The Prince and The Pauper [ Horatio x Dimitri ]

[Dimitri]

With a tired sigh, the young man entered his room, closing the door gently. His head felt slightly fuzzy from all the information taught to him today, his neck ached from the violin lessons he attended and his back was sore from the horse-riding exercises. Luckily for him, it was a Sunday, so he would not be further bothered by any royal duties or other ridiculous things, and would be left alone. Until tomorrow morning, at least.

Alistair walked over to one of the two bookshelves in his room, scanning the covers with his dark eyes. Although he had read most of the novels here, he had managed to gather some of his favourites to keep, the type of books he'd never grow tired of reading. Most of those were fantasy adventure novels - something his mother had disapproved of ever since he was a child, saying a member of royalty such as himself should not be wasting time reading imaginary stories. The Queen herself fancied history books (especially the ones that spoke of her family), and she made sure her son had read at least a dozen of those, but that never did manage to soothe his love for brave heroes and heroines and the magical wonders they faced. She did however insist for Alistair to never speak of these 'absurdities' when meeting other royal families.

Smiling to himself, the raven-haired man reached for a book with a thick, dark-blue cover: "The Memories of Dragons", the title read. He then turned on his heel and headed towards his private balcony, opening the doors wide and sitting himself down on a large, comfortable chair. The view spread over their enormous garden, and then continued on towards fields and very distant mountains; the cityview was on the other side of the castle. But at that moment, Alistair didn't care for the greenery; he opened the book, turning to page 57, and began reading.

'Percy could feel the dragon's intense stare on his back as he retreated slowly, praying it wouldn't attack.' Ah, his favourite moment of the book; the hero's first, albeit dangerous meeting with the mythical creature. The young man continued reading, and he didn't know how much time had passed before he heard someone entering the balcony.

"My Lord, with the way you're sitting like that, you will wrinkle your robes." The voice sounded, a gentle, yet masculine sound. Alistair looked up from his book, and laughed. "Right, I suppose I will," he replied carelessly, not moving from his spot. The man that had entered was his private servant and best friend, Julian Antemore. He was slightly older, in his middle-twenties, and also served as the family's gardener.

"Tomorrow, your soon-to-be groom shall arrive," Julian noted. Alistair grimaced, nodding slowly and raising himself from the chair. "No escape, huh?" he murmured bitterly, shutting the book and letting the hand holding it fall by his side. Julian hesitated for a moment. "Well," he said slowly, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a smile. "What do you say we go and visit the town today, my Lord?"

Instantly, Alistair grinned, a shine of cheerfulness returning to his eyes. "Julian, you are a genius. Get the horsecart ready."


((ooc; yay for movie references.))

[Horatio]

Down in the sprawling city of the capitol, citizens and merchants went about their day, enjoying the sunshine and pleasant weather.
Sol, the tailor's apprentice wished he could be doing the same. The shop he worked in wasn't the largest or the fanciest, but of all the tailors in the city, Master Carpe had the best reputation, all thanks to the fine quality of Sol's work.
The slender brunette sighed he finished the stitching on a dress ordered by some noblewoman. He really wanted to get outside, walk in the sunshine. He had an appointment tonight with a client and some fresh air would help clear his mind.
"Hey King Solomon, I require your majesties services," a loud, country accent floated in through the door. Sol groaned.
"What did you do this time Baker?" the brunette walked away from his workstation to confront the baker's troublesome ward. The tall, broad auburn-haired man was grinning, despite having a split lip and bruised cheek.
"You should see the other guy," Zee chuckled darkly, his two-tone eyes glinting. Sol ignored him and examined his clothes, the right sleeve of his shirt was almost completely torn off.
"Give it here," he held out his hand, rocking on the balls of his bare feet impatiently. Zee complied, showing no shame at removing his shirt in public. Sol went back to his workstation, shirt in hand, grabbing a needle and thread. He was finished in a matter of minutes, shaking his head as he handed the repaired shirt back to its owner.
"You could have at least given me a challenge," his light hazel eyes rolled. Zee smirked.
"I'll try harder to lose next time my liege," he bowed mockingly.
"I'm charging you next time,"
"With what? You know I haven't got a penny to my name," Zee reached up to play with the golden locket around his neck.
"Just get out of here, before I make you my indentured servant,"
"Bastard, see if I ever come to you again," Zee stuck out his tongue but promptly left, hopefully back to the bakery instead of to another fight or night in jail. Sol knew he'd be back, Zee came in for clothing repairs at least once a week. Sol could almost consider him a friend, if he wasn't so annoying.
The tailor sighed again and went over his mental checklist of all he had to do that day. His eyes widened in surprise, actually with the dress finished and only a jacket that needed mending by tomorrow, he could afford to take a break. Sol smiled and quickly checked his clothes, black breeches and a blue shirt, both in good condition. He briefly considered shoes before just walking out the door. Shoes were for soft-footed princes. Sol grinned and headed for the market, following the wafting scent of baked apples.
(Oh Julian...)

[Dimitri]

((ooc; haha, Master Carpe. Perfect.))

"Oh!" Alistair gasped. The horsecart he and Julian were in had just crossed the city gates, and the road was far from smooth. The cart shook with every bump, making the ride unpleasant. The Prince complained no more, however, excitedly looking out the tiny window.

Instead of taking one of the royal carts, they had decided to take the one designed for servants and other lower-class people of the castle. It was medium-sized and slightly old, with two grey horses pulling it. Julian was leading them, and he smiled at the Prince's surprise. The man had visited this place quite often to do his shopping, but he knew Alistair was a rare guest on the streets. It was the first time he had taken the young man without any guard, and without any official warning to the people. It was risky, he knew, but it was probably the last time the Prince could do such a thing so freely.

Even though Alistair was still dressed in clothes of the royalty - a black robe with golden framing and decorations, high-quality black pants and polished shoes - he wasn't particularly worried. The last time he visited was when he was 14, and he doubted any of the citizens would recognize him so easily. Once Julian stopped the cart and opened the door for him, Alistair jumped out with almost childish eagerness. "Oh, wow!" he called out in wonder, looking around in amazement. He hadn't seen this many people in one place before. And they were all so different; coloured, tall, small, middle-class clothing and the lower-class rags. The streets buzzed with sounds that were foreign to his ears - so many voices speaking all at once!

Julian paused to let the Prince absorb this new situation, before tapping his shoulder. "Come on, let's have a look around the shops," he stated. Alistair wasn't looking at him, still glancing in every possible direction, but nodded vigorously. "Yes! Oh, is there a book shop? Take me to one! And flowers, don't you buy them here? Don't our clothes come from a tailor in this town? Come on, Julian, let's hurry!" Alistair fought the urge to run off somewhere on his own, knowing he would be lost. Julian laughed, and lead the way through the crowded streets.

[Horatio]

(It's pronounced Car-pay like carpe diem, just to make it slightly different )
Sol hummed lightly to himself as he ate an apple and wandered around town, staying in the upper class area, not going near the poor section he'd grown up in. He'd have to go there later anyway and once a day was enough in that dismal, seedy place. He thought of where he could go, he didn't have too much time to waste. The bookshop? No, it's not like he could afford it and he was a slow reader. The fields and forests outside of town were too far. Hmm, well there was always the tavern or maybe Melody's music store? The brunette was so lost in thought he came out a side street without looking and crashed into someone, both of them falling to the ground. Ouch.
"I'm so sorry! I'm such an idiot, I-" he stopped from where he'd been trying to help the boy to his feet, staring in shock at a face that mirrored his. If a little bit paler and cleaner.

[Dimitri]

((ooc; gotcha!))

As the two of them walked, Julian took it upon himself to talk the Prince through the streets, introducing all the shops and well-known faces. "See, that's one of the tailoring shops, though not the one our clothes come from. The Lady that owns it is quite famous here, since she always wears fancy clothing. Oh, and here..."

Alistair tried to divide his attention between looking around at everything and listening to his friend speak, but he was never one to multi-task, so he only managed to catch a few words here and there. As they moved into the more upper-class areas, he was glad; he blended in just that little bit more. Although he was walking side-by-side with Julian, he wasn't really paying attention to where he was going, trusting the man to lead the way safely. And yet, somehow, a moment later, he felt something knock against him and lost his balance.

"Uu..." he murmured, grimacing as he attempted to raise himself off the ground, still slightly confused as to what had happened. Looking up, he was met with-- "Huh?"

It felt like he was looking into a mirror. This person in front of him - he had the exact same facial features as him! Although his hair and eyes were lighter, it proved to be a subtle difference.

"Alistair! Are you alright?" Julian reached to grab a hold of the Prince's arm and almost dragged him up to a standing position. He then turned to face the boy who had bumped into Alistair, ready to apologise and move on, but was also stricken with shock, and all he could do was stare blankly at the Prince's replica.

[Horatio]

Sol tried to find his voice but he couldn't stop staring. They had the same cheekbones, the same chin, their eyes both had a slight slant. The clone's mouth didn't have the same little crook to it that Sol's did but only Sol would notice that miniscule difference. How was this possible? Did he have a twin? Were they seperated at birth? Or a more horrifying thought, had his father been unfaithful to his mother? Oh gods...what if the- wait a minute...Allistair? Like Prince Allistair? It was a common practice for poor mothers to name their children after their kings and queens in hopes they would lead successful lives. Like Sol was named after the ancient King Solomon, an ancestor of their current royal family. But this kid looked rich, too rich for his mother to even dare thinking about naming her son after another. And then Sol remembered taking the payment for an order from the Queen, the guard had handed him a bag of gold, took the clothes and was gone. He remembered looking at the gold coins with their prince's face on them and thinking it kind of looked like him.
So this was the prince? He should bow right? Or at least say something! The brunette looked at the ground, getting ready to bow and apologize profusely when he saw the wrinkled state of Allistair's robes. "What have you done to my outfit?" he was staring again, but this time in horror.

[Dimitri]

((ooc; i hope i'm not coming off rude, but i'd just like to point out that the prince's name actually has one 'l' n__n; ))

"Umm- huh?" Alistair murmured again at the boy's question. Was he hallucinating and seeing some sort of version of himself that claimed his clothes belonged to it?

No, he couldn't have gone that crazy from a simple fall. Although he opened his mouth to try and form some sort of coherent reply for once, Julian was faster, a frown forming on his face. "Your outfit? This belongs to the Pr-- I mean, to him," The man glanced at Alistair, having almost given away his identity. He knew it'd cause a commotion if this boy was one of those who'd start shouting and pointing so soon as he heard of the Prince. Julian cleared his throat, again grabbing Alistair, this time by the wrist. "We should move on."

"W-wait! Julian," Alistair wriggled his hand free, then took a step closer to the stranger. "You, your name?" he asked curiously.

[Horatio]

(Sorry, Allistair is the name of the father in my Not So Wicked rp, with the double l, I'll try to fix that)
"Well, of course it belongs to him!" Sol shook his head. Rich people. Didn't have the sense they were born with.
He reached out and put a hand on Alistair's shoulder, gasping in surprise when he was solid, not a hallucination. He inwardly chastised himself, of course he was real! He blinked when the tall male tried to pull the prince away. "Wait," he said in unison with Alistair, then smiled in awe when Alistair asked his name.
"It's Solomon Tailor sir," he nodded his head, deciding a bow would be too eye-catching, "But everyone calls me Sol."

[Dimitri]

"Solomon? That sounds familiar, somehow," Alistair murmured.

Julian shook his head in defiance, but a smile was playing on his features. "That would be the name of one of your ancestors, King Solomon. Book titled 'Solomon's Legacy', one I believe your mother had you read."

"Oh, those historical books are easily forgettable," the Prince waved his hand dismissively. "And well done, so much for my identity being hidden," he added with a chuckle that turned into a laugh upon seeing Julian's exaggerated reaction of shock. He turned back to Sol. "My name is Alistair. Pleased to meet you," he bowed his head just as the boy had done to him, then smiled. "Say, my clothes. You said something about them?" Hearing Sol's surname, Alistair had assumed what this meant, but decided to ask and be sure instead of taking a wild guess.

[Horatio]

Sol watched the two with amusement. So this really was the prince? Wow, he never thought he'd get to meet him in person. He made a lot of the royal family's clothes but he'd never expected to see his creations being worn by actual royalty! Why wasn't he a famous designer yet? Oh yeah, indentured servant. Stupid Carpe.
He shook those thoughts away when Alistair addressed him once again, "Oh yes, what on earth have you been doing in them? I made that to be very durable but delicate and you've wrinkled it," he pointed down near the hem with a sad look on his face, his poor baby. "...Oops," he blushed at his audacity. He never was able to keep his mouth shut when it came to clothes. "I apologize sir, I meant no offense. Master Carpe is always telling me the customer is always right," he clasped his hands behind his back and kicked his foot in the dirt, looking sheepish.