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" .. slowly," Last whispers, holding his brother's ankles steady where they rest on his shoulders, gritting his teeth with the effort of supporting First and keeping him balanced.

" .. I got it," First reassures him, in a whisper just as soft as a breath.

For all that their assigned positions -- as given by their family matriarch -- are simply to maintain and cultivate an information network in the city's underground, the Friedrichs like to stay in practice. What would be the fun if they couldn't keep an active hand in the game themselves? Where would be the adventure, the thrills? They are, after all, young men in the prime of their lives, convinced of their own immortality and afire to do something, something big and impressive and as stupid as a goat bleating angrily at a lion.

This is why they are in the alleyway behind a row of manor homes late at night, wearing dark gray clothing with soot smeared across their faces, hands, and ears. They have even smudged some into their hair, on the offchance that there are highlights in the muddy brown which could catch the light -- a small chance, but a chance nonetheless. First is standing on his brother's shoulders, and is thus tall enough to reach over the top of the wall surrounding one particular estate, where he is manipulating a large clanking sack of something. The intent seems to be to get it over the wall without causing a lot of noise, and then to lower it down to the ground .. presumably so that they can then run off with it.

Thus far their plan has gone well: they'd gotten into the place, found what they'd wanted, and lifted it with none the wiser. But this is the most dangerous part of their plan, because for less than a minute -- more than enough time for someone to turn the corner and see them -- they will be frozen in this awkward tableau, their crime evident and their position quite vulnerable. They're counting on their speed and the lateness of the hour .. but in truth, the success of their crime remains up to lady luck.

"s**t." The word is hissed out of two mouths, so perfectly in sync that it may sound to Patrek like a single voice -- the pair of men wobble suddenly, unbalanced by their own alarm. Nonetheless they do not immediately cease their activities; First gives the sack of stolen goods a magnificent yank, hauling it over the lip of the wall and leaning down to try and pass it to his twin sib. He can't just throw it, there's no sense in that -- that'll just cause the sack to spill their takings across the alleyway, losing everything they've gained thus far. Gritting his teeth, Last reaches for the sack, hoping to drop it at his own feet from a lower height and thereby keep some of the goods from spilling forth.

" .. don't bloody meddle," hisses First, obviously trying to keep his voice low enough that no one will be alerted by the sound.

"Shut up shut up," agrees Last, still gritting his teeth -- "shut up and we'll give you a cut! You don't know who you're dealing with!"

They haven't yet really seen Careo, just Patrek, although there's no clue as to what they might make of her -- other than a distraction, or perhaps even a hostage.

More hissed swearing follows, though this time each of the twins seems to have picked something different to call his mother, which blurs the words together into an unrecognizable expression of anger. Great! Not only did they get seen, but they got seen by a bloody captain of the bloody queen's bloody army! Last will at that point drop the sack, but only because it's now close enough to the ground that it won't spill -- and he does so only that he can take a better grip on his brother's ankles, since Patrek is approaching at a damned good clip.

There's no time for a careful dismount, so First does the opposite: the instant that the other man is close enough, he launches off of his brother's shoulders at Patrek, hoping that the momentum of having another man fall on him (for all that First probably weighs one third less than the stronger guardsman) will knock him down. It's less a pounce than a slightly controlled fall, even though along the way First has pulled a dagger from his belt, and intends to use it as soon as an opportunity presents itself, aiming for Patrek's shoulders or upper arms.

Last, recovering his balance, scoops up the sack and ropes it quickly to his back, and if he clanks a bit at least if they can ever get loose of the guardsman he'll still be able to run.

It isn't a great length of steel: a knife not even the length of First's forearm, small enough that he can hide it when he walks about the town. But it's more than Patrek has right now, although it'll do First little good if he can't use it. He goes tumbling past the guardsman, hitting the hard ground on his side with a stuttered yelp of pain. It isn't a good landing; his arm twists under him and he is only barely able to curl enough that he rolls instead of impacting flat on the street. Despite this he'll be up on his feet again in a moment, perhaps even in enough time to fend Patrek off if he has jumped to his feet to attack.

He'll ward Patrek off with a broad swipe of the knife, or if the larger man has not yet attacked First will lurch to his feet and come after him, clearly hoping for the element of surprise .. or counting on his brother to help him out.

Last has another idea, knowing that while his brother can hold his own temporarily that even the two of them are no match for Patrek. It doesn't matter if they can beat him (which they probably can't); all he has to do is make enough noise and they're doomed. But Careo's bleat has caught his attention, and all he can think about is those few mad folk he's seen who've got animals like this -- and how attached they are to the strange beasts.

He moves fast, not being particularly experienced with animals but aware that if horses can give a mean kick these deer-things may be capable of the same. Coming at Careo from one side, Last reaches to snag the fawn by its long, sensitive ears, holding both cruelly tight in one fist and dragging the animal bad towards himself. His knife matches his brother's in every detail, but it's likely that Patrek will pay more attention to it .. since he's got it set to Careo's throat.

"Hssst, Guardsman!" He hisses. "How bad is it you want us caught?"

The Friedrichs are street brawlers, not trained fighters; experienced but not educated in the nuances of the art. Patrek is lucky in that he outweighs the lean man he faces, but the Friedrichs are still young enough to bend as if they have no bones in them. His shoulder hits First's gut and he'll have the privilege of hearing the choked huff of breath that results, but First may well be able to writhe out of his arms before he can get the chokehold fully in place. There's a breathless curse as Patrek's hand closes on his wrist, going after the knife, and First jerks his arm back at the same time he kicks out at the guardsman's legs, hopping to drive him into letting go. He knows he's in trouble if Patrek doesn't let go: all the bigger man has to do is squeeze hard enough and he can force the issue, or even break First's slender wrist.

Meanwhile Last is grinning -- a nervous grin, if Patrek but knew it -- and jerking back on Careo's ears to get him to behave. He can't afford to lose Careo now, not when Patrek's got his brother, his twin, his other self.

" .. stupid? You're the one that's stupid. You don't know who you're messing with! Back off of me brother, or else!" The words are hissed, tight with tension and fear, but it may well be that he is only bluffing. He's young yet, and thieves are a good step away from being cold-blooded murderers.

Though First is too proud to whimper, he lets out a startled little yip of pain as Patrek's grip tightens around his wrist. Break a thief's hands and you've ruined them -- how can they steal, or pick a lock, or climb a wall if their hand is crippled? First knows it and Last knows it, that if Last has Careo Patrek has the ability to ruin their careers with a simple squeeze and a slight twist.

Last is tense as a drawn wire, and if a shiver goes through him at the tone of Patrek's voice he does not let it show. They are at an impasse now -- he's got Careo and Patrek's got his brother, and it all comes down to which of them can take their bluff farther. But while they may be hardened for their age, they're just boys. Nothing like the trained, experienced soldier of the guard.

"Let him go," Last hisses. "Don't test me on this, not unless you want --"

" -- don't kill it," First yelps suddenly, while at the same time he twists to try and kick at the back of one of Patrek's knees. On many a man this move comes as a surprise, and topples them like a tree. "Bloody it but don't fecking kill it!"

"Are you mad?!" Last shouts back, startled and annoyed at his captive sibling for defending the hostage that is keeping him alive. Patrek may wonder the same thing; why should one of the thieves be worried about Careo at all? And, if he is worried about Careo, clearly he's not worried enough to want to submit tamely and turn himself in, not when he pairs his announcement of concern with a physical attack.

Though Last may have come to understand from simple observation that the Guardians are "important" to their Chosen, he can't know just how important they are. No one could without one of their own. It's hard to say if this is why First has spoken up, a suspicion of just how sacrilegious it would be to truly harm Careo, or if there is some other, deeper reason.

First staggers within Patrek's reach, possibly thumping up against the taller, stronger man, but will do his best to play a dangerous game of keep-away, for all the good it may do him. As a last resort, as Patrek goes for the knife he'll try and stomp on the other man's feet -- generally a sensitive point, particularly against the men that the Friedrichs usually face. But if Patrek's got good, sturdy boots, it may not do First much good.

Distracted by the scuffle between the soldier and his twin, Careo's glare takes Last by surprise. He jerks back suddenly at the intelligence in the animal's eyes, the very palpable irritation, and the unexpected movement may cause his knife to knick the Guardian's hide. But before he can further follow through with his threat, a strange and unfamiliar fear courses through him and he knocks the delicate fawn bodily away, wiping his hands on his clothing as if somehow the fawn might be able to hurt him by contamination. "The bloody hell!" He yelps, his voice a high-pitched yip. "It's a mad thing, a damned demon!"

All of this is an awful surprise for both boys, for rarely do things not work out in their favor, but in this case nearly everything which could have gone wrong has gone wrong. Not only do they get seen, they get seen by a Guard; not only is he a Guard, he's got a witch-deer; not only has he got a witch-deer, he's got Morals, capital-M-morals; not only has he got morals, he's got the strength to back up his will. First makes a little yip of pain with a touch of fear, with visions of a lifetime of being crippled no doubt dancing through his thoughts, but even his fear of that won't keep him still. Patrek will either have to get the knife and hold it to him or immobilize him completely. His next move is to try to ram his knee up between the soldier's legs, a desperate move.

Last swears fervantly, half prayer and half curse, suddenly more afraid of the itty bitty thing than any man has any right to be. Now for the first time he genuinely sounds distressed, and backing farther away from Careo he circles around to one side, as if he hopes to put Patrek in between him and the bitty thing. "Look, mister, y'gotta call it off! You don't understand, we wouldn't've done nothing, only our ol'da, he made us! He'll kill us if we get caught, and he'll beat us if we don't come back with anything!"

As if this is a cue, First finally stops fighting, nodding his head hard enough that he ought to be dizzy. "Please, we'll hand it all off, right? Just lemme go, he'll kill us!"

None of this, of course, is in the least bit true; their father is long since deceased, and lived far from Palisade besides. And though there's argument aplenty to say they were raised in the family business and had no chance to turn from it, they've never tried, either. But the whole act is incredibly convincing, and the Friedrichs are well aware that their very distress makes them seem some years younger than they actually are.