He pulls the cap further down upon his face and smile - an innocent, oddly pleased little curl of his lips as he clicks his tongue and rubs his hands. Once upon a time he’d walked these streets and been met with nothing less that praise and respect. The third son of Cidolfus Demen Bunansa went not without infamy. But the world is different these days and he has done all he can to make is so.
Fingers curling before the fire he gives a little hum, wondering if he truly does look enough like his father that without coat and cap she might know him. A part of him wants to doubt it, but there is another, crueller, harder part of him that accepts the facts: He is irrevocably his father’s son.
"An old friend," He murmurs, the gentle turn of his lips broadening into something more pleased, more taunting. "One who has not set foot on these grounds in this guise for far too long."
Perhaps she would know him more readily were he causing a ruckus? And yet he wishes not to, not in this exact moment of this exact second. How odd.
"But I suppose you will remember me more as enemy? Nuisance, perhaps?" Briskly he rubs his hands together and turns, the silver in his ears clanking together with small, metallic chime. “I trust you would not clamp me in irons, Lady Drace, for to do so to a Bunansa would be very unfortuitous.”
[she’s watching him carefully, now. sure, the wind is cold and bites at exposed flesh too hard, but there’s something suspicious in not revealing one’s own identity. he seems harmless enough, yes, but…
he’s called himself friend, for one thing. drace can count the number of friends she has on one hand and still have fingers left over. judge magisters do not have friends. not even bergan or ghis ever found true companionship, though she does not doubt they bought it often enough. she has a strange accord with gabranth, but she is sure that even that is not friendship in its truest sense.
and a friendship lost, disappeared from archadia entirely? it’s laughable, at the very least. the only letters she sends are in shorthand to different bureaus, asking them for things only work-related. she’s carried envelopes between departments herself for other people, too, but even those have had no focus on the personal lives of any.
her mouth is set in a thin line and she’s all set to brush him off as a liar and a nuisance when he speaks again. if it were anyone else, she doesn’t doubt that she’d ignore his words and call his lies out, but there’s something in his tone that’s so self-sure that it gives her pause. she wonders what the face under the cap looks like.
/cocky, no doubt./
it’s the name that stoppers her breath in her throat. for a moment, her eyes widen, and the wind chooses that moment to pick up again. she resists the urge to brush the wetness away; her gauntlets are too cold for that.]
[it’s murmured wonderment. she’s not heard that name in a long time - after the mess that was post-war archadia, the world seemed intent on scrubbing it from common knowledge, though the efforts were in vain to those who knew better. there are wounds too strong to heal and scars too prominent to fade. she should know; one of her own rests under her armour. when she speaks again, it’s slow and careful.]
… Bunansa is a name that most would avoid, should they know of it. I dare not ask why you would wield it so casually - and to a Judge, who ought know the stigmas attached to it.
[she frowns, and changes her grip on her helm.]
The doctor is dead, and his sons either faded into obscurity, disappeared, or turned fugitive. So which are you? The last, the least, or the lost?
Friday February 7th
Its fantastic - don’t worry <3 I’m just working on a reply, and I’m sorry for the delay - I’ve had uni classes all week
[[ ahh, thank you;;;; not at all, though! take your time, please don’t ever feel like you have to rush or apologise for delays! i totally get it c: ]]
""Drace." Gabranth placed his right hand on the side of her arm in a gesture somewhat comparable to an embrace. With his free hand, he removed his helmet and held it against his hip. He smiled at her, and it was the sort of smile that few had ever seen from him before. "Welcome back."" [signed], warrior-of-antiquity
[she can’t help but wonder where he gets his information from. it shouldn’t be so surprising, given his occupation, but it is, time and time again. he knows where she’ll be walking and at what time no matter if it’s part of routine or if she’s been out of the country for weeks at a time. the most impressive, she reflects, was the time a message was delivered to her upon disembarking from her ship. that was five years ago, and nothing has yet topped it. there is still time to anticipate more, she guesses.
it’s been a long time since she last set foot in the palace. she’d like to think she’s lost count of the days, but she hasn’t, not really: it’s been close to two years since she’s smelled the stink of archades, seen its bustle for herself. it’s good to be back. everything is cool and inoffensive, so different to the hubbub that is dalmasca. she’s been posted there as- sort of a peace offering, she supposes, though she was never given a firm reason- an honour guard to queen ashelia, or as otherwise ordered. mostly she’s been ordered to do otherwise: training soldiers, patrolling both high- and lowtown in armour or disguise, doing as much paperwork as she was able to understand. nothing about her world has changed but the location and the company, and now she has been sent back.
she’s browned, in her time away. the sun couldn’t let her escape unscathed, and it’s to the surprise of everyone that she hasn’t just peeled for two years running. she’s nowhere as dark as a dalmascan native, of course, but it’s a noticable difference. her hair’s still cropped short, and the lines about her eyes are starting to deepen in a weatherbeaten kind of way, but other than that - and the manner of her dress - she’s the same as she ever was.
so unfettered by archadia’s ever-watchful eyes is she now that she completely forgets to look around before smiling back.]
And here I was hoping I could at least change before you caught me. Sharp as ever, I see.
[there’s something a little off about her accent, the product of long hours in a foreign environment. she clasps his wrist tightly with her own hand- but only briefly. the touch is dropped, and she straightens her back.]
Or is this a business visit? Come to burden me with some news of how I’ve the charge of training some new garrison, I suppose. Shame on you, Gabranth.
[but she’s smiling, still.]
At least escort me back to my chambers before I’m given more work. Dare I say, ‘tis colder than I remember, and I’m in no hurry to don the mask once more. They haven’t changed my rooms, have they?
[she raps gabranth’s breastplate neatly, once, wincing as she does so - it’s been a long time since she’s worn her own armour now; she was told it would be better left on its stand, for even simple cloth-and-leather would have her overheating, and they were right. it’s all she’s wearing now- all she’s been used to for a long time - and then sets off down the long hallway, following a memory.]
""My Lady Drace - a pleasure of the highest order, indeed."" [signed], thewarprivateer
[she’s taken to deviating a little from her regular route. she excuses it as a virtue, or the next closest thing to it; strict adherence to the rules invites many a watchful eye to plot their next moves. the empire is stable now, vayne gone and wrongs righted, but that does not mean archadia is without her enemies. she’s heard of small gangs of urchins banding together and inciting trouble wherever they can get away with it, and of the more worrisome factions of citizens who use vayne as an example of autocracy gone wrong. privately, she agrees with them, but she’s long since signed her life away to the solidor bloodline. larsa is free of his brother’s crimes, and no greater crime could exist than allowing them to tear him apart with their hands or their words.
so she patrols, as usual, and if the winter months take her away from the windiest of streets, she says nothing to her superiors. her armour is not warm, and any respite is a glad thing.
it has yet to snow, at least, she thinks, and grimaces under her helm. surely she has cursed the world with white inevitability with a single thought. she prays it is not so, and moves on to the next warmest place she knows.
it’s a café, its best feature the great fire-stands that act as lamps once night falls and heaters during the day. it’s usually a conveniently busy place; she can stand and watch the populace go about its business and pretend that she’s looking hard for any kind of rebellion. now, not so much. the wind is fiercer than it has been in a while, and there are only a scant few around. a woman across the street enters a shop, a couple hurries down the street with scarves wrapped around their faces, and a man lounges close to one of the heaters of the café. she does not think he is taking notice of her - it is hard to be sure when so much of her view is constricted - and it is taking a horrendously long time to warm up. she resists the urge to stamp her feet, and thinks of taking off her helm, just for a moment, just to get her blood burning again. she shouldn’t. she’s on duty, and if anything happens then it could be her sight or any number of other things that suffers for it, but… the thought is so tempting, and the man so innocuous, that she turns from him- just a little- and gets the headpiece free.
then the man speaks, and something like regret coils in her gut.]
… I beg pardon, sir. An honour I’m sure it is, but you have caught me unawares - and on the job.
[she turns to look at the man now: no trying to hide her face when he’s already seen it, but he’s still sitting, and unarmoured. she can take him if she must, and make penance for her mistake later.]
And you are?
(Hehe. Awkward mooing. Yes, good. /pets. In that case, I pestered on your personal for that and also my pers. favourite from that whole movie. Oh my yes. Not presumptuous at all. After all, if you know your own voice—and have a good one—more power to you, bb. I wish you luck, although I pity the fact your mic is too sensitive. I do, I do.)
[[ Just got that.~ Okay- I’m going to stop cluttering up the dash now talking about completely unrelated to RP things, I’m so sorry for barging in with no business at all everyone- I’ll see what I can do elsewhere. I’ll be on MSN if you want to chat further, I just absolutely feel like I shouldn’t be here like this. ]]
(Source: archfiends, via reconcilier)
His return was certainly not welcome by all who saw him. The senate did not like it, the citizens had grown used to Larsa’s rule, and Judges who also returned to their places certainly did not approve. It was Drace in particular that made it clear she wanted nothing to do with the returning Emperor.
She still angered Vayne as well, taking every opportunity to contradict him. She took advantage of the fact that Vayne had some sort of epiphany and was even more bold in her words than before. Outside of this, however, she served her place well, protected Larsa, saw to her duties as a Judge. There was no reason to have her struck down as before. Or rather, his reason to do so no longer outweighed his concern for Larsa’s happiness.
Morning found Vayne particularly unwell, yet he rose from his bed and dressed, taking his seat in his rooms rather than leave them. He summoned Drace to his chambers, and when she received her summons, all color left her face. Swallowing thickly, she donned her armor to make her way to his quarters. She brought Gabranth with her, however, as he had free him of his collar and she was sure she would be safer in his presence. No matter that it had been Gabranth himself that laid these plans with her, he could do no wrong to Vayne it seemed, and she would take advantage of that.
Soon enough, the pair stood before Vayne, their shock hidden behind the safe masks of their helmets. He was pale, so much so that one could see the veins in his face and hands. Sweat dampened his skin, dark circles of sickly yellow and blue were prominent under his eyes. He looked a living death. Before he spoke, he lifted a bag from beside his chair, dumping some fifteen poisonous snakes at their feet, all now dead.
When he spoke, his voice was almost hollow, emotion, even anger, gone from it. There was a condescending tone, of course, for what man would not have such a tone after an attempt on his life.
“I am beginning to suspect, Judge Magister Drace, that someone here does not wish me to walk any longer among the living.”
(Oh no, ahaha, welp, guess all the brains broke that day. It’s lovely to think that Drace is gorgeous on there and then a bunch of reblogs had said things like “ooh mr. zargabaath ooh”. I lol’d so hard. I’m not making sense but it’s nice to see you.)
[[ I’ll oohinto the toilet alongside retching if it’s no-one’s business- |: sjghsjdhf you’re making perfect sense, shut up. ]]
(Oh my, you know, that’s an excellent piece and would be a challenge with such changing tones, right? Then again, I can tell from your singing voice you have good, strong vocal tones. No fret—quite lovely! I shall sneak into your personal’s ask/submit to be a constant reminder. Ahaahaowhsfdhfjgj.)
[[ I don’t find it that difficult, actually- I mean skhgskjdhg I don’t want to sound presumptious or anything like that, shit shit shit- but it’s well within my range and I can keep up with it, it’s just finding an instrumental version and then practising a little and not exhausting myself beforehand and then standing far enough away from my laptop so I don’t blow out the speakers/mic 8| skjghskjdfhsdjg /moos, shies away sijgdhsdkjgsd ]]
(Source: archfiends, via reconcilier)
(Oh yes.. Very nice. :3c So can I pester you into something fabu from Tangled, maybe?)
[[ I was actually attempting Mother Knows Best before I decided on that. :| ksjhgkjsghhjsvkjggskfs /just plain embarrassed again now sdghsiudfhsg Um- you can if you want I guess? sidghsufhsiogdj ]]
(Source: archfiends, via reconcilier)
(That’s all right. Same as me, I think. Still. OOC crack is always fun at times, yes? I hope you didn’t see that horrible sexy!Judges post. /facepalm)
[[ I don’t even know if I have it in me for ooc crack. Oh well~ |D kjshkjdsh are you kidding me, of course I saw it. I think my mind broke at that moment in time. … Heels will never be so nice-looking again. OTL ]]