RP:Trip to the Library
Parsithius' entry is marked by the echo and resonating 'click' of a multitude of a armored greaves, the evening light bearing a shifting portrait of warm pastels and luminous colors that glint off of various hued platemail armors, which bear the frames of an armed escort. The knight's azure eyes are narrowed to more keenly pierce the veil of blonde hair that falls about his features, but by gait and direction, they seem to be headed toward the Inn, and Mahri.
Mahri's eyes stop once they find perch on the Knight. If it weren't for the tell-tale sounds of his armor, she might not have been quite so interested. However, upon seeing that he is heading straight in her direction, the cigarette is crushed under her boot and the lycan pushes away from the building. No meeting between these two has ever turned out well. Absently, she reaches up and fingers the scar on her face. Patiently, though a bit tense, she awaits the inevitable arrival of Larket's King. If the lycan is worried, she won't show it by word or deed.
Parsithius' gaze is immediately affixed the distortion of his vision, which is the slightest alteration of movement in the distance and directly in front of the Inn. Mahri; the target, the criminal, and the one whom he would attempt to apprehend. A snap forward of his gauntlet indicates her, and brings about the others to attention, rounding forward the troops of the King Consort to attempt to apprehend the lycaness. "Mahri!" The man's voice slices into the air, calling gaze upon himself to continue, "You are under arrest."
Mahri blinks rapidly. Really, it's not the first time she's heard those particular combination of words. "For what!?" Narrowing her eyes at Parsithius, the lycan balls up her fists and prepares to stand her ground. "Unless you got reason, Parsithius Mediccino, and evidence, you can't arrest me for nothing.
Parsithius’ upper lip curls as the other calls back at him; one of the knights moves around behind Mahri to attempt to hit the woman in the back of the knees, "For suspicion of murdering Lady Beatrix Huxley of Larket." Her other words are ignored; the King -can- arrest the woman. For whatever he wants, but as much as he'd like to see her hang, the man does have sense of honor and code. "And before you spout your nonsense, -I- wasn't the one to name you as a suspect."
Mahri's jaws clench and once again, the damn Knight somehow managed to get the best of her. This was becoming an annoying habit of his, honestly. Her knees hit the ground as expected, but that doesn't diminish the look of pure, unadulaterated loathing she casts upon Larket's King. "Oh? Who would that be? You?" There might be a flicker of real worry behind that scathing look. "You are just enjoying yourself, aren't you? High on the power given to you by marriage." Folding her arms, she smirks arrogantly, "I'll be out in no time, Parsithius Mediccino. You have no evidence."
Mahri should have mentioned that she had no idea what in all the hells he was talking about, but she didn't.
Parsithius’ upper lip lowers as his facial expression returns to the straight-lined expression beneath a rugged beard of blonde. "Given to me by marriage," he repeats softly, which brings about more than one quizzical or confused expression from the knights surrounding him, which are promptly returned to fall their attention upon Mahri. A knight is quite to take hold of each arm individually, lifting the woman to her knees, and twisting his wrists about her back. Then, the handcuffs; not uncomfortably, surprisingly. They are actually, in contrast to the rough hit to the knees, rather careful with the lycaness, as they know secure each elbow as escort. "Dunsan," he tests. After a little while, regardless of her response, he speaks, "We're making a detour to the library in Cenril. If you try to escape, you will caught, and killed, regardless of your innocence or guilt. So, I suggest you just co-operate."
Parsithius nods the escorts, promptly to lead them to a ship at the dock; they would board, and sail to Cenril.
Mahri isn't about to try to escape. After all, she has been caught more than once by this particular knight errant. Even as restraint, and even gentleness is shown, the smirk stays in place as she watches him with cold silver eyes. No, for the remainder of their short time together, the lycan will--perhaps wisely--keep her lips sealed.
Mahri has kept quiet during this time. Not even on the ship back to the mainland has she uttered so much as a peep. That singular word Parsithius had spoken? Well, she'd shown no reaction to it thus far and hopefully he'd begin to think he's made a mistake in her arrest. Wishful thinking sure, but what else does a girl have? Somewhere, in the back of her mind, is the thought that Jack just might take a bit more than a thumb this time around.
Parsithius’ gaze is not on Mahri, it's sweeping vision is flying this way and that in scrutinizing, methodical ways. Like he's searching for something in particular.
Mahri shifts about restlessly in the grip of her jailors, finally losing patience and snapping waspishly, "Just what the hell are we doing here anyway."
Parsithius ignores her, pacing aisles and rows of the shelves and library as if some holy man seeking redemption; his gaze is utterly determined. Black is beneath them, as if the man has not slept in awhile.
Mahri grinds her teeth at being ignored. She hated that, always had. "Pars, damn it. What are you looking for!?" Giving a jerk against those holding her, Mahri is sure she could have broken their grip, and the cuffs, if she'd wanted to. Let's just say that she still had something of a soft spot for the knight. And a heap of guilt where he's concerned.
Parsithius’ knights are swift to continue to restrain the lycaness, as the man answers, "Something Beatrix was told to burn."
Mahri doesn't stay quiet, even if her fingers are working against the cuffs now. Silly man, didn't use silver did he now? She'd have chortled her triumph in feeling them loosen still more but..well, keep him distracted. "Who's Beatrix? Why would she have burned anything?"
Parsithius continues to stare at the bookshelves, "Don't try to escape," he says, "because then I will kill you. Simply because of I have not acted upon your past betrayals of me, does not mean that I have forgotten of them, nor does it mean that I am easily pushed aside." His guards continue to restrain her, "They're not silver as an act of faith that you will comply. For surely, if you are innocent, there is nothing to fear?"
Mahri would have, and did, curse Parsithius long and with some rather creative expeltives. "How many times do I have to tell you.." snapping her jaw closed, the lycan knows it's useless. "I think you're biased. You'll try to kill me anyway."
Parsithius said to Mahri “That's probably true that I am biased against you. You have tried to send me to my death many times, and still dared claim that you were a friend of mine. I would not put it past you that you kill Beatrix, perhaps even simply to harm the Queen, simply because you and your pirate ilk seem to fail to kill me every time you use me." All said in stone countenance and eyes searching the library.
Mahri snarls at that and lunges against her bonds, jerking first one way then another to loosen the hold of her guards. It's a sure bet that if she were to get free, she'd most likely try to tear Parsithius to pieces. Even through his armor.
Parsithius twists, and sends a punch right at Mahri's jaw!
Mahri of course, in her temper, walks right into and drops like a sack of bricks.
Parsithius presses his shoulder against the door, gripping on to it before bending his knees. The guards all keep their gaze upon the scene, even as one has an unconscious Mahri thrown over his shoulder. A grunt, a crash, and the King stumbles beyond the threshold and down the stairs.
Parsithius’ gaze is hindered, and thusly the knight cannot fare so well by simply standing and allowing his sight to roam over the dimly-lit setting in methodical scrutiny. Instead, the man is forced to wade into the small flood of the basement, tilting his head slightly upon the sound of a slight squish in his first step. The man's upper lip curls further toward his nose, an expression of distaste despite having stomped the skulls of live enemies on the battlefield; this seemed vile, like bile or excrement. There is no choice, though, and forward he moves. In apparent pacing, or circling around the room in a slow, cadenced gait, the man's narrowed eyes flip here and there, peruse beyond and scrutinize before; his gauntlets are used to shove useless items aside, lift heavier ones, and move obstacles.
Parsithius searched the trash bin and found a Booklet of Eastern Tribes.
Related Pages:
- Larket
- Part of the Case of the Burned Baker Arc