the confrontation (lachlan)

[ELEANOR HOBBS]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 300px; height: 380px; background-color:#fff; border-left: 30px solid #c2c2c2; border-right: 30px solid #c2c2c2;] WHEN YOU WALK IN THE ROOM

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It was the end of another long and strenuous day. Eleanor welcomed the sight of the burning sun as it settled upon the horizon, casting its dim ochreous light over the sleepy city of Noredge. The streets were bare, save for a few stragglers, and she knew it wouldn't be much longer before the district's more unsavory sort of folk began to emerge. In fact, she could already hear the din of local taverns as they began to open their doors wide in invitation, hoping to coax a steady flow of coin in exchange for loud music, good food and their highest graded ale. As intrigued as she was by the goings-on of the local nightlife however, Eleanor never partook in it. Instead, she hurried home to see that her siblings had had their dinner and washed up before ushering them all off to bed. Occasionally Destrain would remain awake and offer a hand tidying for awhile. As the two eldest of the brood, they often relied upon each other to take care of whatever minute details the other one happened to overlook or forget. Generally, however, she was left only with the sight of the small fire and the company of her own troubled thoughts.

She immediately took note of the pain that had settled within the soles of her feet, only to lance up her calves and thighs; no doubt the result of running errands about the castle for the majority of the afternoon. In anticipation of the Summer Solstice Gala, Princess Celandine had been fitted for several evening gowns, and it had been Eleanor's responsibility to fit her and then relay any necessary adjustments that needed to be made to the visiting tailors. In the end, it had meant several trips both up and down several expansive staircases. Generally she made a conscious effort not to complain about the type of work that was involved in minding a royal heir, especially since it wasn't at all comparable to what she could very well have spent her time enduring. No, she was immensely grateful for the opportunity to work in the castle.

Then again, it was also the reason for the tremendous guilt that rested upon her shoulders.

Lost in quiet reminiscence, the young blonde nearly failed to notice the three men grouped together on the street ahead. It was clear that they had been drinking, as they conversed loudly with little regard for those around them. Deciding it wouldn't be worth being hassled by them, Eleanor took a secondary route through the back alleys she had since become so familiar with; carefully stepping over puddled of stagnant water and other filth, fingers gripping the material of her dress so that the cloth wouldn't trail through it. It wasn't long before she realized that she was in trouble either way, as a dark shadow loomed suddenly in front of her, having materialized from the encompassing darkness. He wasn't a big or burly man by any means, but the predatory expression that flitted across his razor-shaped, almost gaunt features was enough to confirm that he was dangerous nonetheless. At first he said nothing, simply continued to close distance between them as Eleanor withdrew the small dagger she kept on her person for this very reason. Her assailant took one look at her meager weapon however, and laughed, and she found she could smell the stench of liquor upon his breath.

"An' what do ya figure yer gonna do with that, little miss?" He sneered derisively, catching her wrist in one hand and squeezing until the pain forced her to relinquish her grip upon it. "There ain't no one 'round here that's gonna save ya. So why not come with me, all nice and quiet like?"

But Eleanor wasn't ready to let him have his way with her just yet. Despite the fear that seized her, she managed to get one knee up, successfully connecting it with the man's groin. As he slumped over, she took the opportunity to snatch her dagger up from where she'd dropped it, and turn and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. The man's voice was clearly angered now, and she knew he'd taken up pursuit. Convinced she would be able to make an escape, it took the girl entirely by surprise when she ran directly into something solid. Another one? Immediately she felt her courage wane, and she lifted her knife again, determined not to admit defeat without so much as putting up a fight.

"I'm not afraid of you."

Unfortunately, she'd never been a very convincing liar.

thanks brooklyn from caution, atf, shine & rc&r.

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[LACHLAN DUDLEY]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:5px; padding-top:5px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:5px; background-color: #575757; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] LACHLAN DUDLEY "Im nothing more than a chalk outline" Fragments of rock popped into dust beneath his weight. Lachlan squinted up towards the fading beams of sunlight, squinting in the fiery glow. Night was settling upon the capital birthing as usual. Tipsy laughter echoed out through the open windows of local taverns bubbling out into the streets. A scowl slit his cracked lips. Shoving a diritied hand inside the depths of his pockets Lachlan was quite displeased to find his fingers scraping only mere fabric. He would have to make due watching rather than participating. He extended a boot and stepped across a murky puddle. A heavy rain had washed the city and spread the filth so that it covered a more expansive area. Cleanliness was for the privileged. The warmth of salted pork wafted through the cooling air drawing Lachlan's attention towards his rear. Drool moistened the corners of his lips. That smelled nice. First his neck craned left followed by a smooth twist of his hips. But something stopped him. A force from seemingly nowhere waltzed straight into chest causing him to momentarily lose his balance. Lachlan stepped back digging his heel deep into the cobbled road. Confused annoyance knitted deep lines into his brow. Peering downward he took in the form of a young woman and the glint of her knife. A scorching thirst tore up his throat and this...obstacle was wearing his patience thin. It was unfortunate enough that he was broke. Maybe she had money. The muslces stitching his arms quivered lightly but the epression written in her eyes held him back. She was frightened, but of who, him? Lachlan felt a cold grin spread his mouth wide. He'd take it as a complement. But she denied his pride its glory with a quick verbal cut. She severed his mirth with uttering her supposed lack of fear. Lachlan eyed her over. Absentmindedly he reached up to scratch at his chin's stubble. "Is that so, hm?" An angry bellow resonated through the encompassing shadows but he paid it little heed, afterall they were surrounded by the nightly play of the tavern drunks. It went unnoticed that her true discomfort was entwined with the sound's source. "What's the knife for?" His words were clipped, wound tight. Lachlan certainly wasn't going to let a spooked broad gut him in the street. He hadn't touched her. At least not yet. She was pretty and young-better looking than most wenches lining the castle walls. A curious feeling weasled its way into the recesses of his thoughts and Lachlan's hand flitted soundlessly to the hilt of his sword. Something was off. The hair on the nape of his neck stood straight. There was an urgency in her gaze that mirrored the growing awareness in his stomach's pit. What the hell was she gaping at! "Well it aint' no style of fashion!" he barked glaring. Whatever was amiss was growing near and realization slowly began to tug on his better senses. Someone with looks like hers, alone, at dusk was bound for trouble. Beneath thick brows Lachlan dared a glance up and spotted the lumbering drunk heading straight towards them. Tags: Eleanor! | Words: -- | Credit: 156zcm of Caution Notes: can he call her ella? :3

[ELEANOR HOBBS]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 300px; height: 380px; background-color:#fff; border-left: 30px solid #c2c2c2; border-right: 30px solid #c2c2c2;] WHEN YOU WALK IN THE ROOM

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For one brief and maddening moment, a twinge of recognition shook Eleanor's resolve. Somehow, she knew that there was something distinctly familiar about about this man, but had neither the patience nor the time to pay it any further scrutiny. His words were already curling around her, dark and laced with poignant condescension. In response, she felt herself shrink instinctively away from him and gripped the knife in her hand tighter still, listening for the approach of her secondary assailant. Was this perhaps his partner? Meant to act as an interceptor no doubt, should she have managed to flee. But what were their intentions? To rob her, or use her to satisfy a much more primal and male-driven desire? No, it was more likely that the wrong person had caught wind of her involvement with the Rorret and sought to eliminate her before she caused them too much trouble.

Regardless, there was something that struck her as quite odd about the pair of them. And it began with the very bearing of the man that stood before her. His attire suggested he was accustomed to some measure of wealth or influence, whereas her first attacker was bedecked in worn, thoroughly soiled rags. If anything, they seemed like contradictions to one another. The manner of their speech was differentiated by the subtle inflections and nuances of their tone and accent, and there was a refined arrogance about the first that was entirely absent, or at least overlooked by the second. Simply put, they did not seem like two people who would actively work together towards a similar goal. Her speculations were then only confirmed by the first man's inquiry as to the purpose of her weapon, though she didn't immediately respond, but merely knit her brows and turned to glance over her shoulder as the vagrant from before barreled his way towards them.

"Are you going to make yourself useful then, m'lord, or simply block my escape from this man that means to kill me?"

She hadn't meant to speak so sharply or disrespectfully, but the panic was beginning to set in again and now that she had more or less determined this new stranger was not a threat, he had become an obstacle instead. Somehow, she did not expect he would prove particularly helpful. At least not if she were judging by that cavalier twist to his lips. In fact, he seemed more the sort to simply stand with his arms crossed pompously and enjoy the show. Quickly she spun on her heel, still brandishing her meager dagger and she regarded her pursuer carefully. He seemed perplexed by the appearance of the other man, and unsheathed a far more menacing blade than the one Eleanor herself boasted; slicing it through the air threateningly.

"Eh? I have no qualms with you, boy."

[/b] He spat derisively, glancing between the both of them warily. "This ain't none of yer affair. So jus' do yerself a favor and keep walkin', yeah?"[/b]



( ooc: That would be adorable! I'm not entirely sure Eleanor would know how to take it, though. Haha. <3 )
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thanks brooklyn from caution, atf, shine & rc&r.

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[LACHLAN DUDLEY]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:5px; padding-top:5px; padding-right:5px; padding-bottom:5px; background-color: #575757; border-radius: 100px 0px 100px 0px;] LACHLAN DUDLEY "Im nothing more than a chalk outline" "Huh?" he spluttered, cocking a brow. Who the hell was she calling m'lord? Such a title only served as an insult to his pride! The panic flooding from her eyes was palpable and his gaze turned up towards the barreling shouter. Her brandished knife was not aimed for him but for the dunk instead. Obviously her unease towards him had faded as she turned her head to look at their impending company. Lachlan flicked a dried piece of crust from beneath his nail, figuring it to be a daughter running from her father. Then again, there was the knife. Perhaps they were not properly connected at all. Guarded, he waited for the man to approach. There was something familiar about the girl but he could not place a finger on it. In all honesty he had met numerous peoples that failed to stick in his memory-but she held a note of familiarity. Perhaps she worked within the castle as well. She held a slender yet athletic build-a maid, possibly? At her words, Lachlan grunted. "Just one damn minute girly..." but he was interrupted as the drunk had hastened and graced the pair with his sweaty presence. He reeked of meade! Lachlan's nose upturned, crinkled in distaste. Even he never allowed himself to rot with alcohol. However, his attention was immediately drawn to the glittering of steal. Quick, Lachlan grasped the hilt at his waist and unsheathed his own weapon. "Out of the way!" he spat at the young woman, unable to hide his peeking excitement. There was a trill laced within his voice. "MOVE!" He made to grab her shoulder and with a calloused hand shove her aside, in hopes she'd take hint and stand along the sidelines. A red cloud seemed to blur his vision and Lachlan grinned. There was nothing and no one he loved better than a fight. The symphony of clashing swords was a bloodied tune he'd never forget. It was etched permanently within his eardrums-a warring pulse. Addressing the man for the first time, Lachlan beamed. Like hell he was going anywhere. "Yeah," he breathed, suddenly sheathing his blade. In a mere second his aggression seemingly vaporized, replaced by an eerie calm that was plainly counterfeit-his fingers practically shook with thrill. "Yeah I get it," he nodded. Lachlan was going in for the fight, that much he was certain. But swords were heavy, it'd only weigh him down. This man was drunk and stupid and the satisfaction of choking him with his bare hands was nearly too much to resist. So he'd get a few cuts. They'd sting and heal. His tongue flicked the back of his bared teeth, drinking in the salty thirst for blood. This was going to be fun, as long as she didn't get in the way. He had a funny feeling she might, considering her feisty attitude. It was probably what got her in trouble int he first place. Lachlan held up his hands taking a step back. A few moments of silence trickled on pierced only by the crunching of cobblestone. His first step forward was slowed before he burst straight towards the man, hands at the ready. "You're a dead man!" Tags: Eleanor! | Words: -- | Credit: 156zcm of Caution Notes: helpin' a sista' out