was, then her only guess was to say he had successfully seen through her disguise and started to follow her plan with one of his own. Or maybe she was having too much faith on a person whom she hadn't heard of in quite some time. Either option seemed like it would be a perfect fit for the situation they were in. No sooner had Iván finished talking, she took a step forward in his direction, urging the man whose outburst had provided her a stronger chance at letting matters go in a peaceful manner. With a practiced posture, expression set to neutrality in a way she knew all too well from her real-life self, she clicked her tongue in disapproval. Staying quiet for far too long wouldn't prove to be advantageous to the aristocrats, and so, it was time she used what details her companion's slurred speech had offered. Portia, however, did not offer a reply as immediate as she thought. Where words should have flowed freely from her mouth, there was nothing but the silence she was already accustomed to. Reassurances of the man's innocence would only do so much, and as the hush stretched over the present in the town's prison, the ''lady'' realized they were waiting for her to take the initiative and state her opinion on what should be rightfully done with the criminal crying on the ground. "You shall excuse my alchemist for his inadequacy,'' she started with a calm that was unknown to her most of the time, an apologetic look in her eyes, ''but it is my duty to inform you that your anger is misplaced. Days prior to our arrival to your village, my father sent him out on a personal request: to find a rare plant known for its medical properties, may it cure the blight plaguing our lands.The flower is said to have a smell only few could withstand and thus it would be easily recognizable, which is why I suppose he sent him. Have you taken notice of the outfit he is currently wearing? It barely allows his face to show, making it an excellent choice of attire for the task that was handed to him." ''Whatever the case, my lady... It wouldn't be wise to allow a man who has disturbed the village's peace to walk free so soon.'' The man that spoke to her made it a personal note to glance in the illusionist's direction as he corrected his way of speech when referring to the noblewoman, anger clear in his features before he settled back on the ''duchess''. "I do not recall asking for your opinion on matters that are not of your concern given how quick you were to judge without even bothering to ask of your prisoner's current standing. Should you wish to refer to this particular incident and allow your discontent to show, you are free to do so with our King, as he shall deliver his fair judgment amongst all of us now present,'' she interrupted with a voice that began showing how far was she willing to go with this game of pretending. "However, and only if you will choose to grant me this one simple request, I ask of you that you allow this prisoner to leave your town, may his dreadful condition be tended to by one of the Hydromancers of my court." "All choices had been laid out on the table and it is up to you which you'll decide to take. Should you choose to go against my wishes, there is simply no power in the world that would stop me from informing the King how his citizens are treated when he is not looking. I have heard he often decides to take such matters into his very own hands,'' the white-haired woman added with deliberate slowness in each word, allowing the meaningful threat behind each chosen word to sink in the man's head. "Any complaints that might be heard of?" Not a question, but a venom-coated string of words that dared anyone to try and stop her as she walked closer to the person holding the keys to the cell. "No?" She asked yet again, the tone she added to her voice becoming sickeningly sweet, even for herself. This part of playing pretend she liked, she adored. The dolled-up lady known as Lilith forced a smile as she stepped to the cell her acquaintance was being held in and unlocked the door, setting the entirety of her attention on the fallen illusionist at her feet. "I am most pleased." The expression on the men's faces quickly turned sour as they had no option left but allow the lady to do as she pleased, the jailer choosing to go back to his station while the village's chief climbed the stairs back to civilization on his very own, leaving both Portia and Iván downstairs with a very unpleased man who couldn't care less about what affairs involved them. Saying her mind wasn't drifting from one thought to another would've been a complete lie, expressed in the form of the brawler chewing on her bottom lip as soon as her face was out of the captors' field of vision. Portia gave a pointed cough, as if urging her partner-in-crime to rise from his pitiful position on the floor and, if he could afford himself to, the chance to take a better look at the woman's features, hoping that this time, he would find some sense of familiarity underneath all the layers of make-up. Portia, no, Lilith Jeanne reached out a hand to the masked male. After a few seconds in which she had successfully quieted her panicked thoughts, she mumbled softly enough for him to hear. ''Iván, I'm going to beat that smell out of you unless you explain what the hell is going on.''
When the noblewoman started spouting nonsense about him being her alchemist, Iván’s first reaction was to narrow his eyes at her. It was instinctive at best, his brain trying to make sense of what the familiar stranger was talking about, of what was happening. The second reaction he had involved his eyes widening, mouth agape, neither of which were visible to anyone. Could it be…? Could it? It had been a long time since they last met, since they were in the same room together. Iván had been busy with so many things, things like joining the Aristocracy and failing his first mission with them, joining an expedition to an unexplored hellhole and dying his first death at the hands of a purple god, starting his own Curry House with help from cooking books he procured from that crippled alchemist near a cursed village, dying to talking crystal wolves after using a stranger with Zalrisis as bait in a misguided attempt to encounter his purple god once more, and of course becoming a part of Witch Ops as the Bound Prince. Could this person be…Emerath Katou of Lightning Ironworks? Wait, he’s never met Emerath’s father. Or was Tetsunosuke his fath--- Nope, that was dumb. That was plain stupid. How could Tetsu be Emerath’s dad? Tetsu was Emerath’s protégé, just like he was. Why would someone’s dad be their protégé? If anything, dads would mentor their children, their sons. Iván grimaced at the realization that his dad, his own father, failed to mentor him. Thankfully, his mother, Alphabet Chocolate, was more than sufficient in that regard. A moment of silence. Iván narrowed his eyes before sighing, shaking his head at himself. Purple god damn. I am so bored in here. The word “king,” from out of the noblewoman’s mouth, dragged the masked illusionist out of his mind and back into the physical world before him. Was Emerath close with the king? And which king? Astor? Hmm… Astor as a curry endorser could be amazing. His curry was amazing. Surely a king with amazing tastes would appreciate an amazing bowl of curry? Iván decided right then and there to go along with whatever Emerath was planning. Or maybe what he was saying was actually the truth and Iván just forgot about it after banging his head against the steel bars of the cell? That would explain the throbbing pain at the back of his head. Oh, wait, no! That was the evil henchman sheriff dude. Iván didn’t actually see it happen but Mr. Mustache Mountain had been bragging about it, about how he singlehandedly took him in, as if Iván was some sort of boss monster and bonking him on the back of his head was a heroic finisher of sorts. He scratched the back of his head, where a painful bump now resided, as the noblewoman Emerath Katou finished giving his jailer an ultimatum. He wasn’t able to listen much of it, but he had faith in Lightning Ironworks’ founder. The man was a genius, after all, a visionary. Surely any and all his plans were flawless. He’s seen them, him, in action, too. Contingency after contingency. This man was definitely in a league of his own. His brain was superior to everyone else’s. There was no questioning his motives. Wait, did he say hydromancers?! Iván clutched his hoodie tightly. His grip on his hoodie only became tighter when the noblewoman Emerath Katou entered his cell and was left alone with him. Wait, alone? With me? Iván grinned from behind his mask, his eyes narrowing, as creative but dastardly thoughts started flooding his mind. His opportunity had finally arrived. He could now escape. He would use his magic to trick this person to free him. Hmm. Maybe make them see him as a sad, lost puppy, inexplicably locked up in the same and only cell that a creepy masked homeless man had been? Iván winced when the noblewoman Emerath Katou coughed, disgusted at the idea of their mouth germs being transmitted to his mouth. Wait, no. He had a mask on. That would be impossible. Unless… Unless those germs were magical and could penetrate masks and physical things. Iván covered his mouth, well, where it should have been to defend himself from the germs, realizing seconds later that it would be fruitless against magical germs. Wait, do germs have to be magical to phase through masks and physical objects or can they already do that as is? As the noblewoman Emerath Katou’s hand came to his view, he raised an eyebrow. A second later, he realized what needed to be done: He would grab that hand and help himself up, back to his own two feet. That was why it was extended towards him, right? Unless it was simply to shake his hand, which would be dumb. Why would anyone want to shake someone’s hand while they were standing upright and that someone was on the floor, meditating? The proper etiquette would be to help them up first then shake their hand. Confidently, he grabbed on to that hand, just as the stranger before him had just finished mumbling something. Unfortunately, it seemed the stranger had not intended for him to grab that hand, seemingly caught unprepared when Iván tried to pull himself up, leading to both of them falling down on the cell’s floor, with the stranger on top of Iván. "@Portia Ahrens?" Iván raised an eyebrow from behind his mask with Portia’s face inches from him. “What the hell are you wearing? You look weird.”
Thud. The noblewoman dug her heel deeper in the ground at the realization she wasn't as strong as she originally thought - or maybe it was that her partner's weight had slightly increased ever since he ventured into the food side of the market - realizing a moment too late how her move only managed to make the fall even worse than it was meant to be. Despite her own mistakes, she closed her eyes and for a brief moment hoped she wouldn't meet the floor with much strength. Instead of the hard surface of the cell's floor, she instead found her weight pressed against a much softer texture, cushioning her fall as it took most of the damage for the two of them. Dumbfounded as she was, her eyes snapped open and the facade of lady Lilith dropped, Portia finally making a proper appearance, clearly unsure of how to tackle this whole turn of events. Her lips parted, words readied at the tip of her tongue, and an unfamiliar heat which crept towards her cheeks, staining the porcelain flesh with a red sight that didn't belong to anyone's blood. ''Can you please not be so obvious?!'' Her voice had dropped to a husky whisper, a gloved hand pressing itself at where the male's mouth should be to prevent him from spilling her name again. For once, she was grateful for his apparent inability to detect the atmosphere, stealing the words from her lips with a few of his own. Despite how the dress had completed its original task by exaggerating the woman's feminine assets, Portia's somewhat tomboyish behavior had proved to be an incompatible match for the beautifully crafted item. Even while she appreciated the efforts her companions had put when working on dressing her to play the role of a lady, there was a part of her which had to agree with Iván. It didn't suit her in the slightest. She was no lady, she was no noble and much less, the political doll these people had thought her to be. A few awkward glances more were thrown in his general direction when she snapped out of thought, finding that they had yet to do something about their current position. Iván couldn't do much while he stayed beneath her, and with a sigh to express the aristocrat's frustration, she pushed herself off the ground first, leaving the man to fend for himself unless they wanted to repeat what had just happened. Once he had done so, she came close to him again and took his arm in between hers, copying the same manner all the other nobles used when walking around with someone of their same status. According to her very own words, she'd set Iván to be the alchemist of her court, and in order to maintain the image that they were indeed related, there was a public for which to perform. His jailer, for example. "Now we play my least favorite game of all... You keep quiet and act like you belong in a court while I'll do the same, we need to get out of here first, make a plan and then come back." What the brawler meant to say was... You're stuck with me, blame yourself for it and only when I'm finished with what I came here to do may you be allowed to leave. As tranquility finally set upon her, the adventurer's hands quickly brushed against the dress one last time, dusting off some dirt clinging to the delicate fabric before the both of them strolled out of the town's prison, stepping back into the town where the immediate reactions of digust and anger greeted the duo. Unlike what the illusionist might've been expecting of her, however, her first choice wasn't to visit the loud tavern that caught her attention earlier with all the commotion coming from the inside, but to get them out of sight and into the forest surrounding the area. During their walk across the village, all emotion she displayed were those belonging to a cheerful girl out to explore what her father had left behind for her, all giggly and happy as if the ways of the world were not her concern; but when they were out of sight and far into the woods, Lilith disappeared and so did her cheerfulness. She allowed her friend to escape her grip and walked a few steps forward to get some distance between them, making the player's UI appear with a simple motion. ''Turn around and take your hoodie off. You must have spare clothes in your inventory, no? No questions allowed and if you try to run... Just remember I'm faster than you and can also hit harder than you do,'' she commanded, unable to keep the snap from her voice as a threat flowed from her lips. A threat that would've probably worked had she not been wearing delicate gloves instead of her trusty crystallized gauntlets, with a sullied noblewoman's dress to accompany the whole act. Maybe he'd still be afraid of her.
Iván’s question was left unanswered, which would’ve been sad and disappointing, if Iván actually wanted that answer, or more precisely, if Iván actually had that interest in the first place @Portia Ahrens was wearing some sort of dress. It was quite feminine and completely outside of what Iván knew her to be. All that make-up didn’t really spell “I’m going to punch you in the face,” more like “I’m going to kiss you in the face,” which was completely un-Portia-like. Was someone putting her up to this? Was Iván getting lulz’d? Or was it something much, much worse. Oh, no. Curry Portia? The masked illusionist closed his eyes as Curry Portia, who was actually just regular old Portia, started moving. At first, Iván resigned to his face, which he believed to be death by drowning in Curry Portia. It took him a few seconds, of Portia getting up and off of him, before he realized that Curry Portia wasn’t going to melt all over him and suffocate him. Most people would like that, but Iván wasn’t most people. He barely registered as a person. Pushing himself off the floor, he rose to meet Portia eye to where his eye should’ve been. That red mask, as stinky and creepy as it was, made it hard to figure out how Iván’s face worked, especially if this was your first time meeting him. There were a total of five holes on that mask, which had been the face of a deadly but cuddly predator from down in the Spire, a hellish underground world that Iván’s expedition, including Portia, failed to fully explore. Some things happened, Iván passed out, Portia’s ear got bitten off, Temperance got stepped on, and Haru and Destiny Divebird were also there. It was fun and enlightening. Well, it was, specifically for the people who didn’t die there, got traumatized, or lost a limb. Iván was lucky he got enlightenment out of it. The others? Well, they got other things. A game of keeping quiet? Iván narrowed his eyes at Portia’s dress. I could play that. I could even win it. He could. Probably. Prior to getting a purple god stuck in his head, Iván was a master of mystery, a genius when it came to keeping in the shadows, not being noticed, going incognito, the general term, not the mastery. Once he got that obsession in him, though, he found it a little harder to concentrate, often hearing the purple god, or at least a version of him, mumbling things to him. Plus, all that Alpha thing just got him out of whack. Iván allowed Portia to lead him out of there, though it wasn’t like he had any other option. If he had just used his mastery of illusions, maybe he could’ve been out of there in a quick fake second. If he opted for his mastery of summoning, maybe he could’ve been out of there with the evil henchman sheriff villain’s left ear. He could then give that ear to Portia as a gift. Wait, was it her left ear she was missing? Was it her right? Iván couldn’t remember. He tried to brush strands of her hair from one side to make sure but she instinctively moved out of his finger’s way. Cool. There was disappointment in Iván’s face, a scowl even, when he saw the boisterous tavern growing smaller and smaller as Portia led him away, somewhere, perhaps to eat him. That would’ve been the twist. The predator becoming the prey. The curry man becoming the curry. The Iván becoming the…hungry? “But I’m hungry,” Iván dryly protested, not completely lying. He was hungry. Hungry for food? Just a little bit. He was actually hungrier for some action. Pew pew pew. Wait, no. None of his summons can fire ranged energy beams. Maybe he should seek out Lucia Mierz. Does Lucia have a summon that can fire ranged energy beams? Probably. She’s one of the strongest summoners Iván knew. Of course, he didn’t know a lot of summoners, so for all he knew, Lucia was Tier E at best. Sooner than later, Portia finally stopped leading. It seemed that while Iván was wasting his time imagining Lucia playing a female version of Doctor Frankenstein, who was a completely different character than his monster, mind you, Portia had led him into the woods. To be eaten? Perhaps. Her expression, her attitude, also turned a bit darker, less cheery than she had been earlier, when Iván first saw her in that make-up and dress. Oh, no. This is not how I’m supposed to die…again. For the third time? Fourth? No, third. Yes, third. When Portia told Iván to get naked, he let out a small childish scream. Her threats made him cross his arms over his chest, both hands grabbing at opposite shoulders. Wait, no, she’s not faster than me. She probably is. Portia was definitely more athletic than the masked illusionist who spent most of his time making and eating curry. While Portia probably did squats and stuff, Iván used his illusion magic to get out of jail. All the jails. Figuratively. But I can definitely hit harder. Well, to be fair, hitting harder didn’t always mean hitting harder physically. Iván’s magic has grown since the last time they were together, so theoretically, he could hit harder mentally, using that illusion magic, that phantasm, to hurt Portia psychically. He can even summon something that could hit Portia harder. Or he could unintentionally murder Portia with his phantasmal spells, which he did not want to do because stuff, and summon something that would bite off his arm. Too many variables, not enough motivation to really do anything. “But I’m hungry,” Iván repeated, throwing a tantrum like a child as he started to undress himself, doing what he was told, to wear the spare clothes he had in his inventory. “I’m also done.” He posed for her, balled-up knuckles on his hip, a proud grin on his face from behind his mask. He was still hungry. “I’m still hungry, though. Can we eat first?” Too much boredom has rotted his brain. Or maybe that's just him.
Portia furrowed her brows at any and all attempts the illusionist gave at trying to see where she had been wounded during their adventure down in the Spire, thus explaining why her face remained set in a wince during the whole process in which she reverted the ladylike nature she'd adopted for a while into the good old adventurer he'd shared a number of experiences with. Organizing her avatar's bride in the same fashion she always wore it had become easier as time inside the game passed, now an act she could perform almost mindlessly. ''The Aristocracy is looking for resources that might prove profitable for them, whatever goods the villagers could provide... Coin or mercenaries would also do. and I was bored. Guess you couldn't say I was left wanting to do something,'' the woman explained as she changed herself out of the fancy dress and into a more characteristic outfit for her: a set of armor that would prioritize overall speed and agility before the defense. ''After insisting... Well, a couple times, they sent me out dressed as the princess you saw me be earlier. It was fun, they had their laugh, but this is me now and you know it. Villagers won't hide much from a noblewoman if she threatens them with taking away their land with an army, or if she shows too much cleavage.'' ''I can't leave until I have seen what they have to offer and make a report of it. Your turn to explain what you were doing in there.'' When he had been briefed on what her purpose for visiting the remote village was, she rolled up the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows and materialized her gauntlets with a series of swipes and taps of her right hand, using them to tear some of the fabric from the dress apart and use it as a make-up remover. As the man standing behind her started crying out loud for food, she felt slightly embarrassed at dragging him into a mess of her own, but quickly drowned the sensation back as she recognized he might've been hungrier on that cell had she not appeared to intervene and rescue him in a clean manner. No bloodshed necessary, no putting himself in danger for something he willingly threw himself at. Still, she refrained from taking any other path, knowing full well what would it mean to have someone like Iván throw a tantrum in the middle of nowhere while her objective had yet to be completed Leaving the threats and all the nonsense aside, she turned to her friend and offered an apologetic smile. She walked up towards him and stood close to the male, observing the subtle glance in his appearance in order to ask just how many hoodies were in his possession for him to always have one wherever he went and despite the occasion. The goggles remained but his mask was nowhere to be seen, a detail which she arched her brow at. The smile widened as she saw the man behind the mask once again, her mind taking her back to the first time where she had done so. Of course, there were many details her memory held back to prevent her from punching the man in the face, one of them being how he removed his mask in order to kiss, well, save her life, as he insisted. ''Looking cute. Yes, let's eat.'' Looking at her newly arranged appearance one last time, pressing both hands against his side to get him moving, should he choose to stick with her for the long run as she worked on a mission. Before fully turning to their destination, she raised a hand to the left side of her head to reveal a bloodstained bandage hiding the injury she'd suffered last time, taking this ''generosity'' as an act of gratitude towards his cooperation. She came out of the forest as a woman changed into simpler clothes, mocking the image of duchess Lilith Jeanne was as Portia lifted her arms high above her head and stretched, fully relieved she'd managed to stop the act earlier than intended. Lucille had enough of a life pretending to be someone she wasn't. Her manners, her words and most of her life shaped to someone else's desires, and those were the exact kind of experiences that had allowed her to reach a point in which pretending came easier to her than the average player. Not exactly a point to be proud of, yet something she could rely upon if it was ever needed. Digging in one of her pockets for mere seconds, the white-haired youth's hand came back with a few gold coins sitting on her palm, waiting to be put to use. But when the wooden door creaked, announcing the entry of the tavern's newest customers, her view on the ''innocent and worthy'' town shifted entirely. The noise ceased almost immediately, the owners of such strong voices turning to greet the players without so much as a welcoming expression on their battered faces. Some men, especially those with the bloodied weapons, were still looking at her as she went and sat at a table meant for two. Predators sizing up their prey, she recognized them to be. Mercenaries? Bounty hunters? Thieves? Whichever the case, it was unusual to see the quantity of blood staining both their weapons and armor, let alone smell it in the air. Was it recent? Was it some villager's or beast's? Every mortal instinct in her bleated in a panicked feeling she did not know she possessed, hoping the brawler would heed their call and either run and look for help against these potentially dangerous people, or stay and go down fighting. She shuddered as if she could fling the uneasy off of her, visually disappointed when it didn't happen and the remaining choice was to try and stay calm.
Iván started scratching one side of his nose with a finger as he stood there, listening to @Portia Ahrens explain something about the Aristocracy and her disguise, calmly watching her clothes, narrowing her eyes at the mention of the word "cleavage." Huh, well, that's actually smart. Although Iván himself could not relate to getting distracted by ordinary body parts, he has seen it happen before. It was always a weakness for most male adventurers, which was why if he could choose, he would always prefer to party with women, not that kind of party, and be led by a woman. Females have always been more efficient than males. "Gah! Finally!" Iván was filled with euphoria when Portia agreed to getting something to eat, completely oblivious to the fact that she had called him cute. No one has ever called Iván cute. At least not in this game, this world. That was the whole idea. He was supposed to be a wallflower, just another face in the crowd. He was supposed to look like and be the perfect spy in this setting. Unfortunately, things happened. He died, became obsessed with a purple god, contracted Zalrisis in his obsession with that purple god, and so on and so forth. Oh, he also got himself a Curry House for no reason other than getting a bunch of curry cookbooks during one of his very first quests. Rolling with the punches, Iván has been. Ah. So I suppose she still hasn't found a fix for that missing ear, huh? Again, Iván allowed Portia to lead him, which was because he couldn't be bothered about getting punched again. Besides, she probably had the same tavern in mind, and if she didn't, he'd just whine about going to that specific tavern. Iván wasn't that big on arguing who was leading who anyway. That would be too inefficient, as pride has always been. The more efficient route was to always keep quiet, observe, and go with the flow. Otherwise, if the flow isn't going to where it should go? You have to make it go where you need it to go. Adapt or perish, that's what they always say. Iván wasn't afraid of perishing, another death wouldn't be such a big deal to him, but he did like the idea of being able to adapt to anything and everything. He wasn't that physically impressive, so that could be his strength instead. As Portia stood in the doorway for a couple more seconds, Iván pushed past her and headed straight for the counter, yelling as the rest of the tavern's patrons did, though in more unrelated bubbles of interactions. These bandits, these brigands, these buffoons, were loud as they came, but they kept to themselves as much as they could. "Oy! Tavern man! Two of your best ale, and whatever you've got cooking in your kitchen please," Iván turned around to look for Portia, finding her finding a suitable table for two as well as a general disdain for everyone around them. He hoped she wouldn't fight the first idiot that bothered her but adapt or perish. The no-longer-masked but most-definitely-still-an illusionist turned back to the old tavern keeper, his gray hair and beard betraying his somewhat polished tavern person suit. "Is it curry?" The man behind the counter that had nodded to Iván to acknowledge his order shook his head at him in response to his question. He yelled at his chef through a tiny window on the wall behind the counter before pouring ale on two separate mugs, turning to Iván as he explained himself, "Naw, sorry, my friend. We got no curry here. As you can see, this ain't no Stokbon. That place has a fine curry house..." A proud grin streaked across Iván's face. He was proud of his curry house. To think that his food has reached the ears and tummies of this desolate, tiny, purple god-forsaken place was an achievement that he--- "Unfortunately, fine ain't include the smell. Best curry in that place? Stinky as hell," the old man started laughing, oblivious to Iván's scowl. A minute or so later, Iván dropped two plates of a rather large steak with spinach on the side in front of Portia. The steak was humongous, though the side of spinach was lacking for Iván's taste. "Thanks, darling," Iván took the two mugs of ale he had ordered from some girl behind him who seemed afraid but at the same time still maintained her courtesy. As soon as Iván got them mugs, she bowed and went back to the kitchen, carefully dodging stray arms and fists nearby. "This place is the worst," Iván sat across Portia and immediately started drinking some of his ale. He took a bite of his steak but focused more on the spinach. He grimaced, not a fan of how this place prepared spinach. "A friend asked me to go here and check out how this place was going. Didn't even know this place existed, but to be fair, I don't know every town or city that exists. I got hauled into jail for trying to serve people curry for free. You know? Advertise the Curry House? Some butts tried to beat me up so I beat them up. Turns out, those butts were working for 'sheriff.' Good times." Iván procured a couple of vials from inside his coat and sprinkled them on the steak and spinach. He offered them to Portia with a grin, a grin she wouldn't have been able to see. The spice must flow.
Portia regarded her partner without an intention to hide the annoyance in her gaze, crossing both her arms over her chest as if ready to defend herself from whatever the bandits would throw at them. She'd gone for a more subtle option, and what did Iván do? He threw that option out of the window and chose to take another path of his own, much to the surprise of the female, who still had the nerve to be surprised by the different approaches the two of them took whenever they were together. Not that anything bad happened at all, however. She watched him walk past her and engage in conversation with the establishment's owner, coming back to her after a couple of minutes with two identical plates in each of his hands, not a single trace of concern to be discerned in his manners nor in the way he spoke to others. ''Is this not your first time here? Or... are you already used to this?'' She inquired as she took her fork and began poking the meat with it, her thoughts immediately searching for a reasonable explanation as to how was he able to maintain his composure in these instances. A faint sniff, while her head was slightly inclined in her plate's direction, gave her all the information she needed to know. The visuals already offered enough themselves, but everyone knew not to trust only what they could see, and with an illusionist sitting at the other end of the table, the chances of someone playing tricks on her mind were higher than usual. Even though she'd learned to trust her friend from all the experiences the two shared, there would always be details that escaped her. She could never hope to know him as well as she desired, and his next sentences proved her beliefs right about it. Portia hummed along with his comments about the purpose behind his trip, internally debating if the sickness she would get from eating such a massive meal would be worth it or if she was better off not eating anything at all from that tavern. She propped her chin on a fist and gave him a lazy half-smile, arching a brow at his newest business endeavor. ''A curry house? Didn't take you for a guy that was into cooking... Then again, I don't know much about you.'' She shrugged and then slumped in her seat, wholly undignified for someone who had kept the act of a fake duchess the last couple of hours. ''Worst might be a little harsh, but this certainly isn't the place for some good family fun.'' It was with an upward quirk to her lips that she took a sip of her mug, hesitant at the prospect of the moment she first tasted alcohol being inside a game and not reality. If Lucille's parents ever found out she did something like that... Oh no, that was certainly something she wasn't even willing to think about. The expression on her face shifted, an odd look appearing on her face as she gulped half of the mug's contents in one go, clearly unaware of how it would - or if it even would - affect her. The odd look that played in her features soon turned into disgust for the unfamiliar sensation, causing her to close her eyes and immediately pour the rest of her drink in Iván's mug, leaving her own empty, though not for long. The palm menu appeared with a speed that was unnatural, even for her, and so did a few choices from which to choose from. An item soon materialized itself on her unused hand, bringing forth a strange bottle with a vibrant shade of red on the inside. Portia wasted no time in downing the liquid straight from the bottle, letting out a sigh of relief after the sour taste left in her mouth had been replaced by something much more pleasant. ''No, thank you, I'm fine like this.'' Portia shook her head as she saw him offer the vials, making it clear it wasn't in her plans to eat anything until next time they got the chance to. This left her with the sole option to wait for him to finish so he wouldn't be able to complain about being hungry later on, and with this choice, also came the necessity to make conversation as to not get bored. He had explained his motives, and so it was only proper she did so as well. He was another Aristocracy member, after all. ''What sparked the higher-ups' interest about this particular spot was the proximity to rich natural resources we could use to improve issues in the headquarters that need to be fixed, gather coin to entice the new members with and whatnot. One would assume that with a position this beneficial for them, people would've done greater things than to simply stay on the sidelines and allow most of its history to go unnoticed. Does this town even have a name? If it does, it's certainly not on any printed map you can find of the land. It's strange, and that's why I'm here,'' she paused for a moment, steadying her thoughts after the information she'd given him. ''A familiar face is always appreciated, but do know you are free to go whenever you please if it's none of your concern.''
He dug in his meal, though careful not to show too much of his face to anyone, including his current companion. You never know who’d be watching. To anyone else, Iván’s efforts would have been troublesome, but Iván had grown accustomed to his otherwise tedious extremes to mask his face, to hide his identity, that everything now felt like routine to him, not at all troublesome and more just basic parts of his everyday life. In this game, anyway. “Suit yourself,” Iván grinned as he returned his vials of spice back inside his coat, a little disappointed that @Portia Ahrens opted to not indulge her taste buds with his genius but immediately moved on from it with a soft shrug. “This isn’t my first tavern, if that’s what you’re asking, my lady.” There was a friendly stab with that emphasis he put on that title. Finding Portia dressed all ladylike wasn’t something Iván thought he’d see in this lifetime, though to be fair, he thought he’d never actually see Portia again after she skipped meeting with him, Destiny Divebird, and Bradwynne days after their failed expedition in the Spire. Iván didn’t think much of her absence. She was probably traumatized by what had happened down there. Things didn’t exactly end up all rainbows and butterflies. “I can say the same, though we can’t really blame one another. It’s been a long time since we last saw each other, right? When was the last time? Your ear?” Iván deadpanned, pointing with a spoon at where her missing ear would’ve been. He went back to his meal before addressing her again, “I did my research before opening my own tavern, which meant I had to go from one tavern to another. Trust me when I say, this place is the worst.” He listened intently, as he ate and drank his fill of their meals, to Portia discussing the Aristocracy’s motives regarding the place. To be honest, Iván was quite surprised that the Aristocracy would bother with such a purple god-forsaken place like this. Then again, it could become a perfect property for the faction, what with this place not registering in any map and stuff. No one would know what they would be doing here. It was pretty much an Aristocratic dream territory. After finishing his ale, Iván looked like he was about to address Portia’s insistence of his free will when he was interrupted by someone coughing. With an eyebrow raised, the usually masked illusionist turned to the side of the table where someone had suddenly cast an uninvited shadow: It was an old guy wearing old-guy glasses. “Excuse me but I don’t think I’ve seen you two around these parts,” the old guy, wearing some sort of wide-brimmed hat that obscured his face from a distance, turned to Iván first then at Portia, seemingly in an effort to acknowledge both their existence. Iván thought it was odd, so he simply responded by narrowing his eyes at the old guy. “Are you two adventurers?” Iván turned to Portia, raising an eyebrow and shrugging. She was now the boss of this whole partnership, having released him from his cell like he was her kraken and she was his bitter god of the underworld. Things were getting quite interesting.
Portia was unable to hide the grin on her face as she was called by Lilith's title, casting her eyes downward to hide the amused expression from being seen. Few were the moments of respite inside Terrasphere, and even fewer were those in which said peace granted the much-needed chance to hold a normal conversation with a person you have not seen in so long. A normal conversation as any would have in real life and not some shady game from the internet. So, when those special little times came, she appreciated them and tried to create as many memories as she could from them. Contrary to his lifestyle inside the game, hers wasn't about doing research on the specific systems that intrigued her. A bounty hunter she was, a mercenary for the Aristocracy who spent most of her time in the wild than inside a tavern. The thrill of possible adventures, mysterious occurrences or merely exploring the world around her were often what would pull her attention in a specific direction. The woman was about to take yet another sip from the strange colored bottle she still held on her hand, but a new presence looming next to the pair of players quickly changed her mind, forcing her to settle the drink next to her untouched meal. ''Yes, we are...'' Portia held onto that thought for a fleeting moment, not knowing how to properly answer the man's question without Iván deciding immediately after that her description of their dynamic was either too much or too little for how their relationship actually worked. ''Partners. We are traveling partners and we needed somewhere we could rest in.'' That was the mid-term that both the brawler and the illusionist could agree with, she supposed. A little bit more than friends but not enough as to blurry any invisible boundaries set between the two. Not that it was a possibility. No, of course not. It was exactly because of moments like this that she would've liked to spy a trace of emotion on her companion's face if she were even able to see it in the first place. ''Interesting...'' If the man thought anything of the silence Iván greeted him with, he allowed none of it to show, appearing as if he had completely ignored the fact. ''Even more so, I never would've judged anyone right on their own mind to stop for a quick visit. Are you in a hurry? You see, all these people aren't exactly prone to talking to those not of their kind.'' He then motioned with a vague gesture of his hand to the crowd of mercenaries occupying many of the seats at the tavern, workers still moving their way around them as if the difficulty of doing so wasn't there, to begin with. Without allowing neither of the aristocrats to prevent him from doing so, he pulled an unoccupied chair from nearby and sat with the two players, setting both his unarmed hands atop the table in order to show the adventurers a signal of his ''good faith''. She chanced a glance at her companion in case he tried to signal something over to her, but all she found in him was more silence than anticipated, and so she gave a pointed cough to urge him to try and talk as well. The old man seemed harmless enough as to not mean to do anything wrong to the other two, and if he did want to do something, he could've already started. There was still some glimmer of hope to cling to. Noticing the exchange of silent gestures between the two seemed to stir something on the old man's side, who set his lack of words aside and after examining their faces, offered his opinion to those who weren't expecting it at all. ''When I was still in shape to combat the great evils of the world on my own, well, hehe... A man and a woman would've scoffed at the idea of traveling on their own, without at least a couple others to be there as well.'' The old man then pressed both his hand to both Portia's and Iván's shoulders, bringing the three of them all together over the table as he whispered words not meant to be heard by none other than them. And it would've been right, had it not happened to be an outrageous comment. ''So, did you do it yet? There is no shame when it comes to love and you must come to terms with that, especially in this day and age. Two lovebirds such as you could make the world tremble at your feet if you put your minds to it!'' The man then pulled back leaving a very confused Portia with the sentences that had flowed from his mouth just now. It seemed like she processed the information a moment too late, because only after a few seconds, she retreated back into the comfort of her own seat, hands moving around to entertain themselves with something before her instincts kicked in and she decided to start a fuss in the middle of the bandit-filled tavern. ''No, no, we aren't... That isn't true! Tell him, Iván!'' No sooner had she finished pronouncing her partner's name, her hands found the red bottle again and quickly brought it back to her lips, searching to quell both the embarrassment and the blush blooming on her cheeks. ''Is... Is there something we can help you with, mister..?''
Iván couldn’t help but smirk and raise an eyebrow when @Portia Ahrens mentioned the word “partners.” Were they? They’ve been through so many things together, though none recently, that technically, that title could really work. She was one of the very first Players he encountered in this game. She was present during his first death. She was there, punching him, during his first mission with the Aristocracy. That was a lot of firsts with one person. That’s an understatement… Iván mentally scoffed at the old man’s statement. These people, buttfaces, were so allergic to talking to outsiders, Iván got sent to jail. Granted that he was technically snooping around but that was beside the point. The point was, he was an outsider and these buttfaces treated him like a joke. They should have at least gotten scared of him and his creepy mask. He was scary. He was! Iván found himself rolling his eyes, a sigh following immediately, when the old man invited himself to their private conversation, as most old men tend to do. It was bad enough that he injected himself in their meal, but now the old man was subjecting Iván to exaggerated stories of his youth? Iván narrowed his eyes at him, knowing full well that the old man was probably never in shape to combat anything great. His thoughts, suspicions mostly, were interrupted when the old man brought him and Portia close, whispering to them lewd things, frank observations that a stranger should never speak of without at least buying them drinks. And maybe a room. Yeah, the old man should get them a room. Only then would Iván play the supportive grandson with those cockamamie stories. Ignoring Portia’s pleas of clarification, Iván leaned close to the old man and whispered in his ear, all savvy businessman-like, “You could buy us a room so we can finally do it. We’ve been meaning to do it, whatever it is, but we first need to rest and relax ourselves.” The old man burst out laughing at Iván. Confused, the illusionist turned to the brawler but she seemed to be angry at him for a reason. Reflexively, Iván leaned back, moving his face away from her range of punching. He didn’t want to get knocked out that early today. He still wanted, needed, deserved a hot bath. “You two will do. I like you two,” the old man wiped tears of joy from his face. Out of nowhere, any sign of comedic enjoyment, delight, immediately disappeared from his very existence. He was no longer the jovial old man before them. He had turned into a more serious version of himself, looking around them like a paranoid raccoon, before whispered once again under his breath. “I need your help. As you may have noticed, this place isn’t exactly law-abiding. Something of mine was stolen from me. I was hoping you two would be the adventurers I’d been looking for, you know, to get that something of mine back.” Iván winced. Of course the old man needed something. No one that old would make any effort to befriend them just to tell them their stories. Wait, all old men did that. Ah, well, still, the old man had been a little too sketchy for him to begin with, as everyone always seemed a little too sketchy for Iván, that his suspicions were somewhat warranted, with the usually masked illusionist caught unsurprised for this grim reveal. “What’s in it for us?” The old man narrowed his eyes at Iván, scratching his beard. He sighed before showing the two of them a sack of gold from inside his clothing. That got him a smile, which he was barely able to see, and a nod from Iván who proceeded to finish his ale. The illusionist then turned to the brawler with another concealed smirk, “I’m in…just as long my beloved over here agrees.”
Her exact position in the rest of the exchange between the men remained as that of an outcast, leaning towards them hoping to hear any of their whispered words but being caught by surprise by the intruder's laughter. Then, her partner is the one to take the reins of the conversation as the mood the three of them shared suddenly shifted into a whole different direction, turning from a light-hearted exchange into something far more intriguing. Of course, the man had to want something from the players. Portia heard them both with enough tranquility as not to alert anyone of what was being requested of them, twiddling with her thumbs as she scrambled to regain her composure. Nothing else made sense but the information her ears were getting of what Iván asked and the man answered to, her eyes downcast in shame after all had been said and done, for she knew she couldn't muster any coherent sentences in her present state without stumbling upon her words. She was in luck, it seemed, since the masked man went straight to the point when it came to a job and what it entailed, much like someone who'd gone through failure and betrayal on their first mission with the Aristocracy due to lack of information, suitable allies, and resources. An experience they had in common. ''Iván Carl!!'' It was the first time she ever pronounced her companion's full name, and it was also the first time in which she spoke to anyone with such a high-pitched tone to her voice, clearly outraged by him choosing to indulge the old man's fantasies. At the same moment that her face became as red as it had never been before, both of her balled fists found their way up before coming back down, slamming with full force against the wooden table with a loud sound, nearly throwing it off-balance. That hadn't been discrete at all. All throughout their adventures together, the illusionist had been known for possessing a unique ability that worked wonders whenever they were alone together, but that found a special strength when they were in public, as if gaining a boost from the fact others were present to watch the show playing right in front of their eyes. He could make the entirety of her patience vanish into thin airs with just a couple of words or gestures, as he'd done many times in the past before, but never like this. Gathering the remnants of her pride, the woman reached once again to find the pocket in which she'd stored the gold coins, taking them out and throwing them at her partner's face in just a matter of seconds after. When the bandits, mercenaries, thieves and even the normal waiters and waitresses focused solely on the three, the young woman suddenly stood up, unable to keep the anger burning irrationally inside her any longer. She muttered a string of words to her companions, apparently bidding them goodbye before heading off the tavern, not even bothering to wait for their responses. ''...That room you mentioned, lad? Consider it included in your payment.'' ______________________________ In the end, she accepted to take the job despite all that had happened during lunchtime. As much as she would've love to ditch the illusionist and the stranger, there was still a job that had to be done and a brawler whose determination was far stronger than the fire burning in her gaze, fully willing to see it to the end. With a flourish of her hand, she brought forth a dim light that floated at her side, where her runestones from the Spire would be. For all her love for adventure, exploring and beast hunting, Her darting eyes scanned the darkness currently consuming her surroundings, both of her weapons on standby should any threats emerge either from the forest itself or from any of the guards that were on patrol. Everything that remained was to wait for her partner to arrive.
Portia and Iván Steal Stuff Hidden: theme Iván was caught surprised when @Portia Ahrens threw gold coins at his face, though to be fair, he should've expected as much, considering the last time he tried to save her face, she punched him...in his face. As the old man discreetly followed Portia's lead, scurrying out of the tavern after her, Iván was left with prying eyes, those of the bandits, the mercenaries, the thieves, and even the regular waiters and waitresses, all of whom seemed stuck, frozen in place, all looking at him, a lone confused man with no other company...except for the gold coins that were thrown at his face. It took Iván a few seconds to realize the gravity of his situation. Sighing, he put a hand out towards all of them, palms facing the lot, and with the other hand, took out his bottle of ant juice and a quick sip from it. He safely pocketed that bottle first before loudly expressing how refreshing his stinky drink was. Ah, the joys of being an adventurer. In a span of seconds, Iván found himself drowning in bandits, mercenaries, thieves, and even regular waiters and waitresses, all scrambling to get some of those sweet gold coins. Iván himself just wanted out of there, indifferent towards the allure of money, having no reason to be greedy, more to be apathetic, but finding no hope of salvation at the moment. He was caught between someone's muscular arm and someone else's muscular leg. Or was that someone else's more muscular arm? Whatever it was, hell smelled ripe. DANG IT, PORTIA!!! "Hello," Iván deadpanned, appearing right beside Portia from out of nowhere. It was his thing, and he's loved it ever since he figured out he could use his illusion magic to spook people. Without it, Iván would not be able to hide himself, or at least trick a person's senses into failing to recognize his intrusion of their personal space. The stink would've been a dead give-away, though, but most people didn't have whatever's the smell version of a photographic memory. "I see my beloved chose to take the job. Thanks for feeding me to those buttfaces at the tavern, by the way. You know, one of them kept grabbing my leg for a reason. How does anyone mistake someone's leg for gold coins?" The now-masked illusionist kept his eyes on her eyes. Well, where his eyes should've been. The mask, all five holes of it, obscured Iván's entire face, which worked wonders for him but not to anyone else's sense of smell. Portia would've been familiar with that stinky red mask. It was, after all, the face of the Snow-Quilled Guardian that their expedition party murdered in the hot springs it call home, only to seconds later use that same hot springs. Granted that they were tired and that entire journey was pretty much hellish to begin with, it should've been somewhat weird that they pretty much killed someone, something, so they could use its home, have its home for themselves. "So what's the plan?" Iván continued talking. Unlike most missions, quests, that he took, this one didn't need him to be on silent mode. For one, there were just two of them, which meant communication would be pretty, very, highly necessary. For two, Portia pretty much already knew a lot about him, and he already know a lot about her, so just standing there, all creepy-like, to take mental notes of her strengths and weaknesses would be for nothing. Besides, they had a goal in mind here, something that needed to be done quickly without any further ado. "We're probably looking into a lot of walls, doors, guards, the usual stuff."
