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" .. what I want to know is how he bloody well got in there." First's voice is a hoarse whisper as he leans conspiratorially toward his sibling, head tilted up to examine an opened window on the second story of a modestly sized building.

"He's too stupid to know what he can't do, that's how. You know whose flat this is, right?" Last sounds caught between horror and aggravation, uncertain thus far which emotion he should fall more completely prey to, his eyes locked on the shape of a large rook that is perched on the railing, bobbing up and down in front of the window.

" .. yeah," First whispers, with a shudder.

This time he will find them in a lesser area of town, where at least in their current attire they do not stand out. They are smartly dressed in dark blues, with a level of clothing that suggests they are the sons of a small merchant, perhaps the owners of a popular tavern or a well-off shop. As before they are clad identically, from their matching boots to the tops of their heads, down to a gash across their foreheads that has begun to heal into a pale pink scar. They stand together in an alleyway, having instinctively sought out a shadowed position from which they can just barely be glimpsed from the street. The particular building they are examining holds a very expensive bakery, one that serves the upper class and even the nobility with sugary delicacies far beyond anything that the lower classes can dream of. In light of their fragile merchandise and expensive ingredients, the baker has rented the flat above his shop out to a man rumored to come from Aireland -- six feet tall if he is an inch, the sort of intimidating fellow that others cross the street to avoid passing by.

Unwelcome leans down from her perch and regards them curiously, tilting her head to one side. She is not altogether certain how to coax Unwanted out, not anymore than the twins are. Both boys flinch when she fluffs up her feathers and quorks impatiently at them, a sound more than loud enough to be heard from the street.

Though this time there is no stolen merchandise to be seen, it can't look good for the twins. They're standing in an alleyway, leaning towards each other and whispering cautiously: they obviously don't wish to be seen. And there is also the rook, who was perhaps intended to scout the way -- or are they directing her to sneak into that partly opened window up there? They must know how it will look, especially to Patrek, who has caught them with their hands in a pie before, such as it were; the pair of them freeze and look at him with big wide eyes.

" .. oy, it's the guardsman hisself!" Last finally manages, only fumbling a little, and trying out a casual smile, as if to pretend there is absolutely nothing wrong with standing in an alleyway and staring up at another fellow's windows.

"And lookit his handsome lad -- he's half again bigger than before! How goes the day, m'lord?" This is First, having taken the cue from his brother and attempting to sound innocent and cheerful.

Standing side by side, they are accustomed to being indistinguishable -- when Patrek comments upon the new injuries, they both tilt their heads in precisely the same direction, so that a fall of hair slips forward over their foreheads to partly cover it. "Naw," says First, as if he wasn't the one to acquire the initial head wound, "I couldn't let me brother get away with looking so dashing, right? Had to make sure I were just as handsome."

Where ordinarily Last would make some comment of his own, he is distracted -- he holds his hands out in front of himself as if to try and convince Careo that he means no harm, and that the fawn really can stop staring at him so.

"Er .." Picking back up the thread of conversation, First looks uneasily back at the guardsman. "Well, ain't so sure you'll believe us, but we lost something, and we been trying to find it."

Last finally seems to break out of the spell that Careo's gaze has put him under, intentionally or not, and glances sidelong at Patrek. " .. ain't dressed for roof-walking, anyway. What's he staring at me for? Can you tell him I ain't doing anything this time?"

The shoulder is a good place for Careo to start: though Last has a number of interesting things scattered throughout various pockets, there is a small lump in a breast pocket that the Guardian would have a particular interest in. Strung on a silver chain as if it is a small pocket watch there is a little wooden carving, one that Careo may well know the purpose of -- and if the young Guardian nudges it out of the pocket and into the open, Patrek will certainly recognize it.

"Er," says First, managing to look even more guilty than before. He glances up at the rook, who seems to know that she is being spoken of: she fluffs her feathers out, then drops off the railing and in a slow, graceful curve lands on First's shoulder. She regards Patrek with interest, turning her head this way and that to look at him, and there is a surprising intelligence in her pink eyes. "She's kind of mine," First mumbles, tugging the end of her tail to distract her from her keen observation of the guardsman. This makes Unwelcome fluff up indignantly, and she turns and nips his ear in retaliation, tsk-tsk-tsking at him in a voice that sounds exactly like an older woman scolding a young boy.

Last is just as glum and just as guilty; he regards Careo with even greater concern. He's not sure how he feels about Guardians just being able to know things; will his ever be like that? "Like what ..? We ain't done hardly anything worth doing for a fortnight! Couldn't hardly walk, then couldn't sleep none."

Unwelcome fluffs up her feathers, looking imploringly at Patrek, as if to say, you see what I have to work with? Not even a marvelous rook like myself can control someone like him! But she does love him, for all that he did not seem to want to admit his ownership of her, and when Patrek's attention turns to Last, Unwelcome turns her attention to grooming her hedge-witch, preening his tousled hair with her beak.

When the guardsman asks his question, both boys start guiltily -- Last actually leans back, clapping one hand over his pocket and regarding Careo in a blankly shocked sort of way. How did he know? For a moment he stands with his lips pressed together, rebellious, glaring first at Careo and then at Patrek. "Ain't nothin'. Just some trinket I picked up, right?"

First actually intervenes, elbowing Last in the side. " .. might as well show 'im," he mutters, as Unwelcome scolds them both with a sharp TSK-TSK-TSK. "Ain't like he won't find out."

This makes Last scowl and tear his gaze away from the others, plainly embarrassed. But he will reach into the pocket and draw out the little totem, holding it out for Careo to sniff and for Patrek to look at. " .. it's just this," he mutters. "Okay?"

The look Careo gives him makes Last look even more hangdog, as if he's just admitted something truly damning -- and perhaps this is damning, in a way, for a criminal. It's in a thief's best interest to avoid drawing attention on themselves, and having a Guardian at this particular point in time is going to make one very visible indeed.

" .. didn't want none," mumbles Last; of all the people shocked by this change in the lives of the twins, the twins themselves were perhaps the most surprised.

First only nods, still glum. "Deer shouldn't be able to climb," he moans, dragging a hand over his face, and ignoring Unwelcome when she pokes at his fingers to try and peel them away. "He up and went in the window, and that flat's .. it belongs to this big scary bloke from Airelund! You know what that lot are like!"

"He's going to kill us," groans Last, the totem vanishing back onto his person again, though this time not into the same pocket.

They both shake their heads vehemently at the suggestion that they have previously caused trouble for the Airelander. No, no, and triply no!

"Weren't going to go near him," mutters Last, scowling. "He practically showed up with that monstrous big witch-deer of his." Which is why the twins, bless their now hypocritical little hearts, would never in a million years have approached him, for good or for ill. But whatever the pair of them think of an Aireland man with a Guardian remains to be seen, because the two of them are promptly pole-axed with Patrek's helpless laughter.

They turn red, going scarlet under their freckles, for all that they haven't the foggiest what that last word means. Whatever it means, the way he's laughing about it can't be good! "We didn't ask for this!" First contends hotly, but Patrek may well be saved from any retribution the twins might plan for him -- at least for now.

Because Macaire's door has just opened with a loud BANG, hitting the wall abruptly before letting the intimidating soldier out onto the little stair that leads down from his second-floor flat and into the alleyway. He is every bit as tall, broad-shouldered, and scarred as he is rumored to be, and they can tell because from the looks of it he is wearing nothing more than a pair of hastily-pulled on trews and a thin sleeping shirt -- and tucked under one arm like a package is a wriggling, squirming, mad-with-glee little Guardian, its dark tail flipping back and forth like crazy.

Rather than terrifying and menacing, Macaire just looks tired and more than a bit resigned. He regards Careo sleepily, stares at the helplessly laughing Patrek, and gives the twins a closer look, as if he is not altogether certain why he is still seeing double. He hasn't had anything to drink since last night! Does this mean he needs something to drink ..? Anyway, the rook looks rather like the Guardian fawn, so he supposes these must be the right people.

"Had a half day off," he tells the whole lot of them conversationally. "Oi'll jest sleep meself in, oi says tae meself. Cain't do nae harm, and nae will will come looking for me, oi thought. And then jest as oi get me tae a dream with a willin' lass, all've sudden sommat starts tae walk on me." He bends down finally, and sets Unwanted down -- released the fawn is off like a shot, butting happily at Last's ankles as if to say, That was fun! I had fun! Let's do that again!

Last just looks as if he would like to crawl into the ground and never be seen again. First looks like he plans on following shortly after. " .. er. Beggin' your pardon, sir," First manages, looking between Macaire and Patrek.

Macaire just snorts.