Welcome to Gaia! ::

Blood. Violence. Death.

What a wonderful day.

The pale elven woman kept her distance from the heaviest of the crowds, content to watch from afar, rather than risk the throng of unwashed masses. She hummed to herself, examining her sharpened nails before looking back up at the commotion. Well, that last bout hadn't lasted long; though it had been amusing to watch while it did. The blindfolded fighter moved quick as a shadow, light and deadly as a viper. A beautiful thing to see.

Shame the entertainment seemed to be over for the time being.

Eliana was still a relatively-new arrival to this rag-tag band of misfits, and was learning the lay of the land, so to speak. Large groups weren't usually her thing; however, she was perceptive enough to pick up on the fact that something was brewing. A storm on the horizon. And this direction, as unlikely as it seemed, was where the scent of power lay. Power; now that was her thing.

The man who seemed to lead this band called a momentary pause to the festivities, in which Eliana's attention wandered to the rest of the crowds, picking out an interesting character here and there, but none enough for her to go out of her way to approach. She stifled a yawn, looking back towards the ring of thorns in time to see the festivities continue. A wicked grin crossed her face, and if she were a cat, she'd have been purring. Others seemed to have lost interest, but the elf's eyes were locked on the pair still in the ring.

Perhaps that was her mistake.

By some mixed blessing, she was standing to the side of the blindfolded figher when he lifted his hand to his face. She didn't catch clearly exactly what happened next, only that there was a blinding flash of light, then suddenly a crazed voice in her head, cackling and screeching in maddened amusement. Her calm composure cracked before she could think, her blood running cold, her gut seizing as if someone had punched her. With a hiss, she tore her eyes away, clenching her fists to try to hide the shaking. The hell? What in bloody blazes was THAT?!? Keep it together...calm....deep breaths...compose yourself, you damned fool...

She pushed down a wave of nausea forcibly, struggling to reign in her loss of control. About that time, the nausea hit anew, as a drunken lout mistook her expression for disgust at the general exhibition. "Hey, pret'y lady! Thissus no place f'r ya'. How 'bout we go some'ere quiet'r..."

Snarling, Eliana grabbed the sweat-slicked arm from around her shoulders, whirling and twisting the limb behind his back until the large man choked out a sound like a startled bird. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, pounding in her ears, she growled at the man with red tinging the edges of her vision. "Either you remove your arm, or I will, you fat b*****d. Next time, I won't give you the choice," she snapped, punctuating her point by snapping her foot upwards to boot the fool in the arse as she released his arm.

The drunken fool staggered away, eyes wide, and deciding, perhaps the first intelligent thought he'd had all day, that perhaps he'd find safer pursuits elsewhere. Eliana grimaced, rubbing her hands roughly over her leathers, feeling that she now needed to bathe for about three days straight.

((my ability to write fails tonight xD))

Fia was cursing the fact she couldn’t see as much as she’d of liked from her position when a girl jumped down from a branch of the tree she’d been leaning against, distracting her from the fight. She gave her a narrowed-eyed look, and for a moment considered killing her for the interruption. She could freeze just enough of the blood to form a clot large enough to either cause a stroke, heart attack, or could give it a bit of an edge which would be enough to slice open a vessel and cause a nice little hemorrhage – but decided doing so wasn’t worth her time, not when things are seeming to get interesting in the fenced area. “You have no idea,” she smirked mischievously, slightly irked that the newcomer had taken her seat.

Eh, she wasn’t worth much of her time to truly think about, not when a flash of red caught her attention and dragged her back to the fight ring. A fairly beautiful woman, even Fia had to admit, was leaning against the fence seemingly towards Cairne. Her gaze drifted lower down the bright outfit, lingering for a moment on her bust – mostly curious how the hell she didn’t fall out of that dress. Heh, a bit flashy for this crowd, they’d do anyone who opened their legs to them, that seemed to matter little to the woman. Clearly, she was used to the sort of attention she was attracting, and Fia had to admit she made her curious, mostly as to who she was, why she was here, and how did Cairne know her.

Fia caught a twinge of jealousy in herself at that last thought, and leaned forward to bring the front legs of her chair she was watching back on the ground long enough to nab another mug from someone else after discarding her now empty one that she didn’t quite remember drinking. Winking to her tablemate, she leaned back once more in time to see the blind man’s leap and attack on the Flimp, as she remembered he’d called him earlier. She sat there frozen, mug almost to her lips as she watched, her face was inscrutable.

She couldn’t really see the blind man’s face, not from this distance, as he started to tug down the band of cloth, but she must of caught something as the blinding flash of light was unmistakable. She cried out as she raised the hand that had been holding the mug (now tumbling through the air behind her shoulder) to protect her eyes, the sound of crazed laughter ricocheting through her skull. The entire effect was just a second or two in length, but it was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward out of the chair and onto her knees gagging. She wasn’t sure she’d seen what she thought she had, but if she’d had any doubts about the blind man’s abilities, they were gone.

Pulling herself up, her vision wavering, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, pleased to have at least not vomited upon the ground. It didn’t do to show weakness, among this crowd, of any sort. Standing, she brushed the debris of grass and leaves off her before sitting back down. Disappointed she had no more to drink, which may not be such a bad thing at the moment, she leaned once more against the tree to watch the end of the fight…

…which she’d missed. Damn. Still, there was enough going on to keep her curiosity peaked…

Just as Cairne avoided gazing into the action, so did Violetta, letting the blur of the cruel acrobacy of death and the cold, heart wrenching glimmer of maddening magic simply linger on the corner of her light eyes, fixed for the time being on her lovely host. It amused her, this reversal of roles of theirs. Him, the grain of sand in the machinery of the island's fate, playing entertainer. Surely there was some ulterior motive, Violetta knew the man well enough; he didn't spend his energy without aim, and this circus still had to reveal its purpose. Even if, at the moment, it all seemed too exhilarating for even the Shadow King to remain focused in whatever his objective was...

Violetta's reply was but a devious chuckle and smile, the large feathers rimming her fan trembling like flickering flames. For now, she was happy with just being a decorative figure in Cairne's mind, taking the cue from Altais' call to, for the first time, attentively observe the one who'd made such a splashing show (that she fortunately missed, the various gagging sounds and shrieks only confirming the thought), walking by Cairne as if he'd always belonged there. A blindfold, how curious... there was something in the man that made the courtesan wonder if he was going to break there and then. Physically... and mentally. Into what... well, might not be a good idea to be a witness to that. Violetta prized her life, after all, no gain in being dead, and the flash of a serpentine tattoo among the crowd only stoked her mental flame. She'd heard... rumors. Of a ruthless, meticulous assassin guild. Of a dangerous, deranged leader. All in all, someone the Lady could one day do business with to keep her beloved Red Circle safe, and her web of whispers never lied.

The Red Circle... Violetta's expression blanked somewhat, her smile becoming an enigmatic mask, like a porcelain doll's red, red lips, the rhythmic thump of her heels on the hardened ground muffling the rest of the sound as worry invaded her mind. War was coming, and when those above clashed, it was the ones below that suffered... and nothing was lower than the Red Circle. To some, it was just a quarter that should be wiped out of existance, filled with hopeless miscreants and sinful wenches. To others, it was the only place left, their home. One way or another, Violetta, Cinnamon and Layla would keep the danger away from their home.

It was in the middle of such a depressing thought process that a certain drunk bumped into the half-elven woman, one of the flowers that Cinnamon had so carefully tucked in her hair falling from its perch. Finding that such showy, almost half naked piece of female meat would surely welcome his advances, he lost no time wrapping his hands around the dark leather corset, whisper unexpected indecencies to her ears and, to Violetta's horror, lick her neck and hair. It was bad enough that she wasn't working the streets. It was even worse that she was admittedly caught off-guard. But what really broke the glass was the stinking drool. On. Her. Hair.

All the little hairs on her body stood on end for a second, her eyes wide with shock, frozen. The next reaction, however, was much less forgiving than Eliana's boot to the backside. Black velvet covered fingers slipped into the side of her corset, the metallic shine of something pulled out between her deft digits. Something that found its way into the drunk's chest with one fluid spin. The last thing he felt before the dagger twisted and tore his heart was a light kiss on his nose, the lipstick color that stained his last, pained expression matching the crimson filtering through his clothes for all to see, the free feminine hand nonchalantly pushing the man off. Insult to injury, Violetta lowered herself just to wipe the blood off the small dagger, sighing. "Sorry. I'm not working today."

The offer, again, for his soul brought almost a jovial laugh to the Shadow King's lips. He wished he could injuldge and agree, but his blood was too powerful... too pure for a demon's hands. It was a long and complicated story that boiled down to the sin's of the father will be the downfall of the son. Instead, Cairne patted the assassin's hand and shrugged, "Perhaps when I have grown old and weary of trying to take over the world would I join the ranks of your kin. Though truely, your mark clashes with my ink. " It was a false reason, but as it was a running joke now there wasn't any reason not to make up stupid reasons.

And that serpent mark did clash horridly with Carine's own ink that ran along his ribcage and sides. Completely different styles. Completely different intents. Serpents were just too cliche for the Shadow King.

There was also a matter of the dead boy's corpse now just festering in the bottom of the ring that needed sorely to be dealt with. Cairne's eyes fell upon the shocked expression of pain. A voice in the back of his head said he should feel something for the execution-- for the lie-- but not even a little blossom of regret sprouted from the hard thorns. It was necessary, another voice whispered that had long since grown cold to the plights of living. Everything was necessary. "The mark on on the boy... it is not yours, nor is it mine. Nor any from this island or below. It is new. And I've seen rumors that it is not human nor demon based. " He mused in near a whisper to the man, "They are not helpful, but a hinderence. Perhaps we could use this to our advantage, both you and I, when the time comes. But for now... Feel free to wander and dispose of the taint in my camp at your men's leisure. I want them out of my ranks."

His attention had been elsewhere, otherwise the fool of a man wouldn't have touched the city dweller and wouldn't be dead on the ground with a thud. The 'thud' was what caught his attention. He blinked momentarily at the odd sound, quite sure that nothing of the sort would have tried to sneak up upon him. It was only when he glanced towards the fair lady that he noticed that she was cleaning one of those delicious boneing knives of hers, and a flower was on the ground. Ah, what a fool, he mused to himself. A smile crawled onto his lips as he bent to pick up the lost blossom to present it back to one of the most influental and powerful woman of the Red Circle. His hand held the flower delicatly as though it was made of glass. One would almost think it was a breach of character, but this was Cairne. He could play courtly games, and needed to all the time. That world was steeped deep with decption and lies. Anyone that told you differenly was either playing that game themselves, or never been in that world.

Graciously, he offered his free hand to the lady crouched on the ground, holding the flower in the other. "Goodness, you must be careful here. Some of my men didn't pass ettiqute courses, though you do make a fine pass/fail instructor, Violetta." Ah, yes...Introductions.

"Violetta," he began after making sure that the flower had been replaced in her hair ( her outfit just didn't seem complete without that spark of life missing for some reason), " I'm sure you've heard of Atlais' work and seen a few of his men filter through your doors. I hope they gave not your girl's and boy's any trouble? " This was a subtle hint to both that they should play nice. Cairne would need them --preferably alive-- if everything was to go as planned.

He had more to say, but the roar of the crowd surrounding the 'track' reminded him that he needed to let the poor dogs of war out for the run before a riot broke out against the bookies. With a heavy sigh, he excused himself to begin the formally last event for the evening. After which he would vanish and become anonymous until next month's gathering. Such was the way of things. It made working so much easier.


Not so very gently he shoved his way through the crowd, even breaking a few arms and noses that didn't get out of his way fast enough, or just refused to move. With a graceful vault over the temporary fence of split rails, he walked to the cages of the track where the dogs were kept. His smile darkened and those cold eyes shone brightly as he looked over their condition.

The 'dogs' were captured soliders, hunters, and other supporters of other kings. Some were from rival pirate groups, others were drafted men, and others were veteran enlisters for the 'Good King' himself. They looked no better than the crowd that were cheering for their destruction around them now. It warmed Carine's heart that such lofty men could fall so easily. Their slightly dead looking eyes made it all better, that last glint of hope shining and keeping them going. Could he plan events, or what?

The disjointed cheers conjealed into a rhythmic chanting of 'Shadow King'. It was completely unprompted and Cairne wasn't sure who started it or how it had been heard over the roar. Obviously his men loved him despite his ability to let them just die when they failed him. Perhaps that was the exact quality they expected and wanted in a leader, perhaps that was what drove them to be some of the most feared men in the lands... perhaps that was why his small gang of twenty was now almost at two thousand strong, and growing. But that cheer... That cheer sent a welcome shiver up his spine, and he found himself grinning almost madly at the poor souls in the cages when he held up his hands to quiet the roudy crowd. They obliged until not a sound was heard but that damn goat in the distance, and maybe a few shuffling feet and crickets.

"Well, you souls survived the ring. I'm impressed some aren't dead from the wounds yet. " A few souls--older souls that have been around long since Cairne reigned--laughed knowingly. They knew this game. And they knew who taught the Shadow King his many tricks. They were 'helping'. Fear sprouted from some of the saner men in the stocks, but some just looked back blankly. "None the less, good on you, friends. But, I'll give you a choice..."

His grin had an edge to it now. None of these men would live, and if they did, they wouldn't be the same after this. "Who wants to denounce their lives and join a den of thieves? We got great perks. Impecable health plans, dental is great, and other benifits are quite...Benifitial for moral." All Cairne had to do at this point was gesture with his arms spread to either side, smile, and spin in a circle as the crowd roared in agreement. He could see some of the smarter ones in the pen's take note of this and begin calculating lifespans. "Families won't be touched, in fact, they'll be welcomed with open arms. Why, we even have some families that managed to send their children to the best universities down below from their life of 'crime'. Isn't that right, Brian? " A voice rose from near the back, gruff, and yelled that indeed this was true and he coudln't be prouder of his son joining the Scribe's guild in some far off city none ever had heard of. This brought the attention of the really smart men in the cages attention. "To join... you have to win. To win... Well, let's just say there should only be one person crossing the end of the finish line. " With that said, he hopped out of the track, snorted and grinned at the crowd, raised a hand...

Upon the raised hand, packs were thrown into the ring. Not just any packs, but the weapon packs the men had lost upon their arrival to the camp. It was a curious move, some weren't too sure what to make of it. Others, the ones that figured out where their loyalties lay, knowingly stared at them, then to the others in their same perdicament. "Oh...there is one catch. " Cairne said, almost as if he had completely forgotten some major detail, "Try to jump the fence and we will rip you limb from limb. Kill one of us and every one of your lives will be forfeight... Though,before we begin, anyone just wnat to forgo the trial and join up? " One of the more wiser men, and one that could fight well, decided to toss in the hat and change sides. What was most curious was that they had been a leiutenant in the King's Army. With but a tilt of his head, Cairne ordered that man released, but under watchful eyes. You could never tell with king's men. "Any one else? No? Well! Then, in that case, you who were granted freedom, you get to mow them down if they start lagging behind on the track. " The insanity in the new recruit was clear once the man grinned and graciously took up a sword. Ah, so that's why he joined, Cairne mused to himself. He'd fit in. "Ready? Go. "

Upon the 'Go', the stocks opened, and the poor men raced forward, tripping over themselves as they ran down the track. Some grabbed their packs of things on the way, others just forgot them and decided that they needed to get to the end first. Cairne, once again, slipped through the crowd just in time to hear a scream, followed by a roar of the crowd. It brought a smile to his face. Someone hadn't been fast enough. Oh well~

Altais followed obediently behind Cairne, a small smile on his lips. Each time the man rejected a Contract, the more fond of him the assassin felt. "Indeed, a Serpent would look absolutely terrible on you, in any case." The man bowed his head and once again fell to silence, simply striding along behind Cairne, alert for any disturbances among the men. A Demon's power was like nothing else -- they were able to bend reality to their will, were able to do tasks in a fraction of the time it took humans. And almost anyone would jump at the chance -- especially in this crowd -- to forge a Contract. "Yes, my men and I have noticed the intrusion as well. The mark of a slavering Boar is the one you're speaking of, no doubt." Altais frowned behind the mottled grey fabric, thinking for a moment. "It is no faction of the Boy King's, either, for I have spent many years at Castle Avandere before joining you, and neither he nor any of his allies bear or would even recognize that crest."

Altais thought to himself, trapping his full lower lip between pointed canines. "And your assumption is correct; it is no mark of my Brothers. Nor would they bother with something so trivial -- the Marks we place are entirely different." The man smiled and reached out a delicate-looking hand, placing his forefinger on Cairne's left breast, above his heart. His digit moved in a swirling, writhing script on the fabric of the man's shirt, tracing an extraordinarily complex, flowing pattern effortlessly with his long nail. The motion left a slight heat behind in its wake, like the caress of a lover's hand, but somehow darker, more sensual, more intimate without being arousing in any way. Ours are much more twisted, much more arcane, as you well know." He dropped his hand back to his side, the cold steel of the spring-loaded kunai beneath his belled sleeves pressing into the underside of his forearm.

He had noticed several people staring open-mouthed and wide-eyed at him, and he merely sneered in their direction. They immediately dropped their gazes and returned to their business. The man fought down a laugh. It was forbidden to touch Cairne unless the Other King invited the motion, though he and the man had grown comfortable with one-another long ago. Cairne knew that Altais would never harm him -- in fact, quite the opposite. The half-breed was there to ensure Cairne's safety, to an extent; a trumped-up bodyguard. On the other hand, Altais knew that he had the Shadow King's trust -- something more valuable than any precious metal or expensive aged wine. Cairne would never betray him or slip a dagger in his back for as long as they were partners. He had, of course, traced his very own Mark on the Other King's shirt, thus the reason for the residual magick that had by now fully dissipated. Yes, he and Cairne could trust one another amongst this den of human filth, and that was something to be thankful for and not be taken advantage of.

"However, if you wish to see your ranks Purged, then we are the only ones who could accomplish such a task in an efficient manner." With a signal of his hand -- one almost uncannily like the King's own finger-code -- he called two of his Captains from the crowd, who moved fluidly through the press to stand beside their lord. They bowed deeply to the Shadow King, and touched left forefingers behind their right ears in salute to Altais. He spoke quietly to them, his words lilting, almost musical in their syllables. The two bowed once more and were off again to inform the rest of the men about their new task. Altais once more returned his attention to Cairne. "Give me a full span of sunrise to moonrise, and your camp shall be clean, Lord." He gave Cairne a not-quite-sane smile as the Other King moved off, and fell into step beside him. "And while they handle that, if you don't mind, in the next week I'll be searching for a Contract. As always, I shall not Claim any of your higher-ranked men or courtesans." The assassin clapped the Shadow King on his shoulder as Cairne nodded, and the Demon once more fell into a silence quieter than the inside of a grave.

As introductions were made, the assassin bowed at the waist, though his mind was miles away. He briefly noticed the woman's figure and the tumble of her hair before the creature within him pulled him back into the recesses of his mind. If a man in this. . .society were to make a Contract with him, they would surely have more than enough power to completely overthrow Cairne, if that was their wish. But would Altais obey their commands?

He followed slowly in his companion's wake, the path opening ahead of them as Cairne shattered noses in his haste. The assassin tilted his head to the side, eyes unfocused behind his blindfold. Cairne's soul shone brightly among the filth of men and women, like a strike of lightning amidst a muddy field. No, he wouldn't want to take Cairne down. His mind's eye painted a deranged image: one of Altais' shadow enfolding Cairne's form, the Other King drowning, asphyxiating in the darkness. Shadow King, indeed. Abruptly, Altais shook his head, willing the image away. No, he wouldn't want to see Carine fall from his throne. The man was far too interesting to be killed in such a manner -- or any manner, really. Besides, Altais was able to feed off of the men he killed, so the monster within was satisfied, mostly. His leaned against the rails, his right shoulder touching Cairne's left, and he propped his foot up as he watched the men on the track.

A hand descended from behind the two, the glint of firelight on metal catching Altais' attention. With a crazed, echoing laugh, the half-breed pushed off of the rail with his foot, going into a graceful back-flip. Time seemed to slow for a moment in the assassin's eye, but it was merely that his body performed an accelerated flip in a quarter of the time it would've taken a human. At the arc of his acrobatic display, Altais' slender hand reached out and snatched the knife from Cairne's would-be-killer's hand. Time seemed to rush forward at the assassin, and his flip became altered by gravity and trajectory once more. To onlookers, it had seemed as if, until he grabbed the knife, he had been moving three times as fast and was unobstructed by laws of the earth. Laughing once more, Altais landed on his feet gracefully, three inches behind the man who had held the knife.

His arms shot out and wrapped themselves around the man's thick neck, and the assassin duck-walked him forward, pushing him hard against the fence with his lean body. Though the man was twice his size, he couldn't move, for Altais had tripled his mass, multiplying his strength tenfold. A demented smile bared his slightly-pointed teeth to Cairne as he turned to look at him. "Delivery, Sire, less one knife meant for your back. Orders?" Something strange coiled between his words, something cold and hard, like iron in the north, where it was so cold it burned the hand who held it. The man struggled to escape, his brown eyes wide, but as long as Altais' chest was against his back, he couldn't go anywhere. The assassin's face seemed to grow harder, his teeth whiter, more elongated, and a faint, opalescent glow seemed to leak between the tight stitches of his silk blindfold. However, none but Cairne could see the very slight changes in the assassin, so Altais allowed a bit of his power to leak out of him, wrapping itself around the very man he held.

The would-be-assassin gasped and began to furiously struggle, his pupils dilating to thrice their normal size, his skin erupting in gooseflesh, as if an arctic wind had just descended on he alone. Altais closed his eyes and tilted his head, whispering something only the man could hear. The inhuman words seemed to flow outward, as if on a breeze, and a heavy silence fell upon every soul within fifteen feet of the trio. Altais' tone was low, sensual, sultry, and though the words made no sense to anyone, the meaning behind them was like an incessant pull, something tempting, intimate, something that would give you anything you would ever desire in your lifetime without a second thought. Yes. Take it, one of you. Answer me. It isn't hard. A simple crack in your judgement, and I shall have you for eternity if I wish it. Altais' thoughts were a whirl within the deranged, cracked landscape of his mind as he sent out the Call. He didn't want this idiot, imbecilic man as his Mark, no. But someone out there shone bright in his mind's eye -- not as bright as Cairne, certainly, but like a firefly amidst the rain.

Though his words were not spoken in any tongue one could comprehend, their intent was clear, and already, he could feel several people's self-control begin to crumble. He became dizzy, his breathing became heavy, ragged in his captive's ear as he continued whispering in that lulling, hypnotic, lilting cadence. He was drawn into the chaotic whirlwind of his mind, the dementia and darkness taking hold of him with a violent, raging scream that only he could hear. Images flashed past him -- too many to count, filled with desperation, anguish, hope, death, agony, regret, bewilderment, fierce joy and burning jealousy. Yes, any one of these would do, but there was a certain one out there that he hungered for. His teeth ached as they began elongating, his shoulder blades, his very skin began to burn as if on fire as his true form tried to escape. Distantly, he heard a strong voice calling him, commanding him. No, no not yet. He was close. The Soul he wanted was drawing closer, ever closer as his influence spread outward among the masses crowded at the Race's rails. Yes. Come. Come. I'm here. I'm right here. Come to me, and whatever it is you want, I shall give. Whatever you command, I will carry out. You can become anything, do anything, bend the world to your will with my help, save your loved ones from death, cure the plague from your sisters, your brothers. I can return to you your hand you lost a decade past, I'll make you rich beyond comprehension. You'll become the greatest textile merchant this world has ever known. You can do anything, be anything, and all I desire is something so simple, something you won't even need after you've accomplished your dreams.

He snarled as he heard that voice again, calling his name, and clear blue eyes filled his vision, calmed the whirling, crazed madness within him. "Altais. Return to me. The Demon opened his eyes, and he saw Cairne's face, a landscape of monotonous grey, yet his eyes stood out in blue, a stark contrast against the backdrop of his features. Strange. All he had ever been able to see was red. Growling, Altais gave his head a sharp shake, punctured the skin of his lower lip with his teeth, and fully emerged from his mind, panting, his hair damp with spicy-smelling sweat. He regained his composure, cleared his throat, and nodded at the Other King. "Thank you, Brother." His lips turned up in a smile -- and, though bloody, it was sane. "Suppose it wouldn't do if I took all of your best men, eh?" He laughed wearily and nodded at the frothing, struggling man pinned against the rails. "Orders, Sire? I don't think he'll be much more use other than answering questions, though."

During the oh so relaxing procedure of cleaning the thin blade, Violetta mused over the violence of her reaction. Granted, quick reflexes were a survival skill those in for a potential world of hurt if things went wrong needed direly, but it didn't necessarily give her the freedom to shank any random drunk that decided to grope the courtesan, despite the (sickening) move on her hair. Such advances were part of her line of work, and her charm to either deflect or embrace the situation in a more profitable way needed to be on all the time, even when she wasn't working. Part of Violetta felt annoyed she'd reacted on impulse, in fact. Perhaps the whole environment of the camp was getting to her, with all the testosterone and bloodthirst in the air. What was going to happen next, she'd grow a beard? A row of light chuckles rose from the half elf, shaking her head at the thought while skillfully tucking away the now deceptively harmless blade, feeling someone approach. Better to refrain from anymore reflexive bloodletting. Cairne's voice confirmed the thought.

"Oh, I have no problem with crash courses..." Her voice had regained its usual sensual, velvety quality by the time the red head pulled her up, her former agressiveness tamed into mild annoyance. "I excell at teaching proper manners, if you know what I mean." she added with a devious smirk as her fire flower returned to its perch. Of course he knew what she meant, even if not directly. The gutter mind of a few of the curious passerbies drove their imagination right where it needed and their steps away in either ashamed or amused ways.

As the introduction proceeded, Violetta found herself looking up to the lean, slightly towering assassin. Was he that tall before? And the apparent calm and composure, compared to before... it felt like she was experiencing the eye of the storm, and that the its violence could come crashing down in a second. It was actually somewhat mesmerizing. "Of course." she replied, giving Altais a short bow before turning back to Cairne. The woman had the most distinct impression that the blindfold clad man wasn't really acknowledging her presence, focused somewhere else. How very annoying. It translated into a quirk of an auburn eyebrow, despite the smile on her face. "They're most... effective in what they do. Always welcome among my share of the city." She wouldn't be the one to hinder a guild of assassins (as long as their job didn't pertain herself), and the same was true with the rest of the Red Circle. Live and let live, and bash some pesky guards along the way.

The roar of the crowd pulled the pair away as quick as they had come, and again Violetta found herself alone, with only a few people scattered here and there, all minding their own business. At least the smell of so much concentrated humanity had wafted away with the brunt of the mass. Perhaps now would be a good time to join with most of the camp's population as well and secure herself a spot on the lap of some lust filled sod? A gloved hand went to the back of her neck, wiping the stinking grime away between the black velvet of the glove and the crimson satin of the dress. No, she didn't have the patience right now. What she needed was some ale, fresh air and some ego replenishing male attention. Her lavender eyes wandered around the leftover crowd. There were some attractive females, but she wasn't feeling it at the moment. A pair of young lads got her eye, fair looking, less filthy than the rest of the mob. Perfect. A wink and a couple of stirring whispers later, the three disappeared into the mass of tents, away from the gore filled display. There was only a slight hesitation before the trio entered a random vacant tent (no need to be picky when everyone was away, right?). From the distance, a remnant of a promise echoed, too faint to be understood, too loud to go unnoticed. It came and went though, like a breeze on a summer day, and was forgotten as soon as the scent of cinnamon disappeared into the tent.

By the time her name wandered into Cairne's mind, the Lady was done working her magic and sat placidly with her long, very exposed legs crossed on the table (with fabric covering the bare minimum to be classified as indecent and not outright pornographic) slowly sipping on her second mug of ale and with five more on the table to go, back by the empty ring. Behind her, one of the boys massaged her pale shoulders while the other had improvised himself a large fan out of leafy branches and rope, providing quite the enjoyable breeze. On the faces of both, a silly smile was plastered, almost like set in stone. To them, it was like heaven. To Violetta, it was quite handy. Free ale even away from home, how nice!

Fia still sitting in Cairne’s chair - with her feet up on the table, back of the chair leaning against the tree -- admittedly bored but honestly glad she wasn’t near the crowd just now . Nor her brother. She’d of hated to see him get caught up in such a bloody spectacle as the end of the races was proving to be just from the sounds that drifted back to her. Caught up in the rage, she was sure more than just those ‘contestants’ would find their viscera spread across the ground – after all it could get to a point that one just didn’t care, in those crowds, just who you hacked at. Most of them would deserve it anyways, so it was no real love lost in the end.

She turned her attention back to the lady in red, a bit of smile on her face as she did so, as she made her own way after being left behind by the blind man and Cairne to a pair of young men who were dazzled by her. She disappeared with them for awhile, only to end up reappearing with them doting after her as she drank probably what was the real good stuff. She shrugged her shoulders a bit, thinking how good it would be to get a massage, and let that thinking drift off as she half-closed her eyes in a daydream.

She was semi-dozing off when a voice woke her from her thoughts, and she turned her gaze on a Halfling that’d appeared nearly out of nowhere. Curious, she wondered just where he’d come from, but her thought lasted about that far. She really didn’t care in the end. “Food? Depends on how far you want to travel. However, “ she pointed at one of the cooking tents near the makeshift bar, “there’s some in there if you’re so inclined. As for a hair tie…” She cocked her head to study his hair for a moment in thought before unwrapping a piece of leather thong from her wrist, an extra she kept for herself. “This might work.”