excavate and explore. [open; Noel]

[Klaus Cither]

[atrb=style,width: 120px; height: 300px; background-color: #8f8498; border-radius: 60 0 0 0; vertical-align: top; border-right: 10px solid #363636;][STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v723/Inra/gig/gig3_zps29171f96.png); margin: 10 5 5 10; border-radius: 50; box-shadow: 2px 2px 0px #363636;][/style][STYLE=font-family: georgia; font-size: 22px; text-transform: lowercase; font-style: italic; color: #fff; padding: 10px; vertical-align: bottom; line-height: 18px; letter-spacing: -3px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #363636; text-align: left;]_ a white out of emotion and i only got my brittle bones to break this f a l l. _[/style]

[atrb=cellpadding, 0, true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,width: 300px; height: 150px; background-color: #eeeeee; border-radius: 0 0 60 0;][classy=scroll][STYLE=height: 200px; width: 270px; margin: 10; padding: 5px; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; background-color: #eeeeee; valign: top; color: #292929;]Klaus operated better as an escort than a spectator to one of Deflou Spero's celebrations, hiding in his familiar back roads. The air felt alive—cackling, sparking with fire and the smell of open-air bakeries and roaming drunks, and he thought of all those evenings where festival season rolled in and the regular folk had their fun. Or: usually a bit of a letdown. '. . . I expected better memories than that. Hm . . . what I can manage to recall, at least,' flashes of it. Mostly drinking, which he chose—with better sense after the first time—to avoid doing in the barracks again. Klaus had a name as two things: a guardian and a lightweight. He knew a handful of kitchen staff that found him tolerably silent, like a reliable dog or a good book, and they always ended up amazed by little he could down before embarrassing himself. (The incredibly stoic, as you will find, must always be incredibly stoic. Or it gets odd.) Each year they gave him a few drinks, and Klaus never learned how to say no. 'Fair enough to keep it from the royals . . . or if they don't, no one's told me . . . ' Not a good train of thought, and Klaus draped against the wall until he dropped to the ground with a tch—threw his head back to breathe the fresh air, carefully and drawn out. City air and castle air never tasted the same. One slow, stifled but familiar, and the other swirling; as if the gods bottled it and set it free. . . . and Klaus told himself he must be drunk, because there is never any better reason for waxing poetic in a back alley. 'Drunk it is, then.' He sat cross-legged, giving the sky a blank-but-skeptical look and thinking the stars left behind a funny twitch of pastel light whenever he blinked, until a girl who crept up the alley stopped to give a glance-over. Not young, but younger than him with paper-thin brown hair and large eyes. "Strange," she was blunt, "No weapon? A foreigner? Lost?" "Not usually, but I don't come from Skara," Klaus answered slowly, sifting under his coat until he managed to get his card deck and held a spread to her, "Pick one, miss. In exchange for the answer." It might not have been true, but truth is in the eye of the beholder, and she took one at random—the ace of Clubs, and he handed it to her to keep. "Now, to return it—" only rather than black clubs, he was looking at red hearts. Interesting. For the moment they just stared, expecting it to become something different, and then the girl figured she might as well laugh. "You're awful!" "Hn," Klaus agreed wordlessly and began again, "It is true my technique needs mastering." Thinking of those clubs, he did make a secret grab for one in particular. Pressing it between his palm and his forefinger, he snapped the card back with the edge of his thumb, "The ace seems to be present and accounted for, I think." "Where did you pull that from," she dropped to her knees and smirked. He shrugged and said, half-smiling, "I needed to get my card's honor back . . ." "Pft! How—" jumping upright, she held a hand out to him, "But don't just sit in the dark. See the town!" "I assure you," smoothly, trying his best not to leave any impressions, "Mine is a beautiful enough view." "You know, men always say the same things." "I gave a proper answer," he noted, a bit less enthusiastic. (In his defense, he meant it both ways. One is polite, the other is customary—no need to call his good intentions garden variety.) Feeling generous, she dragged him down alley after alley, into the city's heart to get him a worthy mask. Eventually, they found a set of stairs where she had a habit of jumping the last. Landing with a flourish, she flicked her arm out like your finest showman, “Welcome to the most secret world of Skara, the—!” Unfortunately, someone breaking through the door of a bar to the left sent her scampering behind him, clinging to his elbow and showing a good knowledge of all the proper cuss words. (Klaus, not easily surprised after years in the castle, mostly just stood there as if it was a very normal sight for people to fly out of bars.) “Hmm,” he said to nothing and no one. Face down, ears ringing, vision swimming with that dazed look that best suits a man who just hit the ground. Seemed fine, Klaus noted, and leaned forward enough to get a glance at who put him out there in the street.[/style][/classy][STYLE=width: 270px; height: 50px; margin: 5 5 -10 10; padding: 5px; border: 1px dashed #8f8498; border-radius: 0 0 50 0; font-size: 8.5px; font-type: georgia; color: #000;]TAG! noel. potentially people who like to watch trainwrecks. WORDS! 780. NOTES! "hmm." genius dialogue.[/style]

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[noel balthazaar]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:460px;,bTable] [/style][classy=box1] I FOUGHT WITHOUT A CAUSE[/classy][style=width:200px; height:200px; color: DCC2BB; background-color:718181;] [classy=box2]YOU GAVE ME A REASON WHY[/classy]

[classy=text] "Say one loose word to me again, an' I'll slit your throat, damned cur." With swift hands, Noel pulled loose the black ribbon around the collar of his tuxedo, throwing it on the man's body, and stomped it down on him. Angrily, he knelt down, resting an arm on his knee, and spat on the unfortunate man's cheek. From behind him clamored not only cheering bar-goers, but a pair of loud, stomping feet. Well aware of what was waiting behind him, Noel turned to face her sternly--a familar scene for him. "Now I don't know how long you're expectin' me to be puttin' up with this behavior from you. You're a grown man now—" The barmaid wrenched her head to side, screaming at the loud, still ever excited drunks inside, "You're all grown men, so shut yer' damned holes! Anyway, you be gettin' on outta here, Noel. Don't go causin' needless trouble for me again, young man. I'll be seein' you next month." She grumbled on about how 'the boy has a sweet face you can't be turnin' away', shutting the door before Noel could form an apology. Though, he knew she was just expecting it from him when he was at her door again, and she'd follow up with her usual routine—lecturing him like he was her own child. Once the barmaid was out of sight, Noel glared to his flank, expecting another hot-headed bastard to come running at him. However, what he saw was only slightly less irritating. The purple-clad guardian who belonged to the gothic-looking and honestly unsettlingly weird prince Caeius. Maybe Noel'd call him a friend, but that one always had something too smart coming out of his mouth on the occasion he offered out any words at all. "Oh, it's just you. You're venturin' out on festival night?" Arms crossed, he eyed the huddled up figure behind Klaus and addressed her with a more sophisticated tone, "With a woman? What a miracle. Forgive me, that wasn't a sight for a lady's eyes." His eyes intense, but still sincere underneath his mask—a fine black with silver decal and protruding golden beak—Noel motioned towards the bar, "Not a good idea to go in there, Miss. Take her for a dance up the street instead, leadin' a woman by a bar." Noel shook his head, his cheeks tinted a slight pink and his demeanor unusually carefree for just coming out of a fight. ooc:// In my mind, Noel has fiery latino blood and can dance latino dances. . . and stuff. I wrote this post extra fast, so if he sounds TOO AMERICAN, forgive me! I'll write him more carefully next time~ [/classy]

LAIKA OF GS!

[newclass=box1]width:200px; height:200px; background-color: DCC2BB; color:718181; margin-top:-200px; font-family:arial; text-transform:uppercase; font-size:45px; font-weight:800; text-align: left; letter-spacing:-4px; line-height:40px; opacity: 0.0; -webkit-transition:all 0.7s ease; -moz-transition:all 0.7s ease; -o-transition:all 2.7s ease;][/newclass][newclass=box1:hover]width:200px; height:200px; background-color: #b3b3b3; color: #50586d; margin-top:-200px; font-family:arial; text-transform:uppercase; font-size:45px; font-weight:800; text-align: left; letter-spacing:-4px; line-height:40px; opacity: 0.9; -webkit-transition:all 0.7s ease; -moz-transition:all 0.7s ease; -o-transition:all 2.7s ease;][/newclass][newclass=box2]width:200px; height:200px; color: #949494; background-color: #50586d; margin-top:-200px; font-family:arial; text-transform:uppercase; font-size:40px; font-weight:800; text-align: left; letter-spacing:-4px; line-height:40px; opacity: 1.0; -webkit-transition:all 0.7s ease; -moz-transition:all 0.7s ease; -o-transition:all 2.7s ease;][/newclass][newclass=box2:hover]width:200px; height:200px; background-color: #949494; color: #50586d; margin-top:-200px; font-family:arial; text-transform:uppercase; font-size:40px; font-weight:800; text-align: left; letter-spacing:-4px; opacity: 1.0; -webkit-transition:all 0.7s ease; -moz-transition:all 0.7s ease; -o-transition:all 2.7s ease;][/newclass][newclass=text ::-webkit-scrollbar]height: 400px; width: 5px; background: #e6e8e9;[/newclass][newclass=text ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #50586d;[/newclass][newclass=text ::-webkit-scrollbar-corner]background: #50586d;[/newclass]

[Klaus Cither]

[atrb=style,width: 120px; height: 300px; background-color: #8f8498; border-radius: 60 0 0 0; vertical-align: top; border-right: 10px solid #363636;][STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v723/Inra/gig/gig3_zps29171f96.png); margin: 10 5 5 10; border-radius: 50; box-shadow: 2px 2px 0px #363636;][/style][STYLE=font-family: georgia; font-size: 22px; text-transform: lowercase; font-style: italic; color: #fff; padding: 10px; vertical-align: bottom; line-height: 18px; letter-spacing: -3px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #363636; text-align: left;]_ a white out of emotion and i only got my brittle bones to break this f a l l. _[/style]

[atrb=cellpadding, 0, true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,width: 300px; height: 150px; background-color: #eeeeee; border-radius: 0 0 60 0;][classy=scroll][STYLE=height: 200px; width: 270px; margin: 10; padding: 5px; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; background-color: #eeeeee; valign: top; color: #292929;] '. . . you're cheerful.'

[/b] Unusually, Klaus added as an afterthought, and the girl shuffled further against him—cheeks puffed up, brows furrowed, and with no designs to answer someone who just sent a groaning idiot sailing gloriously through the air. Screams echoing and blending together with laughter from inside, Noel earned his victory. He had a point, and Klaus could admit that. "Ah . . . right," he conceded, waving her off quietly when her curious face poked past his left side and ruffling the gray bangs out of his eyes. Turning to whisk away her hand, he broke into a bow—not as polished as he would in the palace, and a prank to anyone passing by; the bungling knight in poor clothes and stealing the hearts of slum girls?—and let her keep the gold coins and the whispered, "Have a night away from work in return for helping out a bad magician on the road." She looked from one to the other, disbelieving but not sure what else to do, before trotting away down the bend and leaving him to duck into the deep browns and cool darkness of the bar.

"Captain," he deadpanned, taking in the view, "What would your old lady think if she saw you in places like these." Of course, Klaus wasn't being serious. At least not completely serious, and he stepped over an upturned stoll with some morbid curiosity—plucked a goblet, freshly used and still hinting of the smell of beer, with one of those looks you give something that wronged you horribly in the past before getting the table back upright.

See. Excellent handiwork, and then one of the burlier men slammed his boot against the wobbling edge and spat, "Do you have any idea who your friend just punched out? Eh, brat!"

Klaus quirked an eyebrow, tucked his left arm in the crook of his coat and leaned to get a better look at the cluster forming while the man shook himself alive again outside. Not particularly impressed, he muttered back, ". . . No. In fact, he seems rather forgettable."

"Hah," he growled, white rows of teeth glinting under the dim flash of lantern lights when he veered forward to loom over him, "This is the second of one of Skara's own crime lords. If you'd like to piss yourself with your tail between your legs now, kids, we won't judge—" The other, still shaky on his feet and dizzy—his men kept him from tumbling into a heap on the floor, giving him cheers and hurrah's out of duty—had found his way back into the bar and barked something Klaus couldn't be bothered to pretend to care about. 'A crime boss, eh. . .'[/b] Another victory for Noel in that he probably deserved the punch then, and half of this enthusiasm came from everyone wanting to watch it happen. The whole of the slums thrived as a festering pile of thieves, crooked lords, and dead bodies upturned in veiny back alleys under a guard not interested enough to chase after them; who didn't appreciate a bit of comeuppance in the city's underbelly.

"—don't get excited, I think we're all right," Klaus whistled lowly, finishing with a very dry and very precise, "But does lying in the dirt match his position, sirs. High society has some unique interests."

"You—little bastards!" And the punch swept forward, a grazing blow that he pulled away from until he could trace the swelling ring of onlookers. Somewhere in the back of his skull, the idea he actually got all that colored Klaus surprised.

He muttered to Noel, eyes sliding to him and a twitch of boredom in his voice, "Haven't I said before that you start too much trouble." [/style][/classy][STYLE=width: 270px; height: 60px; margin: 5 5 -10 10; padding: 5px; border: 1px dashed #8f8498; border-radius: 0 0 50 0; font-size: 8.5px; font-type: georgia; color: #000;]TAG! noel. potentially people who like to watch trainwrecks.
WORDS! 623.
NOTES! these are british-scottish-latino-irish-american sherlock barfights. /let's get dangerous[/style]
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[noel balthazaar]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:460px;,bTable] [/style][classy=box1] I FOUGHT WITHOUT A CAUSE[/classy][style=width:200px; height:200px; color: DCC2BB; background-color:718181;] [classy=box2]YOU GAVE ME A REASON WHY[/classy]

[classy=text] Looking on at the couple, Noel held back a snicker as the shaken girl suddenly hauled ass and made a run for it. Just as he considered poking fun at her blatant rejection of Klaus, watching as the guardian made his way into the bar, Noel raised an eyebrow at him, “Don’t start with that ‘Captain’, and I’m sure whatever dirt patch my old woman is lyin’ under, she’s rollin’.” He sighed, leaning on the door. The metal mass hidden behind the fabric of his suit burned slightly as he became suddenly aware of it. He crossed his arms, still forcing the bar door open as it pushed against him. Regularly after a scolding, Noel would’ve up and left—but that damn Guardian went in, and now what was he supposed to do? Leave? He felt obligated to stick around after watching the poor guy get utterly rejected, and Noel knew it was partly his fault. Noel scrunched up his nose, glancing around to make sure the bartender wasn’t watching him in the doorway—but he knew she probably was. Really, and he was having a pretty nice night, too. In the midst of his lamenting, Noel noticed that some dirtier looking men had started taunting Klaus or whatever they seemed to think they were doing. Klaus didn’t exactly look intimidated to him, and he was drunk and his judgment was piss poor—but even he could still clearly see this. ‘Thugs must’ve just become more dense.’ Reluctantly, Noel ducked into the bar, about to make his way over to Klaus—until the same bastard he’d just knocked the lights out of earlier was on his lousy feet and dragging himself back into the bar. Noel groaned under his breath as a crowd began forming around Klaus, “Oh, you have got to be shittin’ me. . . ” Noel split the crowd, rushing forward to grab the man throwing punches by the collar with a laugh, ”I’m the one starting too much trouble? Well, it must be my environment.” For a moment, his eyes caught view of the barmaid—her face in an angry shock—and he felt a flicker of guilt. However, that was quickly drowned out by the adrenaline that spread down his body as his forehead made shattering contact with the talkative goon’s. ooc:// I-If you say one word about how long it took me to post this lame wittle thing—IAMPAINFULLYAWARE—I will force you to look at THIS adorable picture until you feeeel bad. [/classy]

LAIKA OF GS!

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[Klaus Cither]

[atrb=style,width: 120px; height: 300px; background-color: #8f8498; border-radius: 60 0 0 0; vertical-align: top; border-right: 10px solid #363636;][STYLE=width: 100px; height: 100px; background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v723/Inra/gig/gig3_zps29171f96.png); margin: 10 5 5 10; border-radius: 50; box-shadow: 2px 2px 0px #363636;][/style][STYLE=font-family: georgia; font-size: 22px; text-transform: lowercase; font-style: italic; color: #fff; padding: 10px; vertical-align: bottom; line-height: 18px; letter-spacing: -3px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 0px #363636; text-align: left;]_ a white out of emotion and i only got my brittle bones to break this f a l l. _[/style]

[atrb=cellpadding, 0, true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,width: 300px; height: 150px; background-color: #eeeeee; border-radius: 0 0 60 0;][classy=scroll][STYLE=height: 200px; width: 270px; margin: 10; padding: 5px; font-family: tahoma; font-size: 10px; text-align: justify; overflow: auto; background-color: #eeeeee; valign: top; color: #292929;]He made little effort to move, stepping out of the way—sleepily, if you looked closely—when Noel bolted back to crush the poor idiot's jaw into bits, ". . . excellent diplomacy, I'm impressed. . ." Clapping into the palm of his hand, the sort that means to express awe but fails horribly about half-way through, Klaus had the time to catch himself before the crowd tossed him forward again. "Ah," he fumbled, blocking with the thickness of his arm when another fist came from somewhere just beyond their heads, and stopped to ruffle Noel's hair. Klaus thought of it as a reward, and wondered offhandedly how he could still be wry on his feet when dead-drunk, "But I rather like Captain . . . it has a good ring to it . . . you don't?" Deciding then that it might be worthwhile to put some distance between himself and Noel's punches, since it never boded well to experience one firsthand, he took it graciously upon himself to dodge left when Noel headed right. Catching enough to know that Noel enjoyed his double-life in the dank slums below the dots of light from the noble homes that climbed up towards the sky, he hummed an easy, "Good to know that it doesn't bother you . . ." Quick as lightning, hearing the whistle of air in his ear, he kept light on his feet when another man—very welcoming, naturally—tried to swing him by his arm. Ducking low, Klaus gutted him with the crook of his elbow, and watched with dead fish eyes when he buckled backwards. He called brute strength a novelty compared to his cold precision. 'Doesn't capture my interest, unfortunately for you,' pushing the bangs from his eyes, a couple rowdier onlookers complained that it wasn't worth betting on someone who dances around the whole fight. He supposed he understood the ways that killed all the entertainment. "Sorry, sorry," lazy enough to think he'd done a fair job already, Klaus rubbed at his neck and tucked the arm back in his coat again. He could handle enough damage to make for a good opponent, but only because he thought of pain as a passing thing—and he ached to seek it out, that familiar rush of adrenaline and the world spinning beneath you. 'Not in much of a position to fight me the way I prefer . . .'

[/b] Of the opinion it is in poor taste to kick a man when he's down, he let the man gagging into the floor have a few moments to get the breath back in his lungs. 'No harm in it . . . should act like a gentleman . . .'[/b]

When he made an effort, it melted down to bone and turned in to white dust between the floorboards. The average citizen, while Klaus couldn't say he cared for any of their stories or why, didn't quite deserve that. Sending the burly bastard crashing backwards, he shot back an almost cherry, "Doing well, Captain?"

Better than him, obviously, but Klaus got two while Noel still had one down. That's a victory. [/style][/classy][STYLE=width: 270px; height: 50px; margin: 5 5 -10 10; padding: 5px; border: 1px dashed #8f8498; border-radius: 0 0 50 0; font-size: 8.5px; font-type: georgia; color: #000;]TAG! noel.
WORDS! 521.
NOTES! i am sorry, i'm not at my best tonight. |||OTL /hopes this is understandable? [/style]
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