RP:Infiltrating Haut Monde

From HollowWiki

Part of the Questionable Honor Arc


Background

After having secured an interview with Haut Monde, Krice meets Javed in front of Haut Monde's HQ. There's much to learn if he hopes to find Jerica quickly.


Javed, Mink and Sedilia played by Thistle.


Haut Monde HQ

Haut Monde's central office was architecturally delicate. Built of stone, time and weather had lightened it to a white-grey that was both ascetic and lovely to behold. It was not an overly large building, space being what it was in Cenril, but it matched the size of the Bank further to the south, and made up for width in height. Its single spire was openwork, and it lifted higher in the air than any of the buildings around it. Certainly, it was one of the buildings that defined Cenril's skyline from a distance, next to the more official buildings along Cenril Street, and the elaborate manses and temples that, for the most part, could be found in the north and western sections of the city. Its doors were set under an overhang that was supported by several elegant columns, and it looked to be at least three stories high. It had a small courtyard in front; a circular paved ring with a fountain set in its middle. The wrought iron gates that separated it from the street blocked an entrance wide enough for a large carriage to go through, and considering the pavement itself it would be a reasonable assumption that many visitors did arrive in carriages. Two guards were often posted at the gates during business hours, though given the part of the city Haut Monde's office was located in, it was more a matter of formality than actual need.


The gates had been opened when Javed arrived, his customary complement of bodyguards with him. He arrived in fashionable style, with a small coach and two of his men on horseback. Colten sat next to the coach's driver, and as they drew up alongside the columns on the pavement, he hopped down and opened the door. Javed and another of his guards lurched out. He'd dressed in, what was for him, a modest justacorps coat fastened down the middle with a touch of lace at his throat. It was a muted chestnut brown, unembellished but for the closures down its length. The one who had ridden with him handed him his hardwood cane, and the heels of his shoes clicked against the cobblestone as he straightened up, looking about for Grey. A boy came running from one of the side entrances to the imposing building, and Javed's guards dismounted and handed the reins over. The child lead the horses away to the small stable Javed knew they kept to the side of the building. It was a rather cramped affair, in Javed's esteemed opinion. If he were the one who owned such a building he would have seen it sold, or would have bought surrounding properties in order to make a proper estate of it, rather than the fancy little office it presently was. Little was not a word Javed thought went well with anyone of taste or wealth, and the only thing impressive about the building was the spire. He sniffed as his guard formed up around him, and scanned the courtyard for Grey.


Krice was standing in-between the bank and a building right next to it, leaning against the former's wall with his hands pocketed and his right ankle crossed in front of the left foot. This time, his long hair was down and he wore his typical black attire - black loose-fitting denims, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the collar open, his typical boots - and seemed still devoid of weaponry. At least on the surface. When the carriage pullled out front, it immediately caught his attention. The guards wouldn't be able to see him unless they looked directly down that alley for more than a cursory glance, for he was obscured in the darkness between structures that morning sunlight was too weak to reach. Krice's eyes shifted to the horses upon which two of Javed's guards had arrived, watching until a boy appeared to shepherd them no doubt to nearby stables. Were they well-kept? Hopefully. Only once Javed and his guard visibly seemed to be waiting for his arrival did the silver-haired warrior step forward, emerging soundlessly from that through-and-through alley to cross the road at a leisurely pace. Colten received his crimson stare first, followed by a nod, before Krice's eyes drifted to Javed. He said nothing, merely approaching in silence.


Javed was delayed from his humming by his favorite pock-marked guard's gentle inclination of body, and and extended arm in a direction at odds with where he'd been looking. He saw Grey's form, and immediately graced him with a cheerful grin. "Ah, Grey! There you are, and with such impeccable timing." He gave Grey a careful once over, noting with approval the simple dress. If there was anything Goban hated it was guards who thought too highly of themselves, oiling their hair up in unnecessary stylings and coming to him with clothes absolutely dripping with embroidery. They sought to impress, Javed knew, but certainly there were better ways then making a mockery of fashion! He noted the way his favorite guard appraised Grey, and knew it only because of how long he'd had the man for. It was in the length of his stare, the way one corner of his mouth deepened in some unfathomable thought. He'd once been much more expressive, until Javed had taught him better. Javed nearly giggled to himself at the thought, and extended a be-ringed hands towards the doors that lead into the building. There were two more guards at those doors, and these took entrance more seriously. Yet, so long as the individual approaching was well mannered and dressed, they wouldn't shoo them off. No, that task would be for the third set of guards, inside the doors and at a distance from the secretarial clerk's desk to be in easy reach should someone cause difficulties. Javed, smiling, started to lead the way towards the front doors. The two guards, recognizing him (if not Grey) promptly opened the doors for him. More well trained men. "I am quite certain Goban should already be here; he's had so much paperwork to fill out, you see, that he is nearly chained to his desk! Oh but this should be a welcome distraction for him," and Javed chuckled, thinking of Grey's comment the night before. Women, indeed! He relished the thought of the expression Goban might display at that little request!


Krice arrived at the little group and greeted Javed once he was acknowledged, slowing only as much as necessary - maybe even stopping altogether - to ensure that he never passed the man and his guards. Once directed toward the building, he nodded, acknowledging that, and then ventured forward either beside Javed or behind him. In lieu of the man's comments about Haute Monde's boss and said boss' activities, Krice murmured a simple, " That's fine." He didn't want to speak much. He was here to possibly acquire himself a job working for the gang - and hopefully attain himself a nice-looking woman along the way. So, stoically, Grey moved as was directed until he was prohibited from going further, awaiting an audience with the legendary Goban himself.


Javed fluttered forward, lifting his hands in front of his body in open delight upon seeing the man behind the desk at the front, and the woman standing in front of it. Though the man, Liam, was a little dowdy for Javed's tastes, Keelin was one of Javed's, a pretty little thing whom he had taken under his wing when he had heard her delightful rendition of Holst's Capriccio for Violin. Though she was far too fussy when it came to costume; she was so skinny and ascetic it almost sickened him to see that she had chosen one of her simple skirts and button up blouses. You could fairly see the bones of her shoulders and hips under the thin fabric, no matter that it was silk and very chic. "Keelin," he said, the chastisement in his tone. She turned from the desk, eyes widening, and pouted at him as she stepped forward to accept one of his hands and kiss his cheeks. Her other hand was presently holding her violin case. He poked at the shoulder of her shirt, pinched it between his fingers. "You weren't there last night!" she told him once they'd stepped back, and there was a hollow sort of uncertainty in her face. Javed thought it looked quite fetching upon her. "Mm, yes, I had an errand to run for Goban." Keelin half turned back to Liam and said, "Do you see? He hated it. He always used to come to the salons I performed at." But when she turned back towards Javed with that piteous little pout, her glance flicked off him and towards Grey. Before Liam had a chance to respond, Javed said, "Duckling, didn't I tell you that I would be helping Goban for a little while? Once I am done I promise I won't miss any more of your performances." Keelin sniffed. "Yes, but he's Head of Security and you are the scout for music, and my patron." Keelin's gaze strayed longer and longer towards Grey, and Javed chuckled. Young things would be young things, wouldn't they? "Keelin, dearest, this is Grey. He's interested in a position with Goban's security. Grey, this is one of my musicians, and a very important performer for Haut Monde." Keelin stepped forward, shyly lingering near Javed's bulk as she held out an elegant hand for a kiss.


Krice remained within the group of Javed and Guards but not part of it. When Javed arrived at the desk to greet the man and woman behind it, the warrior slowed to a halt a few steps behind, out of reach of the three. He listened to the conversation as his eyes wandered around the room, taking in the details of his surroundings. The second time Keelin looked at him, the warrior turned his head to reciprocate, gold-freckled eyes settling upon the woman's thin face. Far too thin. Was she happy here? Shifting his head slightly, Krice spared a subdued glance Javed's way, but it was the introductions that buoyed his apparent interest in Keelin. He took just two steps forward, as many as were necessary, and slid his left fingers under Keelin's outstretched hand, lifting it as he bent to close his lips gently over the knuckle of her middle finger. His thumb, resting over the tops of her fingers adjacent to his own, pressed down slightly in a greeting squeeze as he glanced up to the woman's face. " Well met, Keelin," he said, in his typical, smooth voice. Afterward, Krice lowered her hand and straightened, letting his own fall back to his side. With gold-freckled crimson eyes locked steadily on Keelin's face, the man offered, " I hope you're happy here. Happiness among staff is something that should be at the top of every employer's list." Here, he shot Javed a pensive look, but the emotion behind it wasn't discernible.


Javed turned slightly to watch Keelin as she bobbed in a half-curtsey. She was beaming. Oh, yes, when he'd found her she had been a wretched little thing. She wasn't quite yet what he wanted her to be; for one, despite her popularity among the socialites she wasn't quite polished enough to attend the Season come the spring. It wasn't that she was difficult to train, but rather that she lacked that je ne sais quoi that would make her truly shine. Javed was rather disappointed her bloom was not as fragrant as it could be. Still, she had her uses, and she could be quite adorable. Liam, behind them, was looking positively atrocious with some sort of glower, and Javed wondered if he'd been trying to flirt with Keelin. Oh, they certainly couldn't have that. "Javed rescued me," Keelin said with her birdlike, chirpy voice. She was like a sparrow, when Javed had hoped for a finch. He looked down upon her fondly, and thought that perhaps he might drop her if she didn't perform well in the upcoming Season. "It is so exciting here, I am sure you will love it!" A simpleton, in any case: it had fascinated Javed at first, but now in every way besides her violin she had become quite boring. "Indeed," Javed said with a smile that matched Keelin's for enthusiasm. He turned to the apparently constipated Liam. What a terrible little man he was. "And this would be our Liam, guardian of the gates, as it were." Liam grunted at the introduction, and inclined his head. He didn't offer hands to shake. He didn't like Javed. The feeling was mutual, but Javed gave him a happy little smile anyways. "Would you know if Goban is present and available for an interview, my dear boy?"


Krice dipped his head in pensive acknowledgements of Keelin's reply, though he had turned nonchalant in the wake of it. The reason for this was unclear. Upon introductions with Liam, the silver-haired man slid his gaze over to the other man's face but said nothing, more interested in waiting to hear of Goban's whereabouts and availability than conversing with the hired help. He turned his attention elsewhere as he stood casually on the spot, his right hand pocketed, the left arm resting at his side, and his crimson eyes casually sweeping the foyer for sign of the big man himself.


"He is in his office," Liam said, and the haughtiness in his voice made Javed want to see to his. . .training. "Nim!" Liam called, and a young boy came out of a servant's doorway, after a few seconds had passed. "Show Javed and his guest to Goban." "Yessir." Nim started towards the doorway directly behind Liam that lead out of the antechamber. Javed patted Keelin on the shoulder, and then followed Nim, his bodyguards forming up around him. The room beyond was built with lovely stonework and marble, the triforiums giving the room a luxurious, dated feel. It was classical architecture, for Cenril, and certainly a sign of wealth. The windows above them let in the dawn's light, and in the meantime delicate glass-paned lanterns had been set at regular intervals to cast light. The main room was set with four desks against the walls, their occupants facing inward toward the center of the room, where some seating had been set up. Two of the desks were occupied, but otherwise the room was empty. They walked through it, to a small room at the back that housed a staircase up. Once up that staircase they'd be in a short hallway, which they walked down. Long runner carpets had been placed down the length of the hall. Doors were set at regular intervals, all of them closed. The end of the hall intersected with another, longer hall that traversed the length of the the building. It was to one of these doors that Nim knocked, and at the "Enter," slid into the room. Javed waited outside, beaming at Grey and humming to himself. "Javed and a guest here to see you, sir," Nim said. An irritable sigh was audible from within, along a weary, "Yes, yes. Have them enter." Nim opened the door from within and said to Javed, "Mister Goban will see you now." The teenager's eyes slid towards Grey, curiosity in them, but once everyone had gone inside he shut the door behind them and went off to his own tasks. Goban sat behind a desk of his own, an old beat-up thing that was half covered by an assortment of weapons and a dismal looking pile of chain-mail, and half covered by paperwork. He was an imposing man of middling age, a few silver hairs gleaming from within a tawny, thick mass of hair severely tied back into a warrior's queue. He was wearing spectacles, from over which he looked at them with dark brown eyes. "I have reports to make to our superiors, Javed. What do you want." The words were delivered monotone, and his expression was a sort of inquiring mask that could be, in the right circumstances, foreboding to those who considered him their superior. However, none of the men in the room presently held a rank under him. Javed beamed. "This is Grey. I believe you might be interested in hiring him. Grey, this is Goban, head of the Protectorate. It is a security-oriented band of mercenaries who have been contracted with the Haut Monde for the last, hmm, was it three years?" Goban's stare bored into Grey. "Six." Javed waved it away, fat jiggling, as he continued. "Ah, well, he is presently Head of Security for Haut Monde. And, if arrangements can be made, your new employer."


Krice was a model guest, not making a sound unless directed to. Besides, the architecture of the place seemed to grab and hold his attention whilst Javed spoke with Liam about Goban's location. When the group started moving, Krice cast his gaze to Liam and Keelin and offered them a simple nod before he followed suit, venturing toward the location that would ultimately reveal Goban. He took in the presence of the two people at their desks in the room of four without spending any attention on them. He was here for a specific reason: to see the boss. Getting caught up in idle chit-chat at this point would only distract him from that goal. After ascending the stairs, Krice's eyes remained dead ahead whilst his periphery scanned his surrounds. What did it smell like up there? If a particular scent caught his interest, the warrior did no show it. Pausing outside the room upon whose door Nim knocked, Krice waited as part of the group to be acknowledged by whoever was beyond. His features were calm, without panic or wonder. Curiosity did settle in the simmering crimson of his eyes, however, no doubt due to the place in which he had found himmself - and what place that place stood in. A rich, very well-to-do building with a rich boss, smack in the middle of a filthy city. Once invited inside, Krice nodded a thanks to Nim and ventured forth, always waiting for Javed to go first. Upon entering, he fixated his attention solely on the man behind the desk. He regarded Goban with more respect than Javed had received, though it was visual only: a hard, unmoving stare matching the presence by which Goban existed. What would happen when he spoke? " Six? That's respectable," said Grey, coolly, and seemingly without pretense. He mentioned nothing about Goban's 'ownership' of superiors. That was another query for another time.


Javed almost giggled when Goban failed to hear Grey's words. But he didn't; that would be to give away the game! And things had been so boring lately, what with his proteges all lined up in a row and none of them doing anything interesting. Grey, on the other hand, was so new and intriguing that Javed couldn't help but want to do whatever it took to get him into Goban's good graces. And if that meant playing on Goban's rules -- which was so bland and uninventive -- then Javed would suffer the indignities of the moment so he could see it done. He almost heaved a sigh, and pursed his lips into a pout as he looked sideways at his favorite pockmarked guard. The guard in question lifted one eyebrow when he noticed Javed's stare. Goban was watching Javed, almost as if to ask what the hell Grey was doing in his office. Colten cleared his throat. "As instructed, Javed and those of us counted as his bodyguards went into Gluttony last night in order to assist with the recruitment of new men for your personal Protectorate to be used within Haut Monde, rather than Haut Monde's on-staff guardsmen. Master Javed instructed, in turn, that I accompany him to the fights in order to assist with finding a quality investment. It is my belief that this man, Grey, will meet your standards." Javed beamed at his very favorite (if slightly used and slightly boring) guard, and turned that smile upon Goban. Javed waggled his eyebrows. "Let it not be said Javed does not know talent!" He gushed. Goban's expression didn't change in the slightest. Nor did he move for five entire seconds, until he looked to Grey and said, "What is your employment history?"


Krice stared steadily at Goban, without a flicker or flinch whenever Javed spoke or flailed about in his jovial way. In fact, it was almost as if the warrior had locked himself in a staring competition with the protectorate boss. Only when Goban actually posed the 'interview' question did Krice's features shift; his brows lowering slightly and his lips pressed lightly together. After a few seconds, as if he had taken that time to gather up his employment history, Grey said, " I spent years guarding the leader of high society in the far north - in a place you wouldn't know, just as they wouldn't know about this one. Very few people tried to get by me. None of them succeeded." If Goban wanted more than that, he'd have to ask.


Javed tipped his head one way and then the other, not sure how well Goban would like that answer. He'd given what introduction he could; Goban trusted Javed's guard, of all people, as if Javed's own ability didn't matter! The rest would be up to fate, but he dearly hoped Goban would capitulate. Stubborn man. "No recent employment?" Goban's voice lifted only slightly at the tail end of the question, his expression otherwise retaining his distaste for the interruption. Whatever he thought of Grey, it didn't show.


Krice didn't show his own thoughts of Goban either, and remained standing relaxed but confident in front of the boss' desk, his hands down in the pockets of his denims, his gaze half-lidded and fixated on the man seated in front of him. In lieu of the question, Grey said, " Nothing relating to bodyguard work."


Javed nearly vibrated with impatience. The jowls of his cheeks trembled as he waited; surely his own interviews with prospective musicians were never so boring as this. But, he had a vested interest in the outcome, and so he stayed. "If you have any references able to affirm your reliability, I would ask for their names." Goban countered, returning Grey's stare. Javed saw an opening, and added quite jovially, "There has been some problems with some of the new hires not showing up, or perhaps being a little more inebriated than necessary, hm?" Goban, as earlier, failed entirely to hear that unnecessary statement.


Krice didn't listen to Javed either, not now that he was in the office of the man he really wanted to work for. Not now that he had Boss Goban's attention. Despite this, the warrior waited for Javed to finish before he spoke again. " No references. It's a matter of confidentiality and safety for my former employers. I hope you understand." His tone suggested, however, that it didn't matter to him whether or not Goban did.


Javed watched with satisfaction as Goban finally put down his pen. While it was true that the owner of the Haut Monde expected an intolerable amount of paperwork whenever anything happened (in Javed's considerable opinion, at least), that single act showed that Grey finally had Javed's attention. It was the way he spoke, Javed thought, his own eyes going half-lidded as he waited. A new spring of happiness burned away the impatience, as he watched his old contemporary. "Very well. What reason have you for the interest in my Protectorate, as well as our current employment within Haut Monde? Have you experience with Cenril's gentry?"


Krice didn't bat an eyelash when Goban finally seemed to show interest. He answered the boss' question with a simple, " Javed made it sound half-interesting."


Javed pouted at Goban's slight upward twitch of an eyebrow. It lasted half a second, his facial expression soon returning to what it had been since they entered. He adjusted the latter question. "Do you know how to comport yourself in the presence of the upper class?"


Krice didn't look remotely scrappy, despite that he had long hair and dressed casually, but Goban would be able to tell that he was far from belonging in the slums. He was at the upper range of middle class, at least. " Better than Javed here," said Grey, giving the named man a small nod to indicate him. His eyes did not leave Goban's face, however.


Javed snickered out a laugh that turned into a full belly laugh. Grey must have been so young to have uttered such a quaint turn of phrase! Goban for his part didn't react or reply for several seconds. He folded his hands over the desk, and waited for Javed to finish his laughter. Javed chuckled for a little longer, and said only, "Ahhh," in satisfaction once he'd gotten the laughter out of him. He was smiling, quite boisterously, between the two men and their cute little interview. On the tail end of Javed's noise, Goban said, "I expect my men and women to be punctual, and sober. A uniform and regulation weapon will be provided; in most cases you're welcome to your own weapon excepting circumstances where a pretty display of colors is necessary. Starting pay is set at ten gold per two weeks. That amount rises or falls depending on your performance. I reserve the right to have my weaponsmaster evaluate you, and you will not be considered a full member until my evaluation at your first event. Do you have any questions?" Javed cut in with, "He did have a most unusual request I think you might find quite charming, Goban." Javed didn't elucidate further, immensely enjoying the prospect of Goban's minute facial changes when Grey mentioned the women.


Krice 's lashes lowered slightly and he looked down at the center of Goban's desk, waiting like this for Javed to complete his little interjection of laughter. Upon certain points of Goban's 'requirements', Krice responded. Such as, " I'm always early," and, " I don't drink." And, " That's fine," in response to uniform and regulation weaponry. In lieu of Goban's statement about evaluation, Krice nodded and murmured a simple, " Understandable." When he spoke of payment, the warrior parted his lips to answer, but once again found the encounter with Goban interrupted by Javed. He closed his lips without obnoxiousness, every movement he made either subtle or slow. He was comfortable, at ease. Once Javed fell silent and expecation was placed upon Krice to continue, he said, " I have no use for gold. If you have any women on hand, I'd much prefer one of them as payment." Krice lifted his chin and looked around the back of the room behind Goban in a casual, thoughtful way. " If not, then I'll depart now and cease wasting both our time."


Goban leaned back in his chair, as Javed watched with a surplus of hungry attention to detail. He remained smiling. Goban considered Grey carefully, and there was indeed some little hint of uncertainty in him! Javed was so pleased he'd found Grey at that awful little hole in the wall. "I would ask that you expound upon 'women on hand'. I am not in the business of slavery, if that is what you mean."


Krice shook his head in lieu of Goban's answer and amended the potential misunderstanding with a casual, " I myself am not one for slavery. " A beat. " I simply wish for the company of one. Whomever you can spare, in your staff. I won't bother her if she is not interested. That essentially means that I'll be working for you for free - assuming every woman that you can spare says disagrees with the idea."


Javed was tickled at the exchange, for he was ever so certain it was one Goban had never had before. The new territory did not suit the leader of Haut Monde's security, oh no. However, rather than answer Grey immediately it was Javed Goban turned to. Oh, how things changed. This was something Javed had expected; dear Goban would not waste his own women on such a frivolous request. "Your people?" Goban asked of Javed, who smiled sweetly. "I can think of several ladies who would show interest. The Season has only barely begun and they're already so bored." Goban turned back to Grey. "Before I decide on your first post, do you have any special or specific skills I could find of use?"


Krice didn't look at Javed even when Goban did, instead focusing on the leader himself. In lieu of the next query, Krice simply said, " My preferred weapon is a long blade - a sword, specifically. However, give me a weapon and I'll use it better than at least half of the people you currently employ."


Javed rocked back onto his heels, sure that the moment of discomfort for Goban was over. This was typical territory for Goban, he was sure, just as every prospective entertainer would swear up and down he or she was better than anyone Javed had ever seen before. One or two would indeed be able to keep the claim, but the majority would not. Javed smirked as Goban's glance flicked to Colten, who nodded. Goban looked back towards Krice. "Very well. I accept you into the employ of the Protectorate, under present employment by the Haut Monde. You will be considered a temporary member until you've seen my weaponsmaster, and I have had the opportunity to evaluate your performance at your first assignment. My quartermaster, Ruarc, will see that you are properly outfitted. I'll have my runner, Tad, alert Matio that he'll be putting you through your paces tomorrow. Javed will see to your request of payment, and as this is an unusual request supported by Javed I will allow it to pass. However, I will expect that as part of your comportment in the Protectorate that you will not make of this a scandal. Any ill rumors involving you will have consequences, as well as any complaints from the women involved. Do you have any questions for me?" Everything up to the last question was spoken in an uninflected drone, as if he was reciting a list of chores. The last question, however, saw his voice going just that bit deeper; a faint warning that any form of flippancy from Grey would not be tolerated. Javed's fat wobbled as he shifted and grinned: Javed was about the only person whose eccentric behavior was allowed. Reputation did have its uses, after all.


Krice nodded by the end of Goban's words, agreeable up to now, and then shook his head in lieu of the question. " None at this moment." A beat later, he said, " Rest assured that if you hear ill rumours involving me, they will be just that: rumours. I conduct myself professionally, regardless of the situation. You will have the chance to see as much." A beat later, Krice added, " None of the women who spend any time with me will have any complaints." His left eye squinted and he added as an afterthought, " Well... There's the small possibility that they might complain about me being too quiet, but I won't be violent or disrespectful toward them."


"Javed will show you to Ruarc, and introduce you to my clerk downstairs, Sedilia. She will ensure you are settled in and further introduced to those necessary, including your ranking sergeant, whom I will have assigned to you by tomorrow once Matio has had his chance with you." Javed frowned, sticking out his bottom lip. Before he could open his mouth, however, Goban said in a tone heavy with warning, "You have chosen to agree to my request, Javed. Take responsibility." Javed sighed, but kept his silence. Just this once. Goban continued, "You will make arrangements with Javed regarding your female companions. If you find his assignments dissatisfactory in a week's time you may register a complaint with Sedilia. If you have any questions or complaints otherwise, you will register them with your assigned Sergeant. You are dismissed. Javed," this said before Javed could trundle out of the office, "you have my gratitude." Javed resisted rolling his eyes. The words were so dry, Goban might as well have told him to kiss his ass.


Krice regarded Goban with that same indiscernible stare, though his overall demeanour seemed a tiny bit more pleased. Perhaps he was pleased with the outcome of the interview for whatever reason? Regardless of the reason, the warrior dipped his head into a nod in lieu of Goban's dismissal and turned, venturing away from the desk - toward the exit - with steps that were neither hurried nor lurking. Despite the fact that Krice was now working under someone once more, his demeanour did not change. He still harboured that same, respectable self-confidence that allowed him to walk without worry or weight or depression.


Once outside the room, Javed brushed the front of his coat as if to clean it of some grime or dust. Colten's expression was on the barest edge of thoughtful, though Javed didn't notice or care to notice it. He adjusted the small spill of lace at his throat, and quickly regained the bubbly, self-indulgent demeanor he was well known for. "Back downstairs we go, then! Ah, you surprised our dear Goban, it was well worth seeing him get taken aback by your responses, m'boy! I am of course certain the dear lady Sedilia will be quite charmed by you. Were it not for her husband, I might try to introduce you to her as a match, first! Or, perhaps if her daughter were older, but no matter! Hm hm, let me think: most of the time I dare say you'll only be seeing the first floor. The second is for the heads of the various departments -- though I will say you're welcome to visit me any time, if you can catch me in that stuffy office they assigned me," and here, Javed turned and winked at Grey as his second chin trembled with each step back down the stairs. "The third floor is exclusive to the owner of Haut Monde and his representative, Cliona. I highly doubt you will see either of them, they're so very busy. But no need to, as it were; Goban is quite highly regarded. Ah! I have just realized that Goban forgot to mention the Protectorate's barracks. They have their own headquarters, you see. It would be just like him to expect poor Ruarc to take care of it, he is always busy-busy-busy!" They were approaching one of the desks, this one to the left from the direction they were walking, and furthest away. A third desk was now staffed, and none of the clerks looked up. The woman at the desk Javed halted before didn't look up from the document she was reading, not until Javed gently rapped his knuckles on the desk. The smile he wore was considerably gentler, less edged, as she looked up and saw him. There was warmth on her face, given first to Javed and a little more hesitantly towards Grey. "Yes, Javed?" She asked in a rich contralto, amusement lingering in its texture. "I present to you, Madame Sedilia, the newest member of Goban's Protectorate. Grey." Javed presented Grey with a flourish and a bow, rather as if Sedilia were the hostess at some grand event. Sedilia for her part seemed immune to Javed's grand gestures, and brightened a little more at Grey. "Quite pleased to meet you, I hope you live up to Goban's expectations. He must have been impressed, to have accepted you so quickly. You'll have to forgive him his mannerisms, he's been under a great deal of stress with what's happened recently." She lowered her voice on the last part, a brief hint of strain passing over her face before it disappeared back into her warm demeanor.


Krice stepped out and paused whenever Javed did, glancing down the hall before Javed's words drew his attention. Finally, the warrior looked at his 'tour guide', his indifferent stare turning mildly curious as words flowed from the pudgy man's lips. When Javed turned to descend the stairs, Krice followed, silent and attentive as he had been during the first moments of the morning. As they came to the desk behind which Sedilia stood, the silver-haired warrior lifted his chin and slid his gaze from the path ahead to that woman, slowing once he neared her station to extend his hand. He asked for hers with this gesture, and if she followed suit, he'd pull hers just an inch closer - not a jerk, but a gentle suggestion - and give it a squeeze rather than a shake, followed by a curious, " Pleasure's all mine, Sedilia." He pulled his hand away as he began, " Tell me," and glanced at Javed as he asked, " Does 'what's happened recently' have anything to do with Goban hiring new bodyguards?"


Javed watched with satisfaction as Sedilia gave Krice her hand and dipped her head to him. She was such a well bred lady, it was a shame she hadn't been born to one of the richer merchant families. She was neat as ever, with her dark hair pulled back into an orderly chignon. Her face was powdered, eyes large in the round shape of her face and appeared pleasantly black. Her mouth was small, her frame slight, and as usual she managed the latest style with poise and modesty. Her skirts were not overly full, and the jacket she wore over the bodice of her dress was presentable without being gaudy to her position. A most respectable woman, if Javed was any judge -- and he was! At his question, however, Sedilia looked pleasantly hesitant, and surprised. Javed chuckled, "Despite his manners, my dearest dove, he is not what I see you thinking! What reason would a newly hired man have to follow all the gentry's sordid gossip? You see," Javed said, turning to Grey, but before he could continue Sedilia retrieved her hand and leaned forward with eyebrows lifted in caution. "Javed," she said, tone apologetic, "Grey, I do not believe this is the right forum for idle gossip." Her smile was regretful, but firm. Javed tapped his finger on his chin, about to whine at her tact, when she added a, "I would not want you to give Grey a bad idea of Haut Monde's ability or reputation. Now, since I have not seen you before today, Grey, am I correct in assuming you are very recently hired?"


Krice arched a brow ever so slightly in lieu of Sedilia's perceived surprise, followed by a bow of the head in concession for her want for privacy and secrecy. " Of course," Krice said, agreeing with Sedilia's words and, thus, holding his silence on the matter. He gave a brief glance to Javed, for reasons unknown - though it was thoughtful at least - and then once more regarded the woman with a level stare; softer than those he had given Javed and Goban before her. " As recently as two minutes ago, Sedilia. And truly, I'm not one for gossip. I was merely curious. I apologize if I overstepped any bounds." He glanced from Sedilia to Javed, offering this apology to both of them.


Javed had the distinct pleasure of watching Sedilia blossom with the warmth she directed towards Grey. "There will be time for such talk later, I assure you. My, my, I'm sure the menfolk have rushed you right through all the details." Sympathy, then. "I'll be your best ally as you adjust. You were hired to the Protectorate, I assume?" Javed nodded, and shifted where he stood, tapping his cane upon the ground with the movement. Sedilia nodded as well, and leaned forward with a flirtatious little smile. "Good. You're lucky. You won't be put into guard duty on the doors or gates." She straightened, and the smile turned more professional. "Protectorate and Haut Monde guards are expected to be here every day at dawn, except rotating days off. If you have specific days for worship you can petition your sergeant for those off, additionally. Employees are expected to be here from dawn to dusk as work requires. For the guards the main job you will hold is at the social engagement. For the time between social engagements the Protectorate guards are divided into squads that will alternate between training and bodyguard duty for Haut Monde staff. Heads of division, such as Javed, will often have their own personal bodyguards, but for general staff such as myself or our entertainers, the guards will provide an escort. So, you will be assigned an individual for a morning and evening escort. During the day, when you are on guard duty, different squads will rotate escort duty for those whose business takes them outside of the building. For now, I'd say you really only have to worry about Ruarc and Matio." Her smile grew rueful, "I will warn you: Matio is friendly, very friendly, but he is friends with none of the men, and will not appreciate any assumptions. I rather think he enjoys trapping the newcomers in order to give them punitive assignments." Her tone went musing, and she shook herself, "Is there anything you'd like to know before Javed drags you off to see Ruarc? You and I will have to speak more tomorrow; there's much to know, but it's important Ruarc sees you so your uniform and armor will be ready as soon as possible."


Grey’s features also softened in response to Sedilia’s warmth, but he didn’t actually smile. Yet. In response to her initial words about being rushed through introductions and directions, the left corner of his mouth quirked upward and he murmured an almost conspiratorial, “It wasn’t so bad.” A nod was given in thanks for Sedilia’s offer of alliance, and then again in confirmation of her assumption. “ Yes,” came along with it, given that Javed did the same. Once the awfully friendly woman had come to her conclusion, Krice leaned in slightly, arched his brows, and said, “If Haute Monde’s employees are as helpful as you, then I won’t need much at all. Thank you for your time, Sedilia.” The warrior dipped his head in a nod, offered her that same soft but still-stoic smile, and then turned away from her. He passed by Javed, offered the man a cooler look – one with which he’d be familiar by now – and then turned to depart the hallway of reception desks.


Javed was thinking his own thoughts, as he watched Grey's interactions with Sedilia -- and who didn't enjoy that woman's company, come to think of it -- but before he could take two steps Sedilia said, "Oh, Javed?" He turned back to her, one eyebrow raised. "Make sure you show him where the guards' mess is. I would hate for you to keep him all day without letting him eat." Javed chuckled and waggled a finger at her, "Come now, Sedilia dearest! Do you think I would go all day without eating?" Sedilia's smile turned rueful, "I know how you get when you're excited Javed. Don't forget, please." Javed bowed to her, and it was entirely of the court. The wrong court, as it so happened, since the merchant class had airs of their own outside any aristocracy Javed had had the pleasure of visiting, but he knew it amused her. She waved him off, and he took the lead to bring Krice back into the antechamber. Liam was still there, behind the main desk, ready to direct people or fetch as necessary. Keelin, however, had gone wherever it was bards were wont, which was such a shame. Javed lead Grey through to the door to the right side of the antechamber. It lead to a hall similar to the one with the reception desks, but this one had guards on it. It also had, once they walked through, clusters of hard chairs and music stands. There was a single piano set in the middle, giving just enough room for people to walk through. Unlike the other hall, this one was always in some state of chaos. There were five doors set at even spaces along the length of the hall, set to the left. There was a man at the piano, and Keelin was on the violin near him. A group of five people clustered behind and to the side of Keelin, clapping in time to the frantic gypsy pace of the duo. Two more people were dancing, and those grouped were calling out. One of them yelled, "Hup, hup, hup, ho!" as the man swung the woman about, and their feet sped to keep up with the frantic pace the two musicians set. Only one of the standing cluster noticed Grey and Javed as they entered, and Javed grinned so hard his eyes nearly disappeared into his fat. The one, one of his harpists, brightened to see Javed and waved him over. As they closed the distance, the piece slowed its frenetic pace, and Javed was pleased to recognize it. Ahh, one hundred years old, that piece, but still enjoyed by the youthful. The dancers were upping the drama of their step, adding in all sorts of unnecessary flourishes that very clearly showed they were trying to one up each other, or take the other off guard. The salon Javed had missed must have been good for all of them to be in such spirits! He stopped next to the man, a dreamy smile on his lips as he clutched his hands together in delight.


Krice paused when he heard Sedilia talk about ensuring that he was fed, roughly three full steps away from Javed. He turned, just enough to glance at her over his right shoulder. The woman earned his stare for the majority of her polite request that Javed take care of him, crimson eyes soft, pensive, and harbouring noticeable gratitude. Once Javed had finished his little interaction with the woman, Krice pressed his lips together in a small almost-smile for her and then shifted a harder, cooler look onto his escort. Just a second later the silver-haired man turned to proceed forward out of the hallway, following Javed into another hall with guards flanking it. Interesting. Krice regarded these other men with his periphery, noting their stance, their stalwartness, their discipline. Who were they? What were they doing? Were they guarding items or people beyond the five doors set in the hallway wall? Were there particular scents or sounds that Krice's astute senses could pick up? He could hear... music, that much was certain, and he moved with Javed toward the little party at the end of the all, surrounding that instrumental duo. Whilst Krice wasn't moved to smile like his pudgy escort did, the warrior did seem to soften slightly in response to the music and joy of others. Despite that, he was still stoic overall, and paused a few metres away to watch from afar. Krice 's eyes passed over Keelin and, if she was looking at him, then he'd dip his head in a nod of greeting, warmed by the familiarity he already had with her.


The hall was aptly nicknamed the Festival Hall, for it was where the entertainers on Haut Monde staff practiced and came up with new choreography. Only those who belonged to Haut Monde were allowed to pass into their heart. From within the rooms, faint sounds of other musicians practicing might be heard. In the air, the stale smell of stone, sweat, and various oils that might be used upon instrument and -- for the dancers -- skin and hair. Here was the heart of why Javed stayed on with Haut Monde, because this place was as much him as any he'd ever been. And it was for this place, this life, that he was allowed his eccentricities and temper tantrums, his self indulgence and conniving. Here was his talent, in the young men and women he picked and trained and set to the teachers, the masters of the arts, within the city of Cenril. No, most people didn't like Javed, but they appreciated him, and indulged him in turn. It was his ability to find and foster talent, and his money that kept all those proteges fed, clothed and with good instruments, that had aided Haut Monde when they were in such straits following all the ruckus and warmongering. Javed knew it. And he played into it. The musicians finished, and the dancers laughed with their audience, clapping. One of the women standing by came forward, shawl tucked into the crooks of her elbows, and took Keelin by the shoulders. "Lovely! Your sautille is much improved!" Keelin smiled up at the taller woman, and said, "Thank you, Marija." It was then she noticed Javed, and Grey, and she smiled and called out, "Was he hired?" Javed fanned himself, and said, "Kingesreive would have fainted to see that dance put to his rondeau." At their looks, most of those exasperated, he heaved a great sigh. "Yes, yes, Grey is our most splendid new member of the Protectorate. He'll be soon assigned to your protection, gods save him." A chorus of insults and groans greeted Javed's words, and he grinned wolfishly at them. "Grey, this is Lale, on the piano. Naomh and Patren, two of our dancers. You know Keelin -- that leaves Marija, Essa, Finn, Kilala, and Sanjar." He pointed as he listed them, and Keelin said, very dryly, "You can't expect him to remember all that."


Krice really was like a statue with a soul; stoic, calm, composed, but not cold or standoffish. He remained separate from the group to watch from afar, perhaps not yet comfortable inserting himself into the family of Haute Monde - and obviously, why would he be? He was only hired several minutes prior. When Keelin drew the conversation onto him with her query to Javed, the warrior tilted his head to glance between the two. It was the group's groaning response to Javed's 'gods save him' comment that earned them Krice's crimson eyes next, followed by the slightest smirk curling upward at the left corner of his mouth. Javed's introductions of the musical gang were marked with a glance to each individual person, matching their names to their faces. Grey's gaze landed last on Keelin for her input, and he murmured a simple, " He does, and I will." To Keelin and Lale, the warrior nodded and said, " Nice music," and then he asked, " Do you write your own scores?"


It was Marija, a curvy woman with golden hair so curly it constantly pulled out of her bun, who cackled at Krice's first and last statements. Before anyone else could say anything, she said, "Oooh, if only some of our lute players had such fine memories!" To which Kilala reddened, and glared. She was young, with painfully red hair and eyelashes, and freckles that were not at all appealing. Patren, slightly out of breath from his dance with Naomh, said, "These lazy bastards? Write music?" Lale, from his seat at the piano, casually reached out and dealt Patren a casual slap across the arm. Patren, smoothly muscled in the way of dancers and clean shaven with swarthy skin, grinned. "Javed writes us music, sometimes," Keelin said, her high voice shy amongst the laidback bickering that followed between Lale and Patren. "But mostly we play from the Cenrili composers, mostly modern. But there's a revival, lately, and there's been some requests for some of the greats from years long gone. So we've been. . .practicing." And she reddened as Javed cleared his throat and gave a most grievous frown towards her, and Lale, the standing group and the dancers. Kilala, Essa and Marija suddenly found themselves with other things to do, and they made themselves scarce with various levels of polite "Nice to meet you"s to Grey. Sanjar threw up his hands when Javed's sulky frown fell upon him. "Those stuffy old composers don't want Gualon drums, and besides --" He looked pointedly down at Finn's foot, "I was working with Finn and Naomh earlier, and Finn hurt his foot." Javed put a fluttering hand up to his forehead, second chin trembling. Naomh (a slender woman, with hardly any curves to speak of but for the long fullness of her dark hair -- she was the only woman who'd left her hair loose -- and the large roundness of her hazel eyes) snickered, and looked to Grey, "Do you like music?"


Krice looked toward Marija, her snickering comment earning her an intrigued half-smile, followed by a sympathetic glance Kilala's way. As each person took his or her turn to speak in response to his question, Krice gave them his attention, never once listening to someone without showing that he was. His gaze slid calmly back and forth from one person to another, lingered on the playful bickering between Lale and Patren, and then longer on Patren as a result of his answer. Krice nodded, accepting the words as they were, and then glanced at Javed probably because of Keelin's quiet interjection. It was a simple, slightly-thoughtful glance, interrupted by the departure of a few women. He nodded to them just once and murmured a polite, " Take care, ladies," before he was drawn to the remaining group by Naomh's question. Krice regarded her with a level stare and dipped his head, nodding in the affirmative. " Yeah. Not all music, though rest assured that the piece I walked in on was enjoyable." He nodded to Lale and Keelin before casting a broader glance over everyone. " So do you entertain on Haute Monde's behalf, or are you hired out? Or maybe a bit of both?" He really did seem politely inquisitive, this one.


Sanjar -- dark of eye, hair, and skin with fine and clean features -- answered first. "Hired on with Haut Monde, most of us. Not good enough to make it on our own just yet." "Speak for yourself!" Marija shouted from the end of the hall, before disappearing into one of the rooms. The acoustics in that hall were, indeed, quite good. Sanjar snorted, and shook his head, "Some of us have temporary contracts. Marija is a rather well-known violinist. Javed got her to come teach Keelin and some of the others who're still learning. He's the Patron of a lot of us, but with Cenril so dangerous and the roads being what they are," Sanjar shrugged, "It's safer with Haut Monde, and this way we know we get regular hot meals." Lale, pale with dark hair and eyes, and gangly to boot (his hands were his saving feature, for they were beautiful with long, slender fingers), said with some reverance, "The food is good." Naomh put her hands on her hips and said, bending slightly backwards, "Do you like dance, Grey?" To which Finn muttered, "Oh, sure, now you want to show off." Javed watched them all with piercing eyes, his smile possessive and satisfied. He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back and forth on his feet. His guards remained distant, further back than even Grey, as unobtrusive as they could get without leaving the room entirely. Javed so hated having them with him in his sanctuary.


Krice parted his lips in a silent 'ah' for the benefit of Sanjar's answer, followed by a vague smirk in reaction to Marija's interjection from down the hall. Looking back at Sanjar, Krice received the rest of his answer with clear attentiveness, by the end offering his own input with a simple, " Fair enough." In lieu of Naomh's question, Krice lifted his chin and spoke a politely jesting, " Well, that depends." Wait for it. " If you are dancing, then certainly." A little compliment for her appearance and skill, perhaps? Glancing to Finn, the silver-haired male jibed - without seriousness - " If you are, then probably not."


Naomh giggled, eyes flashing up to meet Grey's. Javed interjected with a quiet, firm, "Finnan, dear, if you've injured your foot I believe you should be resting yes? Go see Shamus. Naomh, if it was you practicing with him, you should help him. Mm?" Javed was looking pensively at Finn's hips, the way he rested nearly all of his weight on one leg, while the other was at a bend so almost no weight at all was on the foot. Naomh reddened, and Patren said, "No, it was my fault. She was going with him, but when I heard what Keelin and Lale were playing I had to grab her." Sanjar added with a droll little smile, "You missed the salon." Not quite accusatory, as Naomh walked smartly to Finn's side, fitting her shoulder in under his. She smiled at Grey as they started to walk towards the antechamber at the front of the building. "See you around," she said. Finn said, "You've not even seen me dance and you're criticizing? I'm wounded! Wounded!" There were titters among those left, but there was also a fresh sense of awkwardness as Javed put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest, which mostly resulted in his large belly being more prominent. "Until I've finished with Goban, yes, I will miss some of the salons. But I will not take that as an excuse! Of course it is lovely to see you in high spirits, but the heart of an entertainer is --" "Practice," Lale and Sanjar said, mimicking Javed's whine. Javed sniffed, and pouted. Keelin pressed her lips together to keep herself from giggling. "Kingesreive's quartets have been requested for Madame Kornev's tea," she added helpfully. Javed turned slightly towards Grey, "They are so easily distracted, some days." He turned back to Keelin, "Was that a quartet, duckling?" She looked to Lale, but in response he only started to play one of Kingesreive's more muted, terribly mournful piano pieces. Javed sighed loudly. "We should be going, really, and leave you to your. . .practicing." Sanjar whispered, loudly, "We'll catch you up when Javed isn't around to ruin the fun, Grey." Javed made a hmphing sound, and started marching towards the only door to the right of the hall, at the very end of the long room.


Krice 's lips curled into a curious, appreciative smile when Naomh giggled at his comment, followed by the expression simmering down as a result of Javed's interjection. Indeed, Javed was spoiling all the fun. Something at the very beginning of the pudgy man's words seemed to draw and hold Krice's interest, but a blink later that interest was gone from his gaze, replaced by thoughtfulness. Naomh and Finn's movements drew him out of his thoughts and he dipped his head, responding to the woman with a polite, " Yeah, you too," before offering the 'wounded' Finn a smirk. " Criticism builds character," he quipped in jest. And then the two departing were gone and Krice was left with Javed and 'stragglers', who seemed far less 'straggler-type' than the classification allowed. Krice looked at Javed because Javed spoke to him, but it was the mournful piano composition played by Lale that drew his attention away. Krice watched those long fingers grace the ebony and ivory keys, appreciated Lale's ability, and then was drawn from his spectator role by Javed's voice - again - and his movements. Krice blinked as normal and looked toward the pudgy man, and then at Sanjar per his 'loud whisper'. The warrior's lips curled into something akin to an appreciative smirk and, as he turned to follow Javed, he said in reply, " Looking forward to it." A nod to the remaining few, along with, " See all of you later," precipitated him departing in double-chinned man's wake.


The scattered farewells to Grey and Javed followed them as they walked, and Lale transitioned early from the first part of the piece into the more active second part, until the storming crescendo filled every crevice of the hall. When Javed reached the door it had retreated back into the delicate mournful dirge, which had always been, in Javed's opinion, rather overwrought. Then again, according to historians, Kingesreive had been of quite the delicate eggshell. It was said he was famous for raging all of one minute, and then sobbing or laughing the next. Whatever the case, he had a wide legacy of music, and remained very popular among the elite. The door took them into what had probably been a receiving room once upon a time, when the building was first built, but the entertainers in Haut Monde had cleared of it furniture, and it was typically in use as another sort of practicing room. The musicians scorned it, however, as its acoustics lent a flat, dead sound to whatever music was played within its walls. Javed lead Grey through another few rooms, though all of them were empty. He was taking the long route through the building to the kitchen at the very back, hoping they would run into more people, and even when they didn't allowing Grey to see the only things Javed considered worth anything within all of Haut Monde. And the kitchen, of course, was part of that. It was a large room, complete with an open fire oven, a long counter, lots of shelves, and an island in the middle where the head cook, Maura, was presently preparing lunch. But when she saw Javed with Grey in tow her expression turned to a mix of temper and annoyance. "Get, you! I'll not have y'nipping food afore it's ready. Or teachin' yer bad ways to new folk! Out! Out!" Javed grinned with no small amount of cheek, and scurried out of the kitchen as fast as his bulk could take him. Which took him outside, onto a small strip of gravel. Immediately behind the building was another, squatter building. Given its style it was of a newer construction, and entirely hidden from the road. Behind it was a building on another road, of a style similar to Haut Monde's. This had once been a stylish district, once upon a time, though now its glory had faded. Only those buildings still held by rich hands were yet preserved in this area. Javed held out a dramatic hand, "This is the guards'." It was simple grey stone, with few architectural flourishes.


Krice followed Javed more like a tourist than someone under his wing – albeit with less excitement and interest than a tourist. His interest was there, of course, just not... bubbling over. When they came to the kitchen, Krice paused at the entrance upon spotting Maura. Whoops. With noticeable respect for the woman’s space written in his body language, despite that his posture was calm and relaxed, Krice watched the cook chide Javed for his interference with her space. In lieu of the reprimand, and finding that he had to follow Javed through the kitchen, Krice stepped forward along the opposite side of the center counter to Maura to give her space, and slowed just enough to look her way, bow his head, and apologize with, “ Sorry for the intrusion, ma’am.” He pressed his lips together in a small, apologetic smile, which hinted at a dimple in his left cheek, and stepped briskly after Javed to avoid angering Maura further. If Krice thought anything specific about the differences between the Festival Hall and the guards’, upon arriving outside at the building in question, he didn’t express as much. He simple lifted his chin as he paused by Javed, looked up to appraise the structure, and then nodded. “ Got it.”


The guardhome, itself, was unmanned at its door. It opened into something of a common room, with stools placed around the room, a couch (that looked rather beleaguered, some castoff perhaps from the main office that had since been worn with placement of armor, weapons and various oils and greases that came together with fighting men) and a long table pushed up against one wall upon which men cared for armor and weapons, another table set in the middle that looked more commonly used for gaming with dice, cards, and whatever else caught the guards' fancy. The walls were plastered, dingy, and the floor a scuffed up wood with rugs forlornly cast about. If servants dared venture into the place, their touch was subtle indeed. To the left was an opening where the smell of stale food drifted out. To the right, with door shut, was the place where house guard bunks were set. Almost the entire rear of the building was the armory, and the quartermaster's domain.


No guards there might be set on the door, but there were men in the common room, and they swung around to stare at Javed as he entered. Should Grey be right behind Javed, they'd look to him, briefly, but much of their attention was reserved for Javed. Of that attention, little of it was warm. There was a woman working with her crossbow, and she sighted down it at Javed. It wasn't loaded, but the warning was clear. There was little of the lighthearted friendliness that had been in those employed in the main building. These were the wary sort, to whom hurting others was part of the job title, and this was their territory. It wasn't a place for casual visiting, nor open to just anyone. Javed, clearly, was not one of theirs, nor welcome for his sudden appearance. He didn't seem to notice. "Gentlemen! Lady, may I present to you your newest colleague, Grey!" He gestured towards the door, and their attention flickered. There were three men, one woman. The woman snorted and returned to her crossbow. Two of the men returned to their cards. One of them put his hand on his knee as he swiveled, teeth clamped around a cigar. He was bulky, but fit, wearing a loose shirt with its laces undone down to his diaphragm and leather breeches. He smiled, but it was more danger than welcome. "Who hired 'im?" He asked, staring at Javed.


Krice had to work his sensitive olfactory into a state of dormancy due to the variety of unpleasant smells that lingered in the guards' quarters, and he did so without hesitation. As such, his features harboured no sign that those smells bothered him. Whilst Javed lead the way, the warrior moved soundlessly behind him, casting his gaze at their surroundings to map out various things; like the height of the ceiling, the width of the room, the state of the walls. Grey only noticed the furniture once he and Javed had entered the common area where those four guards were lingering, as their presence drew his gaze down. Halting roughly a metre and a half behind Javed, Krice slowly passed his crimson eyes over the faces of each guard present, noting their features down in his memory, before one of them spoke. Without allowing his escort the chance to answer for him again, the silver-haired warrior stepped forward, turning his back - and the highly-crafted sheathed katana there - to Javed as he spoke in response to the other guard. " Javed proposed the idea to me, so I came here this morning and, subsequently, I was hired by Goban." Subsequently... Would these people even know what that meant? Muscle didn't mean only muscle and no brain (as evidenced by Krice himself), but still...


"Javed, huh." The man swiveled around, and exchanged a look with one of the card players, who stood and walked forward with the confident step of a trained warrior. He moved closer to them, near enough to almost brush Grey with his shoulder, but he was a slim man through hip and shoulder, the type who didn't have the bulk to back up heavy strikes. It wasn't Grey that held his attention, but rather Javed. He put on a very obviously fake smile, and took Javed by the arm. "Right then, Jav-o, you've made the delivery an' we're very greatful, but th'rules th'rules, an' I'm sure yer man Grey here can find y'later. So -- " He opened the door that had barely shut behind him, and with no small effort pulled Javed forward, and then propelled him through. "Been nice seein' ya, guv." And then promptly shut the door in Javed's sputtering face. He swung back around, face gone sour, and said, "Tole you we shoulda put down th'bar, Spitter." He strolled back to the table without another glance at Grey and slung himself into the chair. The man with the cigar grinned, and it was a challenge. "Who you with?" He asked Grey.


Krice's left eye narrowed very slightly as he considered the other man's response, following his gaze over to that card player. When the card player rose, Krice noted his manner of body language and tucked that information away, followed by a smooth, unhurried backward step to allow the other warrior room enough to handle Javed. Krice turned, watching the exchange along his left shoulder with the hilt of his katana in the periphery of his left eye. Once Javed was gone, along with a final glance from him, the warrior diverted his attention to the man smoking the cigar, offering it in response to the query. Without hesitation, and without any hint that he felt like he was being tested, if he did at all, Krice spoke a simple, " I figured that was obvious by what I said before. Goban."


"Way I figure it," Spitter, the man with the cigar, said, "is that it ain't so common fer Javed t'frolic on in here like he was promised a basket o'licorice." One of the card players looked up, and said, "Your turn." Spitter turned back briefly to play his cards, and the woman put down the crossbow. "I'll give 'im licorice, 'round his fat rutting neck." She had her hair cut nearly scalp-short, and messy; helmet hair in every sense of the word. She wore a jerkin stained with sweat, leathers and no-nonsense knee-high boots with barely any heel. The jerkin had a small crest burned into the upper left portion: it was worn down with time, its lines no longer clear. She was tanned in splotches -- hands, face and neck were darkest, with her forearms coming in second darkest and her shoulders the lightest; the jerkin was all she was wearing up top. Whatever padding normally went in under it she wasn't wearing. Her hair and eyes were dark, and the lightest part of her skin was honey colored. The card player and Spitter were colored similarly, though not so much that they might be considered relatives. The third card player was pale, face more red than tanned. His hair was light, flaxen. His eyes were blue. "I heard Goban was chumming with that rotter. 'Sit true then? They chummy?" She looked from Spitter to Grey as she said it, looking like she'd taken a big bite out of something bitter.


Krice held his silence in lieu of the card player's reply, probably finding no reason to respond in turn. Krice glanced at the female when she spoke, noted her attire with a peripheral glance, and then diverted his gaze back to the woman in lieu of her question. Without time taken to consider an answer, because he didn't need to, the silver-haired man said, " Doubt it. Got the vibe that Goban barely tolerates Javed. He deals with him because he has to. But really..." Krice stepped back, leaning his right shoulder against the wall by the door and pocketing his hands. " Is Goban chummy with anyone?" It was rhetorical, not requiring an answer.


Mink snorted, and then laughed. The idea was worth the brief spurt of sound, "Tell 'im, Albano, tell 'im how friendly the boss is." Albano, the one who'd shoved Javed out the door, scowled down at his hand. "No," he said, to Grey by way of briefly looking up. Mink was grinning fit to split her cheeks in half as she swiveled her gaze to the blue-eyed man. "Chamber?" He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, "Don't think he knows what smilin' is. Have y'ever seen him smile?" It was a question asked of the room at large. "Corporal Lothar, are you fraternizing at your post?" It was Chamber, and it was a fair good impression of Goban. Albano and Mink shuddered, but Spitter only hooked an arm over the back of his chair, shrugging his wide shoulders. "It's only because those fools on the Guard came in drunk. He mention that, Grey?" Spitter looked over his shoulder at the man. "Bet he's still pissed," Albano muttered, and Mink snickered.


Krice 's attention was drawn to Mink by her laughter, but then it shifted from one guard to another as they sounded off their replies to her query. Chamber's impersonation of Goban earned him an unexcited but complimentary, " Not bad," followed by silence as words continued to flow from the lot of them. In the end, Krice murmured, " I imagine there's a lot he hasn't mentioned," before nodding to the group and speaking a slightly sarcastic, " You all seem so happy with the guy. No wonder you work for him."


Grey's words earned him a long look from Albano. "You work as a guard before? Soldier?" Mink had half turned from her position at the table along the wall, as her fingers nimbly worked loose parts that had fouled up the aim of the thing. It was likely warped beyond repair, but whatever money they could save by their own improvisation, the more likely they would get much needed upgrades. So she worked on it. None of the rest of them but Albano said anything after his single sarcastic comment: the men to their cards (except Spitter, arm still perched on the back of the chair as he looked sidelong at Grey when he wasn't looking at his cards) and Mink to her crossbow.


Krice answer was simple, and judging by his body language and tone, it was honest: " For many years." He glanced from Albano to Mink, watching her fiddle with the 'fouled up' crossbow for just a moment before Albano once more had his focus. " And you?'


Mink chuckled under her breath as Albano shrugged and played his hand. The other two men groaned, and Albano swept up the pile of coin and scraps of paper with items written on them. When it became quite obvious no one else was going to talk, Spitter said casually enough, "Why'd Javed bring y'here for?"


Krice watched the quadro and glanced at Spitter once more in lieu of his question. Krice shrugged his left shoulder. " He was supposed to introduce me to Ruarc per Goban's request, but..." Glancing over a shoulder, the warrior looked at the door. " Well."


Mink knew what was going to happen as soon as Spitter turned the other way in his chair to look at her. "Hey," she started, but Spitter had already turned back to Grey. "Mink'll show you to Ruarc." She brandished the crossbow at him like some sort of dilapidated shield. "Why me?" Her tone was disgruntled, a defiant quirk to one eyebrow. Spitter took his cigar out of his mouth for a moment, and that grin was back. This time, though, it was aimed at Mink. "I'm in the middle of a cardgame, girl." They stared at each other for the space of two breaths, and then she put the crossbow down on the table rather harder than it needed to go. "Losin' a cardgame, you mean," she muttered as she stood. She gave Grey a frown. "C'mon, peel y'self off the wall. You owe me!" The last was to Spitter as she ambled towards the door set at the back of the common room.


Krice glanced from Spitter to Mink and then back to Spitter, observing - as well as listening to - their interaction. Once Mink ushered him from the wall, Krice stood at his full height and ventured forward, walking smoothly with the confidence of a trained warrior - something that would be familiar to this lot - along with something unseen. He approached Mink to follow her silently, offering the others a nod of farewell on his way.


Mink eyed Krice as she hefted the door open. Spitter held up a hand at Grey's exit, though the other two had eyes only for their cards and the starting round of offers into the pot at the center of the table. "Armory," she said, gesturing into the room beyond. She'd wait for him to proceed her. It wasn't a particularly large room, but it was packed with shelves and stands for both weapons and armor, to the point that it was nearly impossible to see from one side of the room to the other. There appeared to be no order to it, either, though for the most part the weapons were kept separate from the armor, and the nicer looking pieces were either mounted or carefully kept on some sort of rack or form to keep them well. The room stank of metal and leather, the age of some of the pieces no doubt contributing to the overall mustiness of it. There was a faint gleam of daylight from the other side of the room, but it was otherwise fairly dim. Mink stepped in and lit the lamp left on a peg near the door with the little flint and tinder piece left next to the lamp. She smirked. "Regretting it yet?"


Krice took a step inside the armoury and looked around, his gaze sweeping the room from left wall to back wall to right wall. His acknowledgment of the armour there-in was slow and deliberate before, by the end, he faced Mink with a nod and exited to follow her down the hall. He kept his katana against his back. " Not yet," was Krice's answer to the woman's smirking query, before he glanced at Mink and asked, " None of you seem happy here. Why stay?"


An eyebrow lifted, giving Mink the appearance of a cat who'd caught the mouse in the cheese. It dropped, and the smirk was swallowed into a suppressed sort of expression, which only served to make her look impish. "What made you think that?" Shelves on both sides, she navigated to the right between them walking slow and watching the ground as if she expected something sharp to be awaiting the unwary.


Krice observed Mink with subdued scrutiny as she reacted to his question, continuing a casual amble to her left. " You seem to dislike Javed and Goban." People of higher rank; people who decide their fates. Krice's expression was calm and unassuming, without anything that would suggest that he was intending to cause the woman discomfort or unease.


Mink gave Grey a strange look as they approached the wall at the side of the building, where a desk had been shoved up against the wall. There was a man behind it, papers scattered over his desk and a short, well-muscled man at his shoulder, finger on one of the papers. "What does bitching about Goban have to do with anything? Vio! I need Ruarc. Piss off." The short man retracted his finger and said, without first looking up, "No, you piss --" He looked up and saw Grey, and shut his mouth. Ruarc, a pen between his own fingers, made a mark on the paper and then when Nevio stopped talking he also looked up. "Oh?" Ruarc said, as Nevio said, "Tell me that's not what I sodding think it is." Mink pulled her lips into a wide smile, and said, "Orders from the top t'kit him out. Wasn'it?" She looked sidelong at Grey, the difference between their two heights a matter of maybe an inch or so; it was hard for Mink to tell who was taller.


Krice glanced from Mink to that desk at the end of the wall, despite the woman’s query. Her interaction with the men behind the desk happened so quickly, anyway, that a response to her previous comment would no longer fit into the conversation. When Nevio looked up, spotted Krice, and stopped his rebuttal, the warrior’s left brow lowered slightly in portrayal of thoughtfulness, followed by a simple nod given to the other man whom Krice surmised to be Ruarc – judging from Mink’s tone. Not looking back at the woman, Krice asked of the second man, “ You must be Ruarc, then?” Assuming the response was positive, the warrior dipped his head in a nod to greet the other male. “ I was just today hired by Goban as part of the Protectorate. He told me to come see you about a weapon and some gear.” Nodding back over his shoulder to indicate the katana on his back, visible from this vantage point by the hilt protruding past his left shoulder, Krice asked, “ If this is a problem, I’ll leave my weapon at home. I’d prefer to use it but I understand dress code and regulations enough to tolerate another sword if so required.”


Mink smirked as Ruarc's eyes rolled up towards the ceiling, one of his hands coming up to massage at his temples. Ruarc was a man still in his prime, barrel chested and with large, capable hands. His was a face that had seen some beatings, but it was reassuring in its way -- at least to Mink's opinion. His skin, eyes and hair were as dark as they got in Cenril; whatever stock he was from, it was further south then they were now. Nevio was shooting angry glares at Mink with a few left over for Grey, and he stabbed another finger at the page. "I'm telling you, we need more--" Ruarc held up a hand, his free one, out towards Nevio. "Not now, come back later." Mink's smirk got a little more triumphant. "Yeah, Vio, come back later," she said, not in the least fazed when Vio's look got positively violent. "Nevio, to you, you bitch," he muttered as he came around the side of the desk. Mink's smirk broadened. Nevio said, "Oh, don't you come whining to me when you need your leathers replaced! I'm telling you, I counted--" "Nevio," Ruarc said, finality in his tone. Mink waved as Nevio stalked past, looking Grey over. "Welcome," he said, voice full of irony, "to Haut Monde." His arms swept wide to include the clutter and stink. Mink said, "Don't forget you still owe me a new dagger, Vio!" He made a rude gesture. Ruarc sighed heavily. "I don't suppose you know your measurements?" He asked Grey, face clearly stating he doubted it very much.


Krice observed the interaction between Ruarc, Mink, and Nevio without incident, though it was Nevio’s insult to Mink that drew the man’s crimson stare; a subtle glare that was nonetheless clearly warning. Krice disapproved of disrespecting women. Nevio’s irony-toned welcome to the group earned him no further attention from the warrior, probably only because his attention was now shifting back to Ruarc. In lieu of Ruarc’s query, Krice began speaking about every measurement that any kind of tailor could ever need, in just as much detail as was necessary. He did this without hesitation from one measurement to another, unless Ruarc indicated that he needed a pause to catch up with his writing, and he spoke without arrogance or ‘neener-neener told you so’ snarkiness. He was just stating facts as they were.


Mink shifted her weight onto one leg, watching as Ruarc scrambled to find a piece of paper upon which to write as Grey spoke. His eyebrows moved in various interesting ways, which Mink found completely amusing. "Impressive," Ruarc muttered, though the tone of his voice was grudging. Then, as if he'd just remembered the prior statement, he said, "Unless we're assigned for dress you can keep your weapon. Normally we'd train a man up ourselves, but time. . ." he shook his head. "Times're makin' everyone shifty," Mink put in, "what with Grey here comin' in with Javed." Ruarc said, sharpish, "None of your lip now. A man's always most comfortable with his staple weapon, and most often it don't matter what that is. I'll go see if we have anything to suit you with until we can have proper leathers made." Mink glanced sidelong at Grey. "No mail?" Ruarc sighed as he too moved from around the desk, "As you heard, we're having some difficulty with the supplier. 'Tisn't yours to trouble over, Mink, and I'll not have you putting your fingers in my pie, thank you." Mink said low to Grey, "He's so fussy, it only takes minutes to get him into a fit." Ruarc, who had just disappeared into the first narrow path between shelves, said, "Should I tell your sergeant you were giving me lip again?" Mink, grinning, said, "No sir!"


Krice thought nothing of Ruarc’s grudging compliment, but did dip his chin slightly as if he was going to acknowledge it with a nod. The gesture was incomplete, though Ruarc’s explanation about weaponry earned him a fuller nod in acquiescence. Krice would use his own weapon if given the choice. He mentioned nothing about Ruarc and Mink’s interaction, though when Mink murmured under her breath toward him, the warrior murmured back, “ Spunky one, aren’t you?” It was rhetorical, spoken on the tail-end of his attention diverting from the woman to the shelves by which Ruarc stood. Krice watched him as best he could, taking note of which gear he chose over which for the silver-haired man to wear. “ What’s going on, exactly? You’re not the first to mention that things are tough here.” Here, in Haute Monde. “ Should I be concerned?”


Mink stuck a thumb in to the top of her leather pants, a brief sliver of teeth showing in feral appreciation for Grey's initial comment. The second, however, had her lifting first one and then both eyebrows at Grey. Ruarc disappeared further down the room, moving between the shelves. She held out a hand and started ticking off points. "Rackets, shipping issues, destroyed properties, workers killed -- mostly we contract out our work out as high as we can, here, but good ore and coke keeps getting delayed. Last I heard, though I didn't hear nothin' 'till now about chain going Rynvalian too." She made a noise as if to spit, thought better about it, and swallowed. "Then," she pitched her voice lower, leaning a little closer to Grey, "there was action at one of the events recently. Lost four of our men, three of 'em Protectorate. Trained with us for years. Goban took it personal-like. He's a stuffy prick at the best of times, but lately he's been a real ass. I hear up top was real displeased."


Krice diverted his attention to Mink as she took on the role of ‘answerer’, glancing from her face down to her hand and then back up to her face. ‘Ore and coke’. ‘Chain going Rynvalian’? He arched a brow at that disgusting sound produced by Mink, but it remained arched due to the words with which she spoke thereafter. Krice murmured, “ At one of the events, huh?” He asked, hoping for more information. If Protectorate employees were being murdered, he as a new Protectorate employee needed to know how, and why – if anyone knew the ‘why’.


Mink's look went positively delighted. It was, in its own way, malicious, though none of that was directed towards Grey. Troublemaker? Mink? Never. "Goban tried to shut down the talk, thought he could shunt it -- but them fancy britches were at that party too, and ain't no one gossips like useless rich folk. He threatened cut pay if we get caught gawpin' over it. Let's just say someone with money almost got 'erself offed." Mink's face went cold, the wicked humor dropping away as she considered what she said. "Hob, Gerry and Stoneface was the ones we lost. I ever see the bitch they said did it?" She shook her head. "They was good men. Good men."


Krice arched an eyebrow as Mink's expression shifted with the progression of her answer, followed by a pensive, subtle frown in something akin to sympathy. He didn't mean to be the cause of bad memories. " Sorry," he murmured, followed by, " Who're they saying did it? I'll keep an eye out." He pressed his lips together, that sympathy touching the edges of his expression.


Mink recovered herself only partway, the thought of their dead men -- the men of the Protectorate, more than those in the guard -- once breached lingered within her. She couldn't so easily get rid of it as she had recalled that fact. Wasn't that, in the end, why they'd no desire to welcome Grey? He was a replacement. Nothing more. "Who knows," she muttered. Louder, she said, "You'd have t'ask someone gets paid better'n us grunts to find that out. All sorts useless talk flying, 'bout who was behind it." She stopped and gave him another odd look. "'Keep an eye out'?"


Krice pressed his lips together as he considered Mink's answer, followed by pensive silence. He didn't want to interrupt her and run the risk of causing her more discomfort. The warrior nodded at her suggestion to talk to people who 'get paid better' than her, and then spoke in lieu of her question. " Oh. I mean, like... if I see someone who looks like the suspected murderer, I'll app--" She likely wouldn't know the word 'apprehend', Krice. "--I'll... y'know, either hold her for Goban or punish her myself."


Mink snorted, and she didn't stop giving him that look. "That ain't how it works, here. No one goes on duty alone 'less they get assigned like that. I don't know 'bout your career, but you'll get yourself killed workin' like that, here. Or kicked out." She shrugged, "Wouldn't be the first time, either case. What, you used to workin' alone?"


Krice considered Mink's words with a thoughtful frown on his face, followed by a small shake of the head when she spoke on the lines of 'working alone gets you killed'. He didn't fear for his safety at all. Once the woman arrived at 'or kicked out', the silver-haired man fell still and considered those words, followed by a sideways glance at Mink in the wake of her question. He said, " I've worked both alone and with other people. It depended on the job."


Mink shrugged. "Guards must be plenty strange where you come from," she said, flinching as a barrage of sound came from further into the room. Ruarc could be heard cursing after the sound died down, and Mink took a few steps down the line of shelving to peer after Ruarc. "Damaging the armory, Quartermaster?" She called, and received several vile suggestions in return. She grinned at Grey, the expression finally dissolving the last traces of her grief. "He's such a crybaby." "I'll see you on report if you can't keep a civil tongue in your head, private!" Mink's satisfied expression only grew more sure of itself. Clearly, this was not an uncommon threat.


Krice’s gaze flicked off Mink’s face toward the crashing noise that sounded from between the weaponry shelves—oddly, just a moment before that noise filled the room. Ruarc’s cursing thereafter reassured the silver-haired man that their Quartermaster was perfectly fine, if notably annoyed. As such, Krice remained where he was and he watched Mink approach to put forth her comment. The other man’s responses inspired a quirk of the left corner of Krice’s mouth in something akin to vague amusement, followed by a softer glance at Mink in lieu of her concluding comment. The warrior stepped forward and paused just one step in front of Mink and to her right, calling to Ruarc a cool, “ Need any help?”


"Blasted--" Ruarc broke down into several words whose linguistic origins were, quite possibly, entirely separate from each other. Mink didn't notice Krice's reaction time. She did, however, say, "Him? Pahhh, he survived the lizard invasion out on the western half of the city." Ruarc called out over her voice, "Someone shoved their -- augh!" There was the scattered sound of chainmail falling, along with something heavier. A battered, rent shield came out from the aisle, rolling almost as if it was apologetic for its transgressions. Which, likely, had been falling on some part of Ruarc's body. "Nevio, you bloody pikey, get your arse back in here! Now!" The voice was that of a man used to having his orders heard in or beyond the practice field. Mink took a step back, her own hands up as if to declare her innocence of any wrongdoing. Then again -she- hadn't been mucking about in the armory in any sort of attempt to help Ruarc with his inventory. She whistled high. "Oooh, he's in a foul one!"


Krice blinked and watched Ruarc whilst Mink's words slid around the turns in his left ear. When that shield rolled out, the warrior spent two seconds looking at it before he stepped forward, as Mink stepped back, to help Ruarc. The warrior bent his knees and extended his arms, pulling away whatever equipment had fallen all over the quartermaster. " Careful," he said, assisting the other man whilst Nevio presumably returned to their location.


Nevio came through the door like someone'd lit a fire under his ass. Which was metaphorically true. Mink heard more than saw him as he went around the other side to Ruarc's location, and at that moment the quartermaster's ire would have been enough to peel paint. The sight of Grey and Nevio carefully plucking bits of tattered armor off Ruarc, who had regained his feet with the help of Grey only to begin reaching, again, for a shelf that was seven feet off the floor. Nevio skidded to a halt opposite Grey, and even from half the room away down the long aisle Mink could see him trying to contain his humor at Ruarc's position. Mink couldn't help it. Laughter forced its way out of her, and she bent over. There was a forlorn glove on Ruarc's head as he reached up for a container that balanced precariously at the edge of the shelf. Dust was flying, the faint light from windows against the external wall casting streamers through the dancing particles. In a room like the armory it would have been better for him to have taken a lamp, but it was his in a way a dragon had its hoard. Considering how meticulous he was about sorting things out, and the mess of leather and metal around his feet, Mink had a guess that Nevio had spent some time looking for something and hadn't gotten it back where it belonged. Had she listened to Ruarc's steady stream of invective and dressing down, she would have heard it for fact. He did blame Nevio for the mess of chain mail and the few pieces of broken plate that had fallen; the junk bin was at the other side of the room, and wasn't Nevio just a blimmin' idiot for not realizing that? Mink was laughing so hard tears had sprung to her eyes. She looked up in time to see Nevio carefully pluck the glove from Ruarc's head, though it took him standing on tiptoes to reach it. The container Ruarc was sliding finally came down, and for a moment he teetered off balance as he jerked away from Nevio's ever so helpful hands.


Krice didn't find the situation amusing so he didn't laugh like Mink did, like Nevio wanted to. Instead, he was focused on Ruarc's displeasure and then, without hesitation, Krice reached up to help the man lower that container down from the seven-foot-high shelf. With a stabilizing hand gripping the rim of the container, Krice sought to Krice Ruarc in place and locked his crimson stare on the other man's face; Mink behind him, Nevio in the periphery of his left eye. " Hey," he said to Ruarc, "Take it easy. You're more likely to damage things if you don't keep your cool."


"Keep your bloody mouths shut, the lot of ye!" Ruarc snarled, followed quickly by, "Just put it down!" Nevio kept to what he was doing, picking up pieces and bits, and Mink slowed down her laughter to giggling fits as she watched. "It's like -- it's like -- oh gods, when you --" She dissolved into more laughter, and only choked it down when she looked up to see Ruarc's infamous dragon stare ready and willing to burn her alive. "Ne-Nevio, when Gaspar -- when you moved the chamberpot and he -- and he --" Nevio's grin, behind Ruarc's silent and quite potent fury acknowledged and shared in Mink's memory. From the common room, Chamber (whose full nickname was, indeed, Chamberpot after that particular incident, though after several fights had broken out his comrades had reluctantly shortened it to the less incriminating "Chamber") yelled, "Shut it, you trollop!" Ruarc, face suffused with blood under all the bristle, made something similar to a growling noise. He managed, one finger outthrust towards Mink with all the command of a very sharp, very threatening weapon, to say, "You. . .report. . .Sergeant Gome. . .now." Mink had her snickering under control by that point, and spun back towards Ruarc's desk to retrieve the commanded form for an official censure. Ruarc, meanwhile, kicked at one of the damaged pieces of armor and twisted to glare at Nevio, who just as suddenly assumed a formal stance. "Sir!" "Pick. It. Up." A pause, during which he loomed over the shorter man, "Properly." "Yes, sir!" Nevio snapped a salute and began noisily sorting the mess. Ruarc's glare snapped to Grey. But rather than chastise the man, he gave a sharp nod and began to dig through the container for the leather armor he'd in mind for Grey.


Krice glanced over a shoulder as Mink 'reminisced' through her laughter, following Ruarc's deathglare. The warrior offered his own, though it was more a warning to calm down than a 'shut the hell up or else' threat. Only when Ruarc nodded to him and sent his focus into the container did Krice release it, taking a single step back and then turning to exit the aisle. He didn't want to be in the man's way. Pocketing his hands in his comfortably-loose denims, the silver-haired man came to a halt just behind Mink and turned, watching the isle soundlessly whilst waiting for Ruarc to emerge.


Mink was comfortable enough with the idea of being on report to fill out most of what Ruarc, himself, would typically fill out. She put down her mark on the paper, and set it off to the side for when Ruarc chased all of them out and had time to both cool down and consider what it was he wanted to do. She was still caught by the occasional giggle, which was only spurred on by Ruarc's impressive and occasional vocabulary. Ruarc finally emerged from the aisle between shelves with a leather brigandine, cuisses, and greaves. He was still glaring, still uttering the occasional word under his breath. When he presented Grey with his findings, he snapped, "Despite these poxy men acting the part of idiots, I will not tolerate misbehavior, especially in my armory. Master Goban has allowed them to stay on under Sergeant Gomes' control, but they are, no doubt, the worst unit we have to offer here. Do not fall in with their behavior, and do not presume to command me. Am I understood?" Mink had gotten herself under control, and she wore the blank expression of a soldier during inspection, her posture suddenly rather more on the side of perfection than she'd otherwise shown.


Krice received Ruarc into his overall space without complaint, though as Ruarc snapped at him, the warrior lifted his chin almost as if in a show of defiance. Half-lidded eyes remained unmoving on Ruarc's face whilst he spoke, and it was with silence that he responded to the query at the end of that harsh rebuttal. The air was thick, tense, as if anything could happen at any moment. He stood tall and rigid but simultaneously relaxed, like a snake coiled tight; resting, but ready to attack at a moment's notice. The situation could swing any which way... In the end, Krice was mature enough not to let a little ordering-around get under his skin and coolly said, " Sure," before he reached out to take the items from the quartermaster.


Ruarc's nostrils flared. Mink mighta warned Grey about the man's temper, but she rather thought it more fun this way, than the other. Besides, what better way to break in a recruit then with a jaunt under the temper of one of the senior ranking members? Ruarc said, "The correct response is 'yes sir'. There is an order to a group of men required to fight with each other, and part of that is working in concert. And that? Needing to understand and respect your officers." Here it was, the sermon that Mink privately believed had been born under the lizard war. She tuned Ruarc out as he lectured about the necessity of working in sync. Blah, blah. It ended with him handing the armor over to Grey, and walking back around his desk to his well-worn seat. Paperwork. "You are dismissed, both of you. Alizan, I expect that you will not repeat this unfortunate behavior in my armory again." She saluted with a slightly off slant that was, for her, sarcasm.


Krice stared straight across at Ruarc--they were both six-feet even--throughout his lecture and never once broke a sweat or expressed any unease because of it. When Ruarc was done and turned away to go back behind his desk, the warrior turned, with equipment in hand, and ventured past Mink to exit. Without a 'yes sir'. If he thought anything about Ruarc's use of the name 'Alizan', he didn't show it.


"Very well," Ruarc said, and his words were so clipped Mink knew there'd be a second report joining the first. She smirked as Grey left the room, and closed the door behind him. The three men playing cards were, quite studiously, pretending that their game was so absorbing they hadn't noticed anything, but Mink knew better. "That was some stupid," Mink said, one eyebrow raised at Grey. "You're one to talk," Spitter said, eyes still locked to his cards. Without looking up to see her narrowed eyes, he said, "I might not be in your unit, but I hear the stories, believe me."


Krice just continued walking through the room with his gear in hand and, when there was a break in the input from the others, he offered a nonchalant, " Well, that was mildly irritating."


Mink tipped her head to the side as she watched Grey walk through, eyes flicking over to Albano as he said, "You sure you been a soldier before? My ears were ringing all the way out here." Chamber added, low, "Fastest I've seen a recruit piss off ol' Ruarc." Mink said, "Why?" The smile was only a hint that played at the corners of her mouth. She leaned against the wall and folded her arms. All of them, excepting Spitter -- he wasn't in their unit, after all; he was merely off roster while a nasty burn healed -- turned to stare at Grey.


Krice continued walking but slowed enough to regard the group over his left shoulder, offering a simple rebuttal spoken on a tone that suggested no lack of composure or insult by their words. " It wasn't me. He got pissed off at Nevio, and then at Mink here because she wouldn't stop laughing at him." Krice nodded to the offending party, followed by turning around to continue his exit.


It was Albano, as it usually was, who said it first: "Not that, y'didn't give him 'is sir." Mink smirked at Grey's regard, and offered a cheeky finger salute, as if she tipped a hat at him. Chamber muttered, "She's a twit, yeah," to which Mink gave him a look.


Krice paused in lieu of Albano’s correction and stared over his left shoulder at him. At length, after a brief glance at the spunky miss ‘Alizan’, the warrior offered an aloof, “ It is what it is.” There must have been a reason as to why he didn’t give Ruarc the respect he commanded, but it wasn’t clear.


Spitter said, "You're gonna wind up in Sergeant Gomes' unit." Albano shruged. "We're not so bad, eh Grey?" Chamber and Mink were presently engaged in a staring contest.


Krice didn't pay attention to Chamber or Mink. Spitter was talking, providing information in such a way that he had more questions afterward. Lifting his chin, he asked, " Who is Sergeant Gomes? Ruarc mentioned him, too."


Mink escalated the staring contest with the first rude gesture. Chamber, not to be outdone, offered his own that was, even by dock standards, quite crass. Albano's eyebrows went up as he noticed it, and said, "Kids," with a vaguely haughty air. It was Spitter who answered Grey. "Protectorate's split into four units. Sergeant Gomes leads one of 'em. The other three sergeants are de Lassaco, Vincii and Corte. Let's just say, between us, that you don't want to end up with Gomes as a recruit." Mink, who had evidently lost the contest given Chamber's smug expression, looked over at Spitter and said, "Oh get off it, just 'cause Goban has no sense of humor." "You've no discipline, admit it," Spitter said, very gravely. Chamber rolled his eyes.


Krice shot Mink a sideways look when she gestured rudely at Chamber, and then he looked at Chamber when he retaliated. The warrior's eyes blinked slowly off the pair, as if he was already tired of the nonsense, but his attention was calm and composed when it returned to Spitter, whose answer earned him a thoughtful, " What's wrong with Gomes? And if he's so bad, then who would be the best Sergeant?" Krice looked around at the room, his eyes landing on whomever provided information related to his queries. This meant that, offhanded comments about discipline, or rude gestures, were ignored.


Mink smirked at Spitter, and said, "Then it ain't Gomes at all, it's us." She turned those critical eyes at Grey. "That's what 'e's tryin' hard not t'say." "But mostly you," Chamber said. "Don't scapegoat me f'yer stupidity," Mink shot back. "You're both hot under the collar you wasn't there for th'Jernigan's little party," Albano said. Mink stalked back over to the table shoved up against the wall, and picked up some of the pieces of the crossbow. Chamber looked away. There were unspoken words there, and Spitter shifted uncomfortably in the sudden heat of an unresolved, days-old argument.


Krice glanced toward Mink when she offered her input - the part that was relevant to him, anyway - on the conversation, and then he watched everyone. As the conversation died down, leaving him to read only body language and shared glances, he did so. A few seconds later, the warrior said, " Right... See you all tomorrow, then," and then he turned away to proceed through the exit.


"Y'need t'get over it, Alizan," Albano said, as Grey proceeded through. Seeing as how he was leaving, it seemed germane that the conversation could, perhaps, see the horse taken back out for more beatings. "I woulda had 'is back, if I hadn't been sent out after that rutting bard's little salon!" "It's done. Let it go." "Let's see y'say that if it was yer precious Keelin, y'banker!" Outside, there would be no one, and no words but for the ones that sallied out of the guardhouse common room. The sun had begun to show brilliant red, gold, and orange over the water, and the morning was warming. A breeze came in off the distant shore, bringing with it the smell of saltwater and rain. There was mist further down the city, having come off the water, and clouds above.


Krice did step outside but he slowed to a halt clear of the doorway, his attention drawn back to the room behind him by the feverish conversation that took place there-in. Silently, as his eyes perused the coloured striations of sunrise, and his nose detected the varied scents in the morning air, the warrior attuned his acute hearing to the words that flew around the air at his back.


Inside the guardhouse, Mink kept at her crossbow, though she could hardly focus on it. "Mink," This time it was Chamber, and his tone was sharp and disapproving. "An' what about Possano? Huh? Think he's tickled pink about Stoneface?" Mink's voice was sharp enough to split hairs. Spitter shook his head, "Mink, the unit restructuring is what it is. Whether you were there or not, do you really think they were incapable?" Mink tossed her head. "I'm gonna find out what happened. Chamber? What, y'don't care? Hob an' Stoneface -- they was ours. Gerry was a good man, don't mistake me none, but 'e never -- " Spitter's chair creaked as he stood. "And if you would rutting stop your jokes and bitchy remarks, maybe you would've been there. At least Possano isn't acting like a rutting toddler!" Sudden, terrible silence. From within Haut Monde's main building, the faint sound of Javed's happy humming and a few scattered giggles might be heard.


Krice shook his head as he listened to the conversation within, but his reaction was only that. Soon enough, his astute hearing registered other sounds more prominently and his gaze shifted; from the sunrise in the east to the building from which laughter and humming was emerging. He stared at that building for a few seconds and then turned, walking back into the guards' quarters and then the bunks-room where he'd set his gear - leaving his katana strapped to his back. This would empty up his arms for a luggage-free venture back out of the guardhouse - toward the sound of obnoxious Javed. He didn't interact with the other guards present unless they interacted with him; reluctant to disturb whatever interaction was happening between them.


Mink's voice was quite cold as she said, "If y'think Chamber's not been spittin' fire, yer brain's rotted. How about Pia? Huh? Ain't she been awful quiet? Don't pretend I'm the only -- " "Pia has been taken care of," Spitter said, his voice just as dangerous. Albano threw down his cards in disgust and made a frustrated noise. "Just go get drunk an' start a fight, an' get it over with." They fell silent as Grey walked back through, and while he was inside the bunkroom Chamber got up and went out, grabbing up his own sword before he left. When Mink failed to reply, Albano said, "Whaler's Bar, tonight. I'll buy you a round, and find you a pretty face." She remained silent. After Grey made his exit the guardhouse remained silent. Inside the Haut Monde main building kitchen, the cook was nowhere to be found. Javed, with the aid of two of the kitchen staff, was piling two plates high with meat, bread, and dried fruit. It was the staff who were giggling at Javed's obsequious flourishes, and his humming of a popular military march that had been written during the Preklek Invasion.


Krice emerged from the bunkrooms before long with his sword on his back but his leathers missing, stashed away for later retrieval. As he ventured through the remaining members in the guards' quarters' common room, he glanced toward Mink, and then to Albano, and then he halted between the two - obscuring Albano's view of the woman. He faced the other man and lifted his chin as he asked, " You guys always get so rowdy?" He lifted his left hand to halt any answers that may come, swallowing before he amended, " I mean - should I be worried?"


Albano looked a little uneasy, but he hid it quickly enough. There was a little more silence as he took his time thinking over Grey's words; though since he was looking at the man it was obvious enough he wasn't planning on ignoring the question entirely. Spitter reached across the table as Albano too lay down his cards, and gathered all of them up. He started shuffling, watching Albano for his response. His cigar was mostly gone. Mink, at her table, remained locked within her icy silence. Albano finally said, "Not like this. And no. It's only because -- well, we ain't lost men since the lizards came. Hob's been with us --" Mink made a noise, and Albano glared past Grey. "He's one of ours now, so keep it to y'self." She faced the wall, shoulders hunched. "Hob was with us since the start. So it's been a pinch tense. Mink, Chamber, Pia, Passano, Hob -- they was all in a unit together, at the start." He shrugged, and his smile was bleak. "Part o' our work. Gets dangerous sometimes. Y'lose men, sometimes." Spitter's attention was suddenly held quite firmly by the cards he was shuffling, his own face neutral.


Krice may or may not have noticed the look of unease on Albano's face. Whatever the case, he was moving onto the other man's verbal answer. At Mink's protesting sound and Albano's reply to her, the warrior turned just enough to look at the woman over his left shoulder. Albano's continued words, however, ensured that Krice's thoughtful glance shifted off Mink soon enough. He listened to the man's reply, considered it with apparently genuine sympathy lingering in his eyes, and then murmured, " Sorry." It wasn't a weak apology, but rather, a simple and genuine gesture put forth to help mend whatever wounds he had opened with his questions.


Albano shrugged again, Spitter and Mink silent but listening, pretending to concentrate on their own tasks. "Ain't we all." And that left a gap in the strange conversation, something uncertain and bitter. Albano, restless as he looked away to watch Spitter shuffle, said quietly, "You know how it is, yeah?"


Krice’s lips remained pinched together, further sign of that apology, before, as the other men interacted amongst themselves, the warrior turned to leave them to their business, passing a gentle nod to Mink as he did so.


Mink didn't look back up from what she was doing, her back to the rest of the room. Despite that, she wasn't overly tense; the easygoing, mischievous demeanor she presented to the rest of the world had already slid back into place, and she was once more just another guardsman hard at work on a pet project. Albano and Spitter both gave Krice nods, and Spitter said, "See Sedilia about where you'll be staying later today or tomorrow morning. Protectorate usually don't sleep in the bunks here, but it's been done before." His tone was gruff.


Krice was delayed in his departure by the suggestions of Spitter. The warrior turned around, regarded the other male along his left shoulder, and then nodded as he said, “ Sedilia? Got it. She’s... comfortably less ‘enthusiastic’ than Javed.” In other words, he preferred speaking to the woman for that reason alone, if for no other. “ Thanks,” he said to Spitter, along with a wry smirk.


Spitter shrugged, but Albano returned Grey's comment with one of his own, and a quirked eyebrow to boot. "Man's only good fer his 'entertainers'," his attempt at mimicking Javed's voice was only sub-par; he was likely incapable of the high-class accent and all the lilting flourishes Javed himself added to his speech. He gave a sloppy salute. "Have fun with him."


Krice's response to Albano was a dry smirk and then a nod, followed by one final glance at the other two before he turned to depart. A casual gait brought him soon to Sedilia's desk where he halted to converse with her - assuming she was there. First up, he greeted her with a respectful nod and followed it up with, " I was told to ask you about where my quarters will be." It was a statement, but phrased in such a way that one could glean a question from it.


Sedilia was elbow deep in paperwork by the time Grey returned to see her. Several guards had dropped off their reports, and Goban had sent down a runner with several of his own almost-late reports to be filed or to be sent off to the proper person. Goban's job didn't include filing or making sure things went where they were supposed to. Navigating Haut Monde's beauracracy was Sedilia's job; without Sedilia Goban would essentially be lost within Haut Monde. She looked up from the report she was attempting to decipher (though she was good at it, it never ceased to amaze her just how little effort the men and women within the Protectorate and the Haut Monde Guard put into their handwriting), and her attempt at a smile withered. "He is such a flighty man," she said, though her tone was more resignation than criticism. She looked past Grey as if looking for something, but shook her head with a brief shake. She turned away from Grey and to the shelving at her back. They contained several leather bound tomes and a few twine-tied bundles of paper. She took out one of the tomes and flipped it open to a very precisely written chart. "Most of the Protectorate guards take bunks in the Protectorate Headquarters. It looks like there are several available bunks open in their section for recruits. . ." she trailed off and looked back up at Grey. "No one took you to the Protectorate Headquarters, did they?" After a second, she shook her head, "Javed hasn't fed you yet, either, has he?" She tapped her desk with her calligraphy pen, and looked quite weary.


Krice arched a brow, briefly bemused by Sedilia’s response to his presence. Just a pair of seconds later, he correctly surmised that she was talking about Javed as ‘flighty’. He neither agreed nor disagreed; at least not verbally. When she spoke of availability at the Protectorate Headquarters, Krice nodded in acceptance of the information and his disposition changed, as if he had heard all that needed to hear and, thus, saw no reason to linger here. However, he would not depart from Sedilia without properly dismissing himself – and that was delayed due to her looking up and posing those questions. He shook his head to the first one, along with a small press of his lips in sympathy for what he perceived to be ‘Sedilia’s plight’, and then lifted his left hand up slightly as he verbally responded to the second: “ It’s fine. I can feed myself when I get hungry.” The woman didn’t need to bother herself with trivial things such as that, and the slight, lopsided smile that Krice gave her was meant to portray as much.


Sedilia took a few moments to arrange that information in her head. After years of looking after Goban's interest, she'd taken her own personal interest in the guards and their well-being. It was they who stood to lose the most from Haut Monde's ventures, and even though it was their job her heart hurt for them. She responded the only way she knew how: with motherly efficiency and accuracy, and using what small power she had within the business structure to ease whatever bureaucratic troubles they might have. Trivialities and her ability to organize and settle them was a matter of professional pride, and it provided emotional succor for all the things she couldn't do or fix. But, as with many things, she let this go. She would not repeat the concern again, barring emergencies. "Would you like me to arrange a guide to the Protectorate Headquarters?"


Krice took note of Sedilia's reaction to his words but he thought nothing of it. In lieu of her next question, the warrior tilted his head and, without pretence or coyness, he said, " Unless you want to get out from behind that desk and show me, yourself, I'm sure I can find my own way there." The small, amicably warm smile he gave Sedilia told of a mischievous sort of coyness that belied the neutrality of his tone, but he did not elaborate. And he certainly didn't expect that she would abandon her work because, with a simple 'no worries' nod, he turned away from the woman to depart - but not before pointing to a bottom bunk on her chart, one removed from the other occupied cots. " I'll take this one."


Sedilia had been about to assign one of the Protectorate guards on escort duty to him, but she accepted his decision, as she always did for any of the men and women she inadvertantly cared for. She wasn't a pushy woman. She made a note on the chart, and gave Grey directions to the Protectorate HQ . As with any of her undertakings, the directions were precise and detailed. She finished with, "If you have any additional questions or fail to receive proper introductions, please come back and see me. My duties may be at my desk, but there are always some few around willing to listen to the requests of a clerk." Her smile was pure confidence, without a single iota of arrogance to sour it.


Krice halted and turned toward the indicated map, his gaze following the path taken by Sedilia's finger. Once she was done, and indicated the location of the Protectorate Headquarters, the warrior gave another nod and glanced sideways at the woman, his gaze harbouring gratitude. " Got it. Thanks."


Sedilia nodded in return, her smile warming. "My pleasure. Be sure to see me in the morning." With one last look at the newest of the warriors under her purview, she lowered her head, closed the tome, and got back to determining what exactly Sergeant Corte was trying to requisition for his unit.


Krice turned to glance at Sedilia again and offered a gentle smirk, saying, “Tomorrow morning,” for clarification. After all, it was still today’s morning. He turned from the woman to depart, following the directions she had given him to venture away from the Guards House and toward the Protectorate Headquarters; ever aware of the presence of others.