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Beatrix's demeanor could change in the blink of an eye, which wasn't entirely a disadvantage in some cases. As people neared her companion any trace of the feelings associated with the fallout that she'd been displaying moments ago had disappeared. If there was one thing she was it was a good actress. Still, she was still at a disadvantage. Beatrix had never met Lady Sage Estratus and it was only through information that she could try her best to play her part.

Now she very much wished to leave.

Instead, she continued with her purchase of the bell before turning her attention to the man that was now talking to her, her expression now passive and void of emotion - that was a part she could play easily.

"I am, thank you." She responded, ever blank like a puppet being pulled by strings. She decided that any discrepancies in normal behavior could be excused by these trying times, though she would do her best to act in character as possible. For the next question she merely gave a nod of acknowledgment, turning her attention to the aforementioned Plague.

And for whatever Beatrix may have thought of the plague, how ugly and twisted and cruel it was, none of that showed on her face, which no doubt Sloane would be thankful for. And though she did not who this man, he evidently knew her - or rather, Lady Sage. "She looks magnificent." Beatrix responded, ever vague so as to ensure few slip-ups.

How did Lady Sage know this man? And the Plague? Did she knew anything about this Plague? Right now those lines of questioning were both important and irrelevant - she would have to get through without them.

Damn, damn, damn!

There he went, just where Sloane didn't want him.

Sloane had nodded back at the greeting, returning his name, "Lord Yizhaq," but had no idea what to say in order to stop him from approaching Beatrix under the assumption that she was her Ladyship. Of course, this was the plan but when one who had met face to face with the Lady sometime before and infrequently over the years, it was all around a very bad idea to have them interact when Beatrix was not Sage.

Jin-ho's response was barely heard by the Sword and he didn't react to the pat on his shoulder. He saw it now, the Lord had a small Plague riding on his shoulder in place of the falcon! So it had grown after all. Squinting to examine the one known as Hayat better, Sloane took note of the opalescent white skin; she was a Servos, absolutely indispensable.

Grinding his teeth behind tightly closed lips, he watched Beatrix's reactions closely. If she had been showing emotion prior to addressing Lord Yizhaq, it was gone. Not even when he asked her to look at his small Servos did her act falter, and Sloane's heart hammered with relief. Even so, she could not keep up the charade long with someone who was familiar with the Lady; he needed to think of something that could draw him away from her that wouldn't seem suspicious.

Blaithe did it for him.

Glancing at her during her outburst, and then at Jin-ho as he silenced her, all sorts of plans were rushing through his mind. However, when the word 'candy' hit the air, Sloane's body went rigid, only relaxing as inspiration struck. Normally he might have given Jin-ho a nasty look for such behavior just on principal, but in this instance he was thankful for the act. At least up until he said she could see the Candy later.

If Sloane was unable to convince Beatrix that her imprisoned Servos was not a disease waiting eagerly to spread and destroy, then Blaithe would see it never. That would need to be explained later.

"Lord Yizhaq! Might I see how your lovely falcon has changed?" he called over with excitement. This would work, surely. So proud Lord Yizhaq was to show the feathered Servos off to his Lady, surely he would be interested in getting an opinion from a fellow Plague!

"Ah-- yes, the apples! It's been so long since then, hasn't it?" Georgie rubbed the tip of his nose with his cold fingers, smiling. "Well, we're both here now, which is a surprise, Mister Chauhn, I didn't expect to see you around in these Northern parts, your Lord is quite kind!"

The two brothers heeded the words of the noble in expectant silence; what was a boy to do but to listen eagerly to a man of such a status? The only time they had seen a lord past the usual meeting was during their time at the workhouse, and Sir Malt conditioned in even the most specific of urchin etiquette, lest a child under his name asked for punishment, and opportunely, banishment from their home. Georgie bowed his head at the young lord once again, and Adal followed suit, though his yellow eyes strayed away from Yizhaq's hazel pupils.

"And the same to you, Lord Yizhaq, thank you for your blessings," Georgie glanced at Hayat, blinking in fascination, as he leaned slightly forward to look at her, his eyes squinting to readjust to the translucence of her airy skin. "An' your Plague's a Servos, sir? What luck!"

"Indeed, you've quite shrunken in size, but your scent's stronger yet. I suppose your luck has run short in catching prey, young eyas?" Adal replied with a smirk, a small smile about him. Lord Yizhaq had admirable luck, certainly, though the Locos believed his fortune lay not in Hayat's alignment, but in her sharp wit. She had more intelligence about her than Clurie, certainly, though the Clemmings Plague was a... peculiar case amongst the Excito.

As Lord Yizhaq and Chauhn ended their brief tidings to each other, the brothers watched in silence, until they bowed as the Lord turned and made his way to more important matters. Adal turned his head to the side to hear the soft jingling of bells chiming its way through the hollowing roads of the carnival. Georgie let out a deep sigh, his back hunched once again; his composure was highly strung around the upper class, surely, and he felt the tightening grip around his stomach loosen once Lord Yizhaq had left, though why exactly Chauhn was shouting his brother's name just now he didn't know--

"--Clurie--!"

--Adal stepped forward as if to catch Clurie before he fell onto the cold splatters of snow on the ground before him, and little did he expect to feel a soft nudge of added weight on his shoulder moments later. Georgie, mouth gaped, watched as a shiver of ashes dissipated and reformed back into Clurie, a Phasmas, his eyes round with hysteria. Adal jerked his vision to the side to stare at Clurie, eyes equally as round, though his moment of bewilderment was exceedingly shoved aside by an intense annoyance.

And, reluctantly, quite a bit of fascination. When Georgie sighed in relief and patted Adal on the shoulder in meager congratulations and thanks, the blond merely returned the compliment with a mean glare.

"Clurie," Adal started, his voice low, "Be quiet."

Then, he glowered. "Now."

Brows furrowed, Georgie scratched the side of his head and walked over to Chauhn, shrugging lightly. "It's okay, Chauhn, Clurie's fine. Though, to be honest, I've never seen a single Plague in my life that's ever done that before..."

Georgie clasped his hands together and watched Chauhn as he reprimanded his inner senses, shivering away and sighing in what looked to be relief, but... there was something off about him. The way Chauhn had inherently screamed as loudly as his scratchy voice could, and the way his eyes were so wide open that they could have fallen off of his face, that was the look of worry. Worry was what Georgie was, after all, a complete worrywart in every sense of the word, and the way Chauhn tried to laugh and comment away at the situation made him think twice.

The brunette wrung his fingers around each other and shrugged awkwardly, then scratched behind his ears and sighed deeply, staring up at the dimming sky in thought. "Well, we've seen more'n our fair share of cases with the Phasmas having magic hiccups all the time, Mister Chauhn. I suppose it just means that Clurie here just has a lot of magic in him, like you said." He smiled, pulling his hat off of his head in apology. "Which we don't have any remedies for, my apologies. He'll learn to control himself with time."

Then, oh, pity him, his brother was at it again... Georgie's stare snapped to Adal, who had unfortunately taken a deep breath to answer Clurie's inquiry nonetheless, after silently listening to Chauhn's sharp reply at him for quieting the Phasmas.

"Yes, Clurie, I was like you once, not too long ago; small, subservient, curious. And no, I don't remember something else. I don't remember anything before I was a Servos, actually. And who I am? Of course I know who I am, I'm like you, a Plague, nothing more. Do you even know who you are?"

His voice, now, was unsteady and quite loud, each word stapled into place in a steadfast pace. "Why, exactly, your brother has filled your--"

"That's enough, Adal!" Georgie bleated, his broken voice forced into a full shout, his cheeks redder than they were before. His round brows were pulled together in an angry manner, his teeth ground together when he wasn't speaking. "Clurie didn't do anything to you!"

Adal glared at Georgie, eyes still narrowed, mouth still pulled into a quaint frown.

Yes, Clurie didn't do anything to him, in fact...

...But Chauhn was about to do something to him.

Regardless of the fact that Georgie was backing him up in his threatening stance before the hat Plague, Chauhn could see nor care about no one else besides himself and the snarky boy before him. He would've flung himself at Adal, teeth bared and eyes rolling wild until he had made that boy regret ever pointing a sour word at his precious brother. What nerve that boy had! What callous disregard! Didn't he have anything else to do but be cruel and ill-mannered, pointed and sharp with every curt reply he dished out to every other well-meaning individual? Those thoughts toppled over each other, growing more and more frustrated that they didn't have any answer, any explanation to why Adal would've turned a sour stare at the youngest Clemmings. Chauhn forced his knuckles to loosen.

He had just managed to snatch the reigns of his control back into his grip when Georgie cut off a sudden pointed and loud statement from Adal, something that took a few moments for Chauhn to digest. He wasn't the quickest of thinkers, but he was most definitely one of the more passionate ones, and it didn't take a simpleton long to figure out just what Adal was bluntly trying to say. When he completed the broken off sentence in his mind, a solid blow to the foundation of everything Chauhn precariously stood on, he wasn't able to control himself.

If only Chauhn could have trust Georgie's stern and sharp reprimanding of his brother, perhaps he wouldn't have laid the full force of all five knuckles into the zygomatic bone in Adal's cheek.

His next motion snatched Clurie off the other Plague's shoulder and the small Phasmas, mouth twisted into a lopsided nest for whimpers, tried to wiggle out of Chauhn's hand before he had much chance to crush his little lungs. Clurie was deposited in the safe cradle of Chauhn's collarbone and he scrambled away from the tightly clenched fingers to the folds of fabric. There, he clutched and curled, his gaze snapped out again to watch as Chauhn awkwardly stepped back from Adal, moving towards Georgie with the shake of his aching right fist.

With words that could have been fists themselves, Chauhn grit his teeth at Adal, "He's m'brother 'n' ah tell 'im nothin' but wha' 'e needs to know about 'imself! 'E's different. 'E deserves the truth 'n' nothin' more than tha'! Ah don't tell him any lies or stories! Just memories tha' 'e's forgotten! 'N' 'e'll remember one day, you'll see, he'll remember that 'e is a brother to me." And with the end of his tense tirade, he snapped his shoulders tight around his head and the rest of his body tight to himself, his eyes glaring like hot fire pokers in Adal's direction. He was standing next to Georgie, unable to see the rest of the world but the one who had accosted him, and it was then that he felt a hot press of little hands against his neck.

Chauhn jumped with a yelp and he plucked Clurie out of his collar, holding him out and away from him like a hot coal. Little Clurie was breathing hard, each breath tainted with sound, and his cheeks and hand were glowing with a dimming red.

"Chauhn," Clurie said, his voice steady with purpose, "...Stop it. This isn't like you. Brother, please, say sorry for what you've done."

Then click.

Blinking his eyes back into focus, as if he had woken from a nightmare, Chauhn stared at Clurie for the long while it took for him to come back to the little dwindling fairgrounds in the middle of snow-bound Shyregoad. He steadied his breathing and looked up at Adal, his eyes training on the cuff of red upon the other boy's cheek and he immediately washed himself with guilt. Glancing to Georgie, his mouth slipping into a haggard draw of breath, the Clemmings lad brought his hand to his head and glanced about as if he had just been lost up until that point.

"Oh...Ah...Oh, 'ealth, ahm sorry. Ahm so sorry, ah don't know wha' came over me," Taking Clurie back to gently settle him back onto his shoulder, he gulped and glanced between the two brothers, "Ahm so sorry, Georgie, ah... Adal..." Poorly, perhaps never able to make up for that misplaced deed, Chauhn held out a hand of apology to Adal, his brows pinched tight over his eyes.

Clurie, in the meanwhile, shook and shivered on Chauhn's shoulder, gripping tight onto the fabric, his mouth in a tight grimace as he looked about him at the Malt brothers. Privately, he hung onto every word that Adal had said, a phrase that he had been needing to hear for a long time. And those words, a statement that he would echo and feed upon in his little head for the next few weeks to come, rebounded off the walls of his head: Do you even know who you are?

What was meant as a hand of apology became a pleading gesture to halt the sudden advancement from the wild golden eyed Plague before him. It was like the swollen rush of a falling tree, the way that Adal swung himself unsteadily forward, ripping himself from the tethered roots that was Georgie Malt, his eyes focused and unblinking on his form. The insanity that Adal harbored was a different one, a more honest one, and a kind of madness that dictated itself by rhyme and reason instead of Chauhn's sensitive and sloppy chaos, and that, in itself, the order and calculated rightness of Adal's methods, was enough to dwarf the emotional weight of Chauhn's by the tenfold. But there was that stubborn set of rules that were the glue of the very fontanel of Chauhn's skull, the set of directions and guidelines that defined who he was as a Clemmings, and they dictated that Chauhn stand his ground.

Without falling back a step from the rush of Adal's pointed charge, Chauhn stood straight, his feet planted firmly in the cold slush. He visibly flinched at the struggling Plague before him. He was mocking him, looking at him with the kind of amused gaze that one might cast a trapped mouse in a box that was about to be paired up with that of a snake. With his breath forced into his throat in quick swallows and gapes of air as he desperately tried to make sense of the verbal daggers getting spun into the edges of his clothing, pinning him into place against a metaphorical wall, Chauhn hardened his face into a questioning frown.

"Ah 'aven't 'urt no one else 'ere but you, Adal, 'n' it wouldn't reflect poorly on your character if'n you swallowed your pride to accept an 'onest apology!" Chauhn snapped defensively, his boyish voice cracking in the midst of his defense, "Ah don't wan' t'be enemies 'ere wit' you, Adal, ah really don't! Ah never would wan' tha'. So, please, ahm admittin' that ah was wrong 'n gettin' so angry wit' you, ah was wrong to 'ave punched you."

Plucking up a stray strand of bravery, the Clemmings boy swallowed his dry spit and took a step forward, coming face to face with the swirling eyed Plague. He again jutted his hand out, an act of apology, but this time he didn't offer Adal the choice of grasping it or not. Chauhn snatched up Adal's free hand and took it in both of his, forcing the action upon him as he squeezed the grip tight and looked dead straight into the Anhelo's eyes.

"Ahm sorry to you for overreactin' 'n' all, for 'urtin' you, but ah ain't sorry for defendin' my brother," he said, his voice shamelessly shaking.

Oh, Chauhn Clemmings was a dense one.

Yet, strangely enough, the more flimsy-minded of the Clemmings brothers was the one to catch hold onto Adal's cruel implications. Cruel, they were not. The more Clurie thought on those words, the more true they rang in his head, but, so struck was he that he failed to utter a sound. If anyone deserved an apology here, if it wasn't Georgie and Adal, it could be none other than...

Clurie gulped, his little body quaking with fear.

But where he got stuck was in understanding just why the apology was needed. Loose were his grasps on these pieces and strands of information, but he knew with his gut that there was a very important thing to be made of them if they were correctly pieced together, something relating directly to him. He clung as tight as he could to Chauhn's shoulder, his feet and knees slipping on the fabric as his brother's body jerked underneath him. It was getting harder and harder to hold on with how hard he was trembling, and the confusing screaming unstrung thoughts in his head were making him, whimper aloud and hiccup. And still, those thoughts shrieked in his head, unforgiving and unrelenting, Who are you? Who are you? Who am I?

"Stop it..." the little Phasmas pleaded, his voice barely raised above a whisper as he kicked and curled up on Chauhn's shoulder, trying to keep himself from being knocked off into the snow, "Stop it, stop it, you're making my head hurt...All of this, stop it."

Sloane's body relaxed as the Lord's retreat from Beatrix, but he remained on guard. He could not hear the final comment the Lord made to her, but something told him the wool would not be able to be pulled over his eyes for much longer in such an environment.

Rude though it may be, Sloane would have to insist that Beatrix, Jin-ho and Blaithe leaved immediately after the finale was completed.

Still, upon his approach, Sloane attempted as best a genuine smile as he could muster and gave the Lord a small bow of acknowledgment. With the small Plague closer now, he could confirm Lord Yizhaq's belief; the iridescently white glow her skin gave, the black eyes with the faintest purple glow. Such small feathers adorned her tiny frame, covered by black silks. So modest her dress and so opposite to Blaithe just next to him. He watched, enthralled, as the monochrome Servos hovered to him and landing on his shoulder.

"Greetings to you, Hayat. I am pleased with your progress, truly." A bit of an explanation was in order for Beatrix's actions, or lack their of, in regards to Hayat's appearance and status as a Servos, lie or not it was necessary for the continuing charade. "I apologize my Lady did not greet you with more fanfare, she has been out of sorts since the attack. Surely upon our next encounter she will be more... approachable." Not that his Lady could really be deemed 'approachable' in the common sense of the word.

Hayat's greeting and interest in Blaithe proved to be a good distraction from the subject of Beatrix as well as her trapped companion, and so Sloane offered her has hand for Hayat to perch upon if she did not feel inclined to hover her way over to Jin-ho. "I hope the two of you get along," he smiled down at them, then diverted his attention to the Grimms, Jin-ho and Lord Yizhaq, "But I must attend to my Lady. I hope we will meet again soon, My Lord, and for longer a time." Sloane waited for the falcon to depart his person whatever way she saw fit before nodding his farewells and making his way to Beatrix who seemed to be making her way back towards the stage, bells purchased.

On the way, his elbow knocked numbly against a smaller form and he whipped around quickly to offer apologies. A frail woman looking rather lost and uneasy, and a lovely white petaled Caedos sitting warmly atop her shoulder who smelled faintly of roses in the cool air. "Many apologies, mum, I was not looking where I was going. I do hope I have not jostled your lovely companion," Sloane flashed the Caedos a wry grin and gave both females a quick bow, "Please enjoy the finale."