Brogdin

Brogdin



The town of Brogdin used to be named Tale—that is until the evil queen took her seat upon the throne. It was renamed Brogdin by the brother of the ogre that was slain by Puss in Boots. His name, thusly, was Brogdin and he was appointed mayor of the town by the queen herself.



Brogdin, unlike most ogres, is actually quite intelligent for being a slobbering, giant ogre. He runs the town with an iron fist, making sure the stores that provide him with food and clothes are well in business, and that businesses like The Three Little Pig’s brothel never go under. Brogdin often enjoys visiting the brothels and lavishing the pigs with his riches just for one night with the prettiest girl they can offer. Of course, the prettiest girl often rotates, but no skin off his fat nose.

The crime rate in Brogdin has escalated to the point that few can be trusted. In the alleys reside thieves of numerous expertises: pickpockets, impersonators, conmen, etc. The orphaned children have created tight-knit gangs that are often just as dangerous as adult gangs. There are prostitutes sashaying down every sidewalk and homeless folk sleeping in nooks and crannies. One would have to be tough to survive Brogdin, and also very clever. It is a forsaken town of neglect.




List of Places

• The Muffin Man's Patisserie (Named by GM)
• Tavern (players can name this)
• Inn (players can name this)
• The Three Little Pig’s Brothel
• Guard Post
• Tailor Shop
• Leprechaun Leather & Co. (Named by blueAsher)
• Apothecary
• The Tipsy Fairy Pub (Named by HitoriRaven)
• Le bon bon Candy Shop (Named by GM)
• Daisy's Flower Shop (Named by spirit_is_shining)
• The Tumbler (Named by Wraith) Brothel
• The Mayor - Brogdin's House (Named by GM)

Players can name any of the above places. If any player gives the establishment a name, then all players are to accept the name of that building. If someone calls The Bakery, "The Muffin Shop," then it will be so and everyone is to call it that. Understand? Also, if there is a place your character is going to that isn't listed above, then it will be created and listed above.

List of Storyline Places & Events

• The Three Little Pig's Brothel
• Le bon bon Candy Shop
• The Muffin Man's Patisserie
• Daisy's Flower Shop
• The Tumbler
• The Tipsy Fairy Pub
• Leprechaun Leather & Co.

List of NPCs

Ro - a mouse and scout for The White Order. (created by Yorda)
Allister - a leprechaun and owner of Leprechaun Leather & Co. (created by blueAsher)

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Basic Rules

1. No OOC Bubbles. Keep OOC in the OOC, and if you need to privately speak with a certain player, then do so by using the PMs.
2. RP Speed. Remember, I said at least once a day or 2 to 3 times per week. If someone hasn’t posted for 4 days straight and gave no notice of their absence, then feel free to skip them and improvise.
3. Do not post for the hell of it. If you can’t think of anything to post, then don’t post. Or if you are eagerly waiting for someone to post, and just want to post to satisfy that anxious urge, don’t. Just go find something to do. Please only post something that moves your character along or the story or whatever. Don’t write pointless posts. They don’t accomplish anything.
4. 200 words minimum. I do not like one-lining so at least try to meet that limit.
5. Do not post pics in the IC. Usually people post ridiculously, huge pictures in the IC. Please do your best to describe what you’re talking about. No pictures please. If you want to share a picture for a certain scene, use the OOC thread to post it up. Not the IC thread please.
6. Post your Location. Be sure to write where you are. Like a little note at the top of your post or something. The castle is enormous. Your character could be anywhere and it lets everyone know exactly where.

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GM Recommended Notes

1) I made this section for those who are role playing Leaders to help assist them in guiding the RP. This is to also guide ALL the players on how they are to go about this territory. The players of The White Order will need to keep a low profile when strolling through this town. Brogdin though owned by Brogdin is under the Wicked Queen’s rule and watchful eye. Her soldiers are the regulators and oppressors.
2) Brogdin is neutral ground. The ogre that governs the town is an NPC played by the GM. You cannot control him. Players can do whatever they like in this town and also secure some contacts here or gather information about either The Dark Court or The White Order. Players can create any NPCs, but if you go too overboard, meaning overstepping your bounds and thus threatening the plot, I will ask you to edit your post.
3) At this time, I’m going to be trying to round up more heroes for The White Order.

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Chapter Summaries

This is where I will post a summary for concluded chapters to keep new and away players up to date.

Whoops, a bit of a fail. Sorry, I'm tired.

Brogdin: On a roof top

The bell chimed as the door to the Le bon bon candy store opened, and out walked a chubby, little boy. He was globular in shape, his red and white striped shirt, having risen to reveal his white, protruding belly and hugging the fatty, swells of his breasts. He could barely curl his arms as they folded about his sides, feeding a slice of chocolate cake into his face. He had ropes of red and black licorice, candy canes, lollipops, cookies, taffy, and a bag of tarts wrapped greedily in his thick arms as he waddled down the street. Unknowingly to the boy, Le bon bon was a satellite shop for Matilda’s sweets [this information is not known by anyone, not even Gingie, but can be figured out eventually].

Standing upon a roof, was a dark figure wrapped in a black cloak and cowl. He resembled a grim reaper, minus a scythe, as he watched the blond bulb below, cramming the cake in his mouth as though he were starved, which from the boy’s size was unimaginable. Candy was the reaper’s favorite, but seeing the boy’s behavior toward it discouraged him from sweeping down and mugging him for all that he had. The Man might have had a sweet tooth, but he was no fool. There had been more candy on and in that boy than what was seen visibly. His pockets were bulging with jawbreakers and even his underpants were full of pop rocks. Shit, there might have even been sour ropes wedged into the folds and cracks of his own ass.

The butterball had merely been an interesting one to observe. There was no doubt that Le bon bon had some sort of secret recipe that was plumping not just children but all of its customers into bowling balls. The cruelty that resided in Brogdin wasn’t unusual, but it did disappoint The Man. He loved candy, but he wouldn’t dare eat candy that had the side-effects of an illegal drug.

His arm reached out from beneath his cloak to curl within his view. Eyes obscured by thick shadows studied his wristwatch. It was about time for that meeting at The Tipsy Fairy Pub. Lowering his arm, the mysterious man turned, the excess of his cloak sweeping behind him.

The Tipsy Fairy Pub

The invitation was grasped within his right, gloved hand. He had taken a seat at a table in the back of the room that was rather empty. It was supposedly the table where the members of the supposed resistance were to meet, and he was so far the first one to arrive. His red eyes skimmed over the letter once more to confirm that this had indeed been the spot, and he couldn’t have been any more correct. The Man glanced to a table crowded by mercenaries near the bar and thought that maybe they had been the group, but they were all too similar. He also didn’t think that such simpletons would have been able to get a hold of him so easily. That alone was what had made him interested in this group. You don’t find The Gingerbread Man; The Gingerbread Man finds you.

Ivory/Snow White

The Tipsy Fairy Pub

She stood out, she was aware of that, clearly a pub wasn't a place that you usually found a woman in elegant attire, but she wasn't bothered, she knew that there would of been staring regardless of what she wore, there certainly weren't a lot of women that had her looks, her beauty.

"Let them stare," she thought, quite content to sit in the corner, stroking the hand mirror that she had placed in her lap.

She couldn't imagine what had posessed her to go to a place such as The Tipsy Fairy today but she supposed that any time away the Seven would be good, at times she felt like she wasn't their leader but rather their...mother if she dared to use the cursed word. At least there seemed to be a lot of interesting people in the place, she had noted the merceneries by the bar as she came in, perhaps they would provide a challenge if there was a bar fight, she hoped there would be one.

"They certainly wouldn't expect me to be a threat," she muttered to herself in a bored tone, examining the pale skin of her arm which almost seemed to glow in the darkness of the corner.

She smiled as a man in a long sleeved jacket entered the pub and made his way to a table at the back, there was something about the way he moved that piqued her interest.

"Something tells me that you're not at all what you seem," she whispered, taking a sip from her drink as she continued to watch him.

Perhaps things were going to get exciting after all. Especially if she fanned the flames of chaos a little, then she'd be able to tell if he was worth the challenge. But for now she would wait and see what happened.

Sir Rowan Marquis

A two-foot tall figure was nearly swallowed by the over-sized musketeer hat perched on his head and the long frayed cape draped around his shoulders. A clever, feline eye flashed from the hat's shadow, his other eye concealed by an eye-patch drawn tightly around his face; he did not desire revealing the grisley looking socket to the world. Gloved hands delicately held on to an envelope like it was made of gold. And indeed it was; its contents were more valuable to him than anything gold could buy, unless it was Brigdon’s head on a silver platter, freshly slain. But he would rather reserve that pleasure for himself to enjoy personally.

The invitation was ripped. Scanning it, he recounted the delirious excitement that the words had possessed him to clench the paper and nearly tear it to shreds from joy. He shall join the rebellion soon, and he shall accomplish his lifelong mission at last. However, letting his one eye fall to his bare hind-paws, he had a small business to attend to first. A gray paw tilted the wide brim, shadowing his feline face, and he continued down the alley with self-assurance in his nimble feet.

Leprechaun Leather Co. was tightly nestled on the grimy, littered street beside the Three Little Pig's Brothel, which was hardly an ideal business location. Most customers were too busy rolling around in lust and sweat to even notice the shoemaker next door. But for Puss, it was the ideal place to make a quick fortune. Approaching the the brothel, he locked his teeth in a sharp, blinding grin, but it wasn’t necessarily friendly. He ignored a few drunk-looking peasant 'customers' that emerged glaze-eyed from its doors. He stopped, waiting in front of the glorified whorehouse's entrance, examining the broad, gleaming white doors and the many colorfully painted posters lining its walls. The best erotic service in all of Brigdon and beyond. The image of a beautiful woman, cooing through luscious lips and lidded eyes. Another poster. We have everything your money can buy! Brazilian, Blonde, Brunette, Were-Ladies, Mermaids, Morphs, We Have it All! Invite your Friends! Invite your Relatives! We have Plenty to Spare! Visit the Brothel today! He could not read anymore.

The Puss spat disrespectfully, trying to clear his overwealming disgust, but refrained from shredding the posters to strips as there was a guard eying him from afar. If the rebellion overturned the queen and Brigdon, the brothel would be the first to be demolished. Men were to earn a woman's embrace the harder way, the natural way, and for not such selfish reasons. No, not if. When. Finally, his patience was rewarded.

"Care to give some change to an eye-less stray cat?" he purred as an elaborately-dressed man emerged from the brothel doors. His tailored jacket was lined with gold and brass buttons, holding a patch of the Royal Queen. The man only smirked with the elation of his priveleged 'pasttime' and hobbled off on fat legs, sweat visibly dripping down his neck. "Ah, the elite. Such pigs," he murmurred with a sigh, "Only pigs buy from pigs." He whistled as he entered the impoverished shoe-maker's store, a finely-made sack jingling in his hand.

“Oh, Allister,” the Puss sighed, “I really wish you would move this shoe store of yours. It is sleazy here.” The Leprechaun chuckled good-heartedly, knobbly fingers, conditioned by years of craft, raising a cigar to his whiskered mouth. The old leprechaun was covered in fine, skin-colored hair from head to toe and had hairy, elf-like ears protruding from his head.Two wisened gray eyes glittered with a calm that promised a gentle friend easy to confide in. He was dressed in green overalls and a white collared shirt with rolled up sleeves.

“I make enough revenue from you alone, my best costumer,” Allister said with good humor. The leprechaun proudly set the leather boots onto the countertop, and customarily slipped a freshly-picked four-leaf clover into his open paw for "good luck", which Sir Rowan slipped into a small sack on his sheath. "You'll especially need it now, you old rogue." The twenty-year old boots had been meticulously sanded and oiled, and looked brand-new. Sir Rowan admired the repair silently with one bright eye.

“Please take this off my hands. I can still smell the stink of that porker on it.” He wrinkled his nose in disdain and pushed the leather sack toward him. “Keep the tip.” The knobbly fingers emptied the sack onto the table patiently, but soon quivered in excitement. Allister’s eyes bulged from their sockets.
“This is---these guineas are pure gold! You can’t mean this is all for me…It must be worth---“ but the cat had already disappeared, though the baffled old leprechaun could swear he had seen a familiar wink flash at him through the window before it flitted away like a shadow.
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The door to the Tipsy Fairy Pub hardly opened a crack when it closed again with a rustle. He strode with more confidence now that his toes were nestled in its familiar leather confines. His short stature hardly drew any attention, which he preferred at this moment. His one eye flitted to the table where the meeting was supposed to take place, noticing its vacancy with disappointment. There was a single shady-looking man seated alone in its shadows. The cloak was drawn over his face as to completely hide it.

Sir Rowan approached cautiously; although he was likely from the rebellion, he could never be sure. Perhaps the man had merely seated there by chance. And, for one, Rowan did not trust him. He looked like Death himself, and seemed too secretive. Rowan was surprised by the strong sugary sweet smell that he emitted, although perhaps he only noticed by his sharp sense of smell. Carefully choosing his words, he asked slowly, “Sir…did a maiden by the name of Red happen to invite you here?”

Rebellion HQ

Red fumbled to stow her book as the bear entered and changed form. As far as she knew, no one knew about her little indulgence, and she wanted it to stay that way. If people knew she was reading a ...romance novel, while there was work to be done, she would lose their respect. "It's fine if you couldn't get anything today, Bebe. Lexi. Bebe." Red rolled her eyes under her hood. It was so annoying to keep track of the aliases that her friend kept, and she gave up trying. Bebe it would be, at least as far as she was concerned. It was the first nickname she had come up for her friend's original name, after all. "Pearl, you say? I'll be sure to check in with her after our meeting at the Tipsy Fairy." Red then dug in her desk and brought out a bandage, tossing it to Bebe. "If you want to join me, be sure to disguise yourself, and stagger your movements from mine. If anyone recognizes you, me or both of us, we could blow each other's cover." She didn't need to state the obvious underlying consequence if that happened. With that, Red snatched up Graban, her trusty sword, and gave it a few test swings before stowing it in her magical picnic basket. She hoped she wouldn't need it, though. She also slipped off her easily-remembered red cloak, stowing it in the basket as well, and revealing the tight-fitting black clothes that she wore underneath. It would have to do. She didn't want to be late, after all.

The Tipsy Fairy Pub, Brogdin

Making her way through the town, Red weaved in and out of the crowd. Without her trademark cloak, others would be hard pressed to recognize her. Even amoung the Order, rarely had anyone seen her face. And if someone who did not know her looked at her, they would see a cute, but not attractive persay, young - almost child-like - woman with blonde hair walking innocently through town with a picnic basket. As she neared the pub, Red ducked into an alley, sweeping out her cloak and immediately activating its special ability.

It was like this that she quietly padded into the bar, surveying what was before her. Due to the effect of her cloak, for the most part, her entrance would have been quite inconspicuous. She noticed three people in particular: a cat, a hooded man, and a woman. She canceled the ability, taking a seat. To those watching, it would have seemed as though she had been there the whole time. It also added a bit of dramatic effect, which probably wasn't a bad thing. While her identity would be fairly obvious, Red decided to throw out the code phrase mentioned in the invitations. "The forest has been lovely as of late, no?" She watched for reactions with eyes that matched her cloak, the only visible part of her face. However, she was also wary, being out in 'enemy territory', and kept a hand near the basket on her lap, ready to draw Graban if necessary. However, that would mean the mission was a complete failure, and she would have to book it out. And that would be the worst outcome, the last resort.

Rebellion HQ

Lexi smiled at Red. "Thanks. I'll go in human form, though I won't be with you. I'll stay somewhere else in the Pub." Shoving her sword in her scabbard, Lexi swung a black cloak over herself, completely hiding her face. "I'll follow you to the Pub, but try not to be aware of me." She walked to the door and held it open for Red.

Brogdin

Lexi followed Red down the streets, staying back a good distance. Being seen with each other would mean death and the end of the Rebellion; all hell would break loose if that happened. As Red ducked into an alley, Lexi did not stop but instead swept on into the Pub. Sitting at the counter, she ignored the bartender and leaned against the counter, watching. The counter was a good vantage point; Lexi could see every part of the Pub. Before Lexi knew it, Red was in the Pub. She had never really gotten used to Red's ability.

Red sat at a table where a cat, a hooded man, and a woman were sitting. Lexi leaned forward slightly, trying to hear their conversation. Realizing that her behavior seemed suspicious, she turned around and signaled to the bartender. The bartender ignored her. Lexi shrugged. She really didn't need alcohol racing through her anyway, and she would have an excuse if anyone asked why she wasn't having anything. Though Red's voice was faint, she could hear her words. "The forest has been lovely of late, no?" Lexi snorted to herself. What a choice of words. With the witch's reign, everything had lost its value. Nothing could really be described as 'lovely' anymore.

Ivory/Snow White

The Tipsy Fairy Pub

Ivory raised an eyebrow, things seemed to be getting more and more interesting by the second. A cat had just entered the pub and made his way to where the other curious man was seated, he was soon followed by a young woman carrying a picnic basket.

"It seems that there was a party and nobody invited me," she said quietly, coldly watching the group, "Red certainly does suit her I must say."

The woman seemed on edge and overly fond of her picnic basket in Ivory's opinion, it certainly didn't seem like a casual meeting. Sadly she couldn't hear what the group was saying and this was causing her to lose interest. Narrowing her eyes she rearranged the folds of the purple gown she wore, while not one of the colours she would usually choose to wear, she had to admit that it did look nice against her skin and hair and it was such a beautiful gown.

"Now what have we here?" thought Ivory as she turned her icy gaze to a girl at the bar, "My my, it seems I came to the right place to find interesting things today."

She wondered if the girl could feel her staring. This place really was a little dull, perhaps these colourful characters would help to liven it up a little. All it would take was a few well chosen words to the right people and the place would no longer be a dingy pub but rather the arena for a battle royale. She shivered in anticipation, such a display would give her the chance to see what all these people were capable of, she was particularly interested to see what the woman in red could do. But perhaps she would give them a little more time before starting the chaos, after all, it did appear that the odd group was discussing something very important.

An Grey-haired, old woman strolled clenched her cloak as the breeze blew strongly, almost as if it was against her. A weaved basket was tucked nicely in a hand filled with cakes from the bakery. Her grandchildren were waiting for her return so they could fill their stomachs with all these delicious goods. She passed few people, most were hurrying back to their homes. So when she saw a couple, standing around as if it they had nothing but time in their hands. A young man and lady. They might have been married, at least that's what she thought before the lady murmured 'brother.'

She passed them, greeting them with an odd look of both confusion and disgust on her heavy wrinkled face. She should hurried herself, refusing to contact them. Strange people, plain strange.

While her dark purple hood covered her hazel eyes, Gretel could see the old woman's treats as clear as day. A scowl on her lovely face, she twitched her nose in disgust, the smell of baked goods reminded her too much of that fateful incident. If not, it would just remind her of the blood and meat of young children in that god damn witch's food. Not a single crumb, not a single bite of treats will ever come into her mouth. Her slender body leaned against Hansel, her head rested on his shoulder as she affectionately placed her pale lips upon it. "We should go soon." Gretel spoke softly, her fingers trailing his chest, "They'll be waiting for us."

Receiving an invitation from 'Red' to attend some sort of meeting at the Tipsy Fairy Pub. Instead of looking for information, they had to go meet up with who knows what. "Come." Gretel moved her fingers to hold Hansel's, gripping it as she moved away. But leave him, never. Hand-in-hand, they approached the Tipsy Fairy Pub. With her free hand, she lifted her hood to reveal her lovely yet sullen face with a milkmaid braid in her hair. She noticed the eponymous red cloak over everything around. "I spot her." She moved carefully along the pub until she reached Red, a cat, the hooded man and a woman she had never seen before.

"The forest has been lovely as of late." Gretel spoke, taking a stool to share with Hansel. There were few remaining and she didn't mind to help. Sitting on his lap, her arms wrapped itself around his pretty neck as she spoke out the other code just in case she missed anything, "Is that so? The howling has kept me away."

The smell of sweets was strong, but the presence of his darling sister was stronger. Despite the obnoxious and rotting scent of the baked goods, Hansel's attention never left Gretel, not once. The world could be collapsing around him, blowing up in flames, and he wouldn't care, wouldn't lift his eyes. No, his sister was much more important than any of that, more important to him than the world. Even as the woman sent a mixed look of bizarre puzzlement combined with an offense, he took no heed. What did it matter, what others thought? People had no place in his heart, so why would their opinions of him and his sister have any effect?

The hand that had cleverly snaked its way around Gretel's waist tightened possessively. He couldn't see her expression, but the way she tensed, the way the atmosphere seemed to drop, allowed the male to fully comprehend what she was feeling (not to mention the fact that he made it his business to know everything and anything about her). The memories the smell brought were strong, though much stronger for Gretel; she could never eat those delicacies ever again, and while Hansel was similar, his intoxication for his sibling was much more powerful than the fragrance of a few sweet goods. Besides, the smell wasn't the same as that woman's baked foods -- now if he had caught of whiff of those, he would not have been able to control himself.

Hansel kissed the top of his sister's head through the hood, murmuring, "Peace, Gretel, peace," under his breath. As much fun as it would've been to sliced the old woman and strung her remains up for the public, he knew that being chased out of the town before completing their mission was stupid. Maybe another time, but right then, at that moment, they were there for a reason. The invitation was snug against the waist band of his pants, hidden beneath his shirt.

"We should go soon." Her voice was like bells, chiming and singing during a harsh thunderstorm -- music to his ears. It sent a ghost of a touch down his spine, augmenting by the trails her fingers left along his chest. Her hand then grasped his, and he allowed her to drag him along like a dog. Other men would've been insulted, would've been embarrassed and humiliated that their little sister was the one leading. However, Hansel was not like the others.

Release her hand? Leave her just because of a male instinct, a male pride that wanted to dictate his every movement and action like a tyrant?

Never.

He'd never let go of the hand that clasped onto his, that had held onto him since before the time of the gods had begun. He'd hold on even in death.

"Let them wait," Hansel scoffed. The limb that held onto hers for life pulled her closer to him, allowing the older male to press an affectionate mouth against the back of her hand. "I'd rather spend time with you, Gretel."

Though he spoke the truth, the lure of the witch was powerful -- but this time, rather than falling for the sweets she so cleverly placed under his nose, he was following the sure future of her death. He was going to kill her, make no mistake, and he was going to make her suffer before wiping her existence off the face of the earth. Hansel would love to relax with his sister, travel the world and wreak havoc and chaos in their wake, but the mission was clear -- no matter what he wanted to do at the moment, his desire to kill the witch was greater, binding him to the White Order.

They finally reached the pub, and the moment they entered, Hansel was hit with a crowd of beer. The stench was strong, though it was not unwanted; on the contrary, it was very relaxing, very familiar. He had no problems with bars; as a matter of fact, they were one of his most favorite places to be. One could down drinks with no worries while smoking carton after carton of cigarettes -- speaking of which, he needed to go fill his stock soon.

Looking around the pub, he saw nothing of interest, nothing as mesmerizing as his dear sister. Following her to a table with several mysterious people, he took a seat and allowed his sister to plop down on his lap; it wouldn't have felt right if she hadn't been sitting atop him. The warmth that radiated off her body served to cool and calm his body. Hansel easily slid out a cigarette from his hidden pack and placed it between his lips. Taking out a black lighter, he set his drug on fire and breathed in its toxic fumes, a hand wrapping around the waist of Gretel. Fingers brushed against her skin unconsciously while the free ones transferred the cigarette from his mouth to in between his fingers. The fire burned quietly, seeming to seethe each time he raised it to his mouth, sucking out its life force with no mercy.

"Yup, howling -- all that jazz," he agreed, gazing at the one that initiated the secret phrase.

Was this the one that would lead him to the witch?

Was this the one that would allow him to exact his revenge?

The Tipsy Fairy Pub

"Ah, speak of the devil," the cat murmured softly as the heavily cloaked Red seemed to solidify from thin air. The air particles shifted slightly from the path that the woman had taken to her seat, and his nose now twitched to catch the subtle movement, but could not make it out. What trickery was this? Sensing a foreign arrival, Sir Rowan had bristled slightly, his waxed whispers rising, with a gray paw already on Lucy's blonde hilt to draw the blade out in a heartbeat. But sensing no hostility, he shrugged his cloaked shoulders apathetically, letting the arm fall back to his side. He stroked the golden tassle hanging off the hilt at the hip of his sheath, whispering, "It was a false call, Lucy. But we shall have fun soon."

With a nimble leap, he landed and crouched on top of a stool that had been the same height as he, settling down by the corner wall. He did not like it for anyone to be on his blind side. The one icy eye flickered towards the Reaper with suspicion, the vague scent of sugar wafting into the Puss' sharp nose. Idly, he fingered the brim of his musketeer hat and set it on the table out of politeness. He noticed two people, identical-faced in appearance, a boy and a girl, join the table group, whom he mistook for a couple because the flesh-locked way they entered the room. But the similar smell that wafted from their skin revealed their close blood-connection. “Hm,” murmured the cat, slightly troubled, but he chased away the perverse thought.

"The forest has been lovely as of late." Sir Rowan's ears flickered visibly at the key phrase, flattening against his head for a brief moment in recollection. He purred with French-laced speech. "Ah, yes, Mademoiselle. What was it?—Le hurlement has kept me away.” With that business accomplished, he now watched Red with increasing interest, drawn in by the warm bell-like, yet vital tone of her voice that drew respectful attention despite being soft-spoken, for the most part. He had become accustomed to hearing female voices and could almost draw out the outline of their eyes and face simply from hearing them speak. Certainly, the cat mused to himself, she is not vivacious of course, but easy on the eyes. The mystifying question of why she would not remove the cloak trembled on the tip of his tongue, but he knew better than to impede on her privacy.

One ear rested against the pub’s milky wall, which had discolored from the many hands and unwashed heads rubbing against it. In a distant table, he noted a young maiden dressed in heels eying the congregation with interest. As a precaution, his paw returned to his sword, which seemed to whisper his thoughts back to him with a dull glitter. Careful, now.

"So...how are we going to conduct this rebellion?" the Puss purred inquiringly.

The Tipsy Fairy Pub

From beneath his black hood, red eyes rolled over to the tiny figure obscured beneath a fancy hat. Seeing how he had approached his table, he suspected that the feline may have been a part of The Rebellion, or like him, curious. He tucked the letter away within his cloak as the cat spoke:

Sir…did a maiden by the name of Red happen to invite you here?

The voice that rolled from the shadows of the cowl was low and mischievous.

“Maybe…” the stranger playfully answered.

Manifesting from the air was a young woman shrouded in a red hood. She pulled out a chair and sank into it, and relayed a familiar message: The forest has been lovely as of late, no?

The Gingerbread Man remained silent and watched as she eyed him and the cat expectantly. Other beings soon joined them, a couple whose hands were wrapped in a lover’s embrace and who were oddly similar in appearance. Well, it may not have been odd if they were brother and sister, but their behavior was certainly taboo.

Is that so? The howling has kept me away.

The cat repeated the same statement in his own speech, but again, The Gingerbread Man remained silent. It was then the feline continued, So…how are we going to conduct this rebellion?

Abruptly, The Gingerbread Man began to laugh. A black, gloved hand went to his chest, pressing flat against it as his insides clenched from the mirth racking his body. Forcing out between his gasps of breath, he questioned those around him, “Could you have made this anymore obvious?”

The hooded man eased back in his chair, his legs spreading comfortably in that relaxed position most men preferred. The assassin giggled again, his head slightly easing back as the light of the oil lamps hanging above them revealed his jagged teeth. His mouth was like a bear trap, and his white, yellow, and orange striped teeth made it unusual. His large, candy corn teeth grinned at them all before he continued, “You make my job easy. If I was an assassin hired by a certain queen, all of you would be screwed.”

Another sadistic chuckle left the man. He found the idea of telling the queen and having them all hunted until death or capture amusing. It would have sucked incredibly but that’s what made it funny.

“Oh? But am I interrupting something here? Please go on, I’m curious.”

A sudden burst of giggling was heard. Lexi turned and frowned. Wha was so funny, at this point of time? She turned to see a hooded man rocking back and forth with laughter. Lexi pressed her lips together, willing herself not to go over and yell at the man.

Although, Lexi could hardly blame him. Since the witch, Lexi had found little funny. It was as if er sense of humor had disappeared altogether with her beloved Queen. Any little hint of laughter would set Lexi's teeth on edge, a small giggle would make her feel like exploding. In her mind, laughter was only meant for the other side, and it was forbidden within the Rebellion.

Lexi found the hooded man very intriguing. She closed her eyes and listened intently. This one is different, perhaps he will be vital in the uprising.

Shaking her head, Lexi reminded herself not to be too confident. Confidence is good, but we have no knowledge that it will work. But is this too pessimistic? Lexi toyed with the idea, liking the catch-22. Catch-22... Lexi had always liked puzzles. Her mind was constantly alert, and keeping it busy was the best way to ward off sleep that would not, and never would, come to her.

Red's eyes flashed simultaneously with anger and fear for a split second before she calmed herself down. "Indeed, my friend...you were a bit hasty in your comment. Be glad that I have a modicum of trust in those who received my invitations. Watch your mouth unless you want us all to die." She laid back in her seat a bit, still ready to move or grab her sword if necessary. "But I digress. Your name, if you please? We can get to business in a less public place." These were all directed at the cat.

With that, she turned to the hooded man, meeting his red eyes with her own. The light flashed across her face for a moment, revealing a dangerous, predatory grin on a fairly childish face. It would have been an unsettling sight to most. "And you, sir. You seem like an interesting person. You are correct. We could've been in trouble. If indeed you were an assassin from the queen. But, as I said. Anyone who received an invitation has more reason to side with us than her." As her hood covered her face again, the amused yet warning tone continued from the darkness where her face was. "Though you seem like a bright fellow. So I'd assume if you were an assassin, you wouldn't have blown your cover. Thus, I am inclined to believe you are not. Now...regarding the second part of that statement..." She gave a small laugh, and nodded towards the door. "You would also know that if you tried to leave, or harm me, you would not complete either alive. Or complete them at all, rather. But enough with the threats. It seems we have started off on the wrong foot. Your name as well, my hooded friend?"

Then, she faced the couple...or so it seemed..that was sitting nearby. "Ah, is that so? My friends here were also scared off by the howling. Care to join us?" She spoke with a friendly, casual tone of voice, in order to at least attempt to keep everything inconspicuous.

Finally, as she waved at the couple, she moved her fingers ever so slightly. It was a signal that Bebe/Lexi would hopefully understand. It said that if everything went wrong, they should both get out. Red would silently follow any troublemakers, but Bebe should get back to base. Red's priority was to keep everything secret over everything, and because this was her idea, it was her firm belief that she should handle any problems that arose.

Red kept an eye on the woman just a few tables away. She seemed like potential trouble, and hadn't approached them, leaving room for doubt if she was an ally.

Ivory/Snow White

The Tipsy Fary Pub/ Streets of Brogdin

Ivory was getting bored. The little group in the back of the pub had been joined by a couple that seemed to be brother and sister. Certainly, this odd assortment of people were interesting enough but they all seemed to be very involved with their talk and didn't look like they would finish any time soon. She knew that she probably would never get the chance to see all these people in action again if she didn't start a brawl now but the prospect of having to wait any longer in this dull pub really was a dreary prospect. She decided then to settle the decision the same way she settled everything, with a toss of the coin.

"Heads, I leave in search of greener pastures," she whispered to herself, "Tails I stay to incite chaos among the cattle."

Counting to three she flipped the coin, it almost seemed to spin in slow motion in and oddly elegant way before landing in her outstretched palm.

"Hmm, heads," she murmered, standing up, "Lets see what I can find amongst these merry streets."

With one last look at the curious group she left the pub, if she ever had to be confined by its four walls again it would most likely be too soon but then again, she never knew what the coin would decide. Silently she walked through the streets, hoping for something to catch her eye untill she happened upon a flower store. She loved flowers, they reminded her of a time where things had been happier, simpler. A time where Rose had still been alive.

"Rose," breathed Ivory, glancing at the mirror in her hand.

She knew that all the members of Seven thought she was vain because she spent so much time looking in the mirror but nothing was further from the truth. THe reason she really looked at the mirror was because sometimes, if she stared long and hard enough then occasionally she could catch a glimpse of her sister, fair haired and beautiful, the opposite of Ivory.

"Now is not the time to be thinking of that," thought Ivory, striding towards the flower store.

Gracefully she opened the door and swept inside, gazing at a bunch of lillies before turning to look at the shopkeeper, there was something strangely familiar about her. She reminded her of someone she knew from a long time ago.

"Pearl?" asked Ivory uncertainly, "Well now, I must say that this is a suprise. Dry land is the last place I expected to find you."

Gretel left a trail of butterfly kisses on her brother's neck, fingers played along his chest. Her free hand grabbed hold of his lighter, flicking it open and lighting a flame. Her hazel eyes lit up in amusement as a curved, almost twisted smile slowly appeared on her face.

"Beautiful, isn't?" Gretel mumbled against Hansel's skin, playing with the flame from across his neck. How enticing was the flame in its glory? Too much too compare. Keeping it small enough to be consider simple, such a challenge. All she wanted to do was let out a big ball and hurl it at someone. Maybe at that girl who kept giving them the eye.

Red called them over and her eyes snapped at her. "Of course, we'd love to." Her voice was clear yet soft, friendly even. Unlike her brother, Gretel was one to make friends. No, they weren't friends. They were merely tools and stepping stones to defeat Matilda, and the Queen to a lesser extent. Once they were done, she'd leave them or kill them. It would all depend on the outcome.

She tugged Hansel's collar lightly, leaning over his ear before whispering, "They may know more than we. I'd like to hear what they say." It was an unusual sight to see, Gretel whispering words barely audible into her brother's cool ear and leaving him a kiss behind. She caught a good whiff of his delightful odor, the mild scent of their victims' blood in honey and dew.

"You smell wonderful." She inhaled the smell once more, placing a hand on his that laid on her waist. Pulling themselves apart killed her softly but they should move. They had to move closer. Together, they pulled it closer and she plopped right down on his lap one again.

They could all stare but she'd have their remains guttered. A hand began to stroke her brother chin and jaw affectionately as another flicked his lighter. "Why not discuss over a drink?" She could feel the tension between everyone, how the cat almost blew their cover. A woman left, she kept looking at them as if she was contemplating something. Gretel was contemplating how to kill her.

Streets of Brogdin / Daisy's Flower Shop

Pearl quietly made her way through the rubble of the town, with a basket in hand of freshly picked flowers. The flowers were dull and browned, for they had absorbed the dirty oil spills and rotten stentch of the soil but some how still managed to grow. Being a flower girl was risky business, especially in Brogdin. Pearl always walked with a dark hood covering her head with dagger ready, just incase anyone should try to attack her. She had once been threatened by a man who was coming on to her, but Pearl socked him in the stomach and held his throat so tightly, his consciousness gave out on the alley street. He was lucky she did not use her claws, or her hypnotyzing eyes. But not wanting to give away her identity, she laid quiet not using her abilities, pretending to be a human woman. Ever since that incident, she always watched Brogdin with her eyes. Every man, woman, and child in a gang were to not be left without a mental check.

Pearl had heard of the white order being talked about amongst some homeless men on the street. They whispered, for they did not want to be heard. It was probably fear of 'chief' Brogdin and the witch's henchmen. Pearl's hearing had gotten acute, for she had been mute for some day months and had grown accustomed to it. She could hear the shuffling and laughs of women as they prostituted themselves on the streets. Even men sold themselves on the streets as well. One had tried to come onto Pearl as she was selling her flowers so mutely, but Pearl quickly turned the other way and swore she would walk down 'those' streets ever again. Pearl held her hood close to her face, holding her flowers out in a basket as children ran across the narrow street. When she wasn't looking, a child had stolen a flower from her basket and had run off. If Pearl could audibly sigh, she would. Being a flower girl was not easy business.
If anyone asked if they spoke about the White order, people would simply lie. It had happened before when she had overheard someone talking about it, but when people would begin to get curious about what it is they were talking about they would simply lie and say it was "Nothing."

Pearl smiled a homeless man on the street, and handed him a flower. The flower was a bit wilted, but the symbolism of a flower never left whatever that may be. A few seemed to be the only sane ones in this town. The man smiled at her, but Pearl quickly turned away, for she did not want to give anyone the wrong impression. If Pearl could laugh, she would laugh at this lame place they called Brogdin for it held nothing of a town. It was a pile or rubbish, but she held on to hope that things could get better. She wanted to leave this place, whatever it took so.
She always kept the magical dagger she held underneath her clothing so noone could see it. It was well hidden from view.

Upon entering the flower shop, she greeted the old man who owned the place and returned with a half filled basket off flowers. The old man looked at basket and frowned.

"Business slow today?" The old man said as he tended the carefully taken care of flowers in the shop. It was a wonder how these flowers could be in such great condition.

Pearl furrowed her brows a bit and nodded her head. She attempted some sign language, she was walking and a kid had stolen a flower from her. The old man laughed.

"That's Brogdin for you, beware of the streets." The old man tended the flowers while humming, his eyes a bit glazed as he was remembering the old days when Brogdin was once called Tale. His flower shop somehow managed to live through the political change.
Soon, the door quietly opened. Ivory spoke, and Pearl set down her basket of flowers on the wooden table and said not a word.

"I'm afraid she's mute, miss. She works and does a good job for the shop." The old man said sincerely.

Pearl looked at Ivory with an expression of longing as she stared at Ivory's face. She was excited to meet someone she hadn't seen in so long, but it was muffled by the sheer truth of her being transformed and being mute. Pearl wrote down on a piece of paper, " I remember you, too." and showed Ivory the peice of paper. Good thing she could write if her sign language could not get across.

Ivory/Snow White

Daisy's Flower Shop

Ivory looked at the old man tending the flowers, surely he was joking, if she remembered correctly, Pearl had abeautiful voice. Sadly, the man's words were proven to be true as Pearl handed her a note.

"Oh dear," said Ivory, concern not quite reaching her voice, "Whatever happened to you?"

She didn't really care but she was curious as to why the mermain now had legs and she had a feeling there would be a fascinating story behind the loss of her voice.

"Perhaps if you'd be allowed a break then you could tell me all about it," she said, "I remember that the last time we met turned out to be a very interesting occasion, perhaps it was fate that we met again."

Surely such a meeting as this was a sign that things would soon be heating up. If the mermaid was on land then chances were that she had some sort of dark agenda in mind and Ivory would only be too happy to help, she could almost see the murder in Pearl's eyes or rather, she could imagine it.

"Seven could use the workout," she thought bitterly.

It had been a while since the band of murderers had had a serious job, with luck, Pearl would provide the perfect opportunity for one.

What an odd bunch. What a mismatched group of people. Were these part of the rebellion? The White Order? These couldn't be the people that had also been invited to join a secret group that would bring down the reign of the evil queen. Many of them that sat at the table that Hansel and Gretel sat at seemed as if they were just crazy in the head with nothing to back it up. And that cat! Stupid is as stupid does, his mother used to say.

His sister's advances put an amused smile on his face, though for the most part, he ignored practically everything she did.

"Very profession, Gretel," he chuckled.

In response, Hansel merely placed his hands on her waist, supporting her in case she decided to fall off the chair for god knows why. She had always been the touchier one of the two of them, always showing her love and her obsession with many physical contacts. He accepted her love, however he felt no need to continuously express his feelings like she did, knowing that Gretel knew how he felt without him having to constantly kiss her hand or brush her cheeks.

"A drink does sound nice to start this party." His eyes glanced around the table, trying to decide whether he thought the group had some potential. He wasn't about to join a rinky-dink club. He was here because he thought this so-called Red person could give him what he desired most in the world: the death of a witch. "If the party is, indeed, being held in this very fine establishment."

He snapped his fingers at a waitress with an unfortunately deformed face wearing a rather revealing outfit. Without asking what Gretel wanted, he ordered an alcoholic beverage for himself and some nontoxic, girlish drink for her, not really caring what her thoughts or desires were. After all, as her older brother he wouldn't allow her to consume such a devilish poison -- not even if his life depended on it.

The Tipsy Fairy Pub

The Gingerbread Man’s laughter quieted and his grin shrank into the shadows of his hood. The Red Hood was very confident of herself. It had been her comment about the invitation that had silenced him. She was smart for he was expecting her to overreact and jump the gun. Instead, the girl had kept her cool—again, confident. She was so sure she had him figured out. The only mistake she made was assuming that he was like the meat bags seated around the table. Once upon a time, he was but not anymore.

The siblings approached the table, joining their circle, and Gingie’s eyes had been on the lighter Gretel was playing with. He didn’t like the way she played with it. She waved it about with adoration much like she would her brother if he had been one.

“My name? Huh, I once had a real name,” The Gingerbread Man began. His lips parted, his mouth opened as fluid could be heard bubbling behind his nose and then gurgling into his throat. Puckering his lips, The Gingerbread Man sent a golden loogie flying across the table to splat against the lighter. What one might have thought was mucus was caramel oozing and dripping down the side. The molten butter-sugar had put out the flame and would ruin the lighter.

“I’m a candy killer,” he giggled at his own joke. He loved candy. “I kill people too—goblins, ghouls…I am an assassin, kid; and the reason why I’m not afraid to tell it to your face is because well…”

He could no longer resist. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me. How can you forget the song? Run, run, as fast as you can…you can’t catch me… Heh, I’ll let you finish the rest.”

…Because he couldn’t be caught. It was a motto he lived up to ever since he became a cookie. From the corners of his eyes, The Gingerbread Man noticed a spiral, rainbow lollipop about to enter a thug’s mouth. His next action had been swift, and if one hadn’t been expecting it, they would have missed it. A breeze passed over the table and the hooded stranger became a black blur before he became defined again.

With the lollipop in his gloved hand, his candy corn grin was back on his face as the thug was heard shouting, “What the fuck?”

The Gingerbread Man twisted the lollipop before his eyes, marveling its beauty before he tilted it back toward his mouth. The sugar pop froze before touching his teeth as he lifted it and glared daggers at it. It hadn’t been a normal lollipop. It was from that cursed candy shop. What a way to turn a frown upside down…tossing the lollipop on the floor, he crushed it under his boot and twitched some. Le bon bon was slowly becoming a monopoly.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to get my fix lately,” The Gingerbread Man spoke on a pissed growl. “Ever since that damn candy store opened, I can’t get real candy anymore.”

The Tipsy Fairy Pub

Sir Rowan drew back in embarrassment at the foolish words that had escaped his lips. He had indulged so much in the thought of vanquishing the ogre murderer that he had dropped his guard, and in such a vulnerable situation: when they were right out in the open. Stupid. Fool. His eye, which flashed with blue fire at the arrogant Gingerbread Man, gleamed with more hatred than ever. The sickening sweet smell, on top of his flamboyant bad-ass attitude, was too much for him to swallow down. But this was no time to fight like cats and dogs. He glanced back at the red-hooded maiden, a solemn expression on his face. Apolegetic, the fire died to a tranquil sky blue, with a hint of stormy weather. The cat frowned.

"My sincerest apologies. It was foolish of me to say so much." He sighed. "I was too eager. It’s not just the Queen, but I have the deepest respects for mayor Brogdin. I would like to meet him as soon as possible, if you know what I mean." Suddenly the anger demons possessed him; and he was consummed by the flames of the distant memory that the name had sparked, his veins swirling in sweat and murder. The memory had been suppressed without expression for so long. Death. Blood. Breakfast. And their merriment. A grimace distorted his face. Like a feral cat, unable to contain himself, he slammed his paw against the flimsy table top with all his force, drawing surprised looks. He could barely contain an animalistic yowl, and he shivered silently. Shame. “I’ve waited so long, for this opportunity,” he finally managed. “I just get batty over it.” He chuckled darkly, trying to feign light-heartedness. An idle claw tickled the lines that now scarred the wood, and he waited for any curious onlookers to bore before he continued.

"Who am I? I am a nobody. A stray cat. I have no home to call my own," he paused. “I used to be somebody, but what can you say about fame? It’s fickle, like a cat in heat. All over you one second, gone the next.

“My name is Sir Rowan Marquis. I am also known as Puss in Boots. But you can call me Rowan, or just Puss. Either is fine.” He looked at Red with wary respect, wilting at the aspect of getting them all murdered. His whole life had led to this. But his keen ears had no sensed any sign of hostility. “I feel that we’ve started on the wrong foot. Again, I am very sorry; I'll take any punishment you offer. I hope we can be acquaintanced grandly.” He bowed, a swift paw bringing her hand to his face, out of his village’s custom. He kissed it with business-like conduct. Ah. "Was that too much?" He blushed heatedly from embarassment, recollecting how it was uncommon here to greet someone so intimately. Well. He glanced at Hansel and Gretel. No. That was different.

Suddenly his eye flickered at something small dodging across the floor, and his sword-equipped paw twitched. The sword's blade created an audible thunk as it stuck into the unwashed wooden floor. Quivering beside the blade, which glowed dully in the warm autumn light, was a quivering little gray body, balloon-round. It froze in fear. The mouse raised its beady eyes up at the cat in fear for a lingering moment, its eyes flickering back to the shattered lollipop fragment in its mouth. It lowered it from its mouth, but licked its lips in greed; the le bon bon addiction was already taking its toll, poisoning the mouse's blood-stream with its sickening sweet. Puss did not know this, but was merely disgusted by the sight of the indulgent thing.

"Don't you know its rude to eavesdrop? Get out of here, before I eat you up," he growled, though the thought of returning to his feral state disgusted him. The mouse chomped its buck-teeth over the sweet and scampered off with a triumphant waddling gait, glad to have escaped with its prize.

The shattered remains of the lollipop lay glittering on the floor, like a fragments of rainbow. There was no doubt the mouse would return for it, until it had grown fat and high with sugar. Ignorant of le bon bon's treachery, he sneered, “What a waste of food. Cannibal.” He shot a look of distaste at the grotesque candy-corn grin. He was just an overgrown cookie. Bitter-sweet, and hardly digestable. Maybe it would do him some good to have the mouse nibble on him.

“Now that we’re all here, let’s talk business. At a more private setting?...” He glanced at the fat thing devouring the candy in a distant corner.
“Brogdin is crawling with vermin. If you know what I mean.”

Aurora was almost amused. For yet another long moment on her walk that evening, the steady golden gaze of the woman remained level on eyes that met hers with varying degrees of hostility, envy or lust as she passed by. It was as though she had disturbed the laws of the worlds by stepping beyond the portal of the The Tumbler and into that darkest of slums in Brogdin. It was funny how that worked. She was welcome in that town, so long as she remained in her place. Tale had fallen to ruin..but even in ruin there were the haves, and the have nots - and she had made it a point to cater to the haves.

The Tumbler was no Three Little Pigs; for one, she had a bar and something close to a table service.. and her girls didn’t walk the streets whoring for bread. Clients who could afford it paid well for the chance to pretend that life was not the sordid hell it had become. A well stocked top shelf and intimate rooms rooms, plush sheets and tender personal attention- the façade of love in one of the cleaner quarters of town; that was what she bartered in. It was the sale of lost dreams and almost forgotten memories. The mayor himself, and many of his inner cohort were frequent dabblers in her wares, and it wouldn’t be a lie to say she was on a first name basis with many of them. Tongues wagged loose on the sheets. Hopes, fears..plans; she had made it a point to keep a catalogue of them all in her not so little black book. It had proven itself useful on many an occasion, and was the main reason that she was a sparkling object of luxury against the squalid dreariness of Brogdin’s slum heart. The main reason too, that she was the receptor of those looks that lusted or hated everything that she represented. She should be used to it by now. Everything she’d ever wanted had slipped out of reach; was it any wonder she would claw to hold onto whatever was left of her dreams?

The warmth cooled in her eyes, and a certain tension crept into normally placid expression. She could still see them, all dashing charm and winsome smiles. But those memories were crowded out by others, dark things seen and done in even darker woods. No. they were gone, both of her princes. The fingers resting loosely on the wrist of her escort flinched, tightening briefly on that supportive rest and its owner noticed. The professor glanced her way and issued an almost irritable reprimand.

“Focus, Aurora. It is pointless to attempt at exercising the power your mind if you are so easily distracted,” he bit out. He was one of the few who ever bothered to be so very blunt with her; it was, perhaps why she was as fond of him as of anybody in the world. Not that that was saying much. He was not attracting nearly as much attention as she was. His robes were threadbare now, if clean still and patched in places. Life had left its marks in the lines on a mature, if not unattractive face, though grey had not yet touched the nut brown waves that fell in disheveled waves over his cheekbones and to his shoulders. Anton always looked like he’d just been distracted from the most important task in the world; perhaps because it had quite often been the case. His mind was a power few could understand or hope to decipher. Aurora didn’t try either, she was satisfied with the scraps that fell from his table.

She slid a golden look his way, and gifted him with the twitch of a smile and the lift of a single dark brow.

“Careful, Anton, or a woman might suspect that you care more than you should..” she murmured with a wink. “I swear, I almost expect to see their eyes pop right of their heads and go rolling down the street, one day. It is as if they had never seen a breast or a leg before…” she intoned dryly.

The Professor leveled a hard look the woman’s way. “Hogwash, Rora.. and you know it.” He paused in his stride long enough to lift his wrist and turn it under her palm to capture it, drawing her knuckles to his lips for the brush of a courtesy kiss. “There is not a breast in the kingdom that can hold a candle to your own. You drive them mad with envy, or lust..or both.” There was a reason Anton had been so long and deeply entrenched at her side. He could play the game, too. “Now, focus.. What do you see?” he murmured, steadily, and there was already a quieting and sharpening to his psionic resonance that Aurora could feel prickling over her skin.

Slowing her breaths, the apprentice shifted a golden gaze along the street, eyes pausing on shop and tavern fronts, carriages as they passed and people as they bustled by. It came without warning, when it did.

“A woman in white will leave the pub..” she murmured. “Flowers, and and old friend. Surprise, I think..” Her brow furrowed slightly. “But not here, in the street, ...somewhere else..”

“Excellent..” There was no denying the satisfaction in his tones. “How soon she appears will give us a sense of how far out you are seeing. Anything else?” He had caught the hesitant almost slightly puzzled expression that was flitting across her face.

“Yes..” she trailed a breath bemused. It made no sense. “Hate..mistrust…unity.” She looked into his eyes. “War.”

Aurora almost missed seeing Ivory as she slipped from the tavern, but golden eyes were trailing her along the street to the front of the flower shop until she disappeared inside. Ten minutes. Nothing to shout about, but something, where before there had been nothing. Progress. It was a pensive gaze that shifted to the closed pub door. She answered the concern she felt, before he urged it.

“I’ll be careful..” she assured smoothly. But she was going in. The bastard royal made no attempt to disguise her entry, it was all but impossible, anyway in her current hooded luxury. You didn’t need to see the outfit beneath the rich chocolate robe to know that she was out of place in her finery. With no demonstrated effort to see who occupied the room, she was making immediately for the bar, a polite nod and smile offered to the woman seated there as she lifted a slender finger to beckon the tender closer. It was while she was waiting for that drink, that she would try to delve deeper into her empathic reading of the room. There were powerful, almost toxic emotions present, and she couldn’t help but discern them.

And if she heard or saw anything that could make it to her black book at the same time. Well, all the merrier.