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[img]https://i.imgur.com/d18QHyE.png[/img]
[h2][color=#fcba03]Callum Prosser[/color][/h2][/center]
[hr][center][@Estylwen][/center][hr]

As Raiden started speaking again, Callum had a thought for a moment to point out that he hadn't been speaking to the man when he continued along. Whoever he was, doubtless he didn't have the chance to actually [i]know[/i] Callum's eldest brother, unlike Lady Furino. The Baroness Furino, who was...

[color=#fcba03][i]"...Exceedingly polite, perhaps,"[/i][/color] he murmured to himself as the pair fell right back into their back-and-forth sniping at each other. If they were friends, it would be comical...but he was too smart not to notice that the only thing keeping them from each other's throats was, ultimately, decorum. Nobles and their servants killing each other in the streets was never good for appearances, after all, no matter how much it may simplify certain things.

Fortunately for Callum, they managed to maintain that sense of decorum long enough to part...though not without Raiden leaving one more comment about the pie. He glanced over towards the inn that Anabel had directed him towards with a new sinking feeling in his stomach. If he chose not to take up that offer, it would be viewed as an obvious sign of disfavour. At which point he would be reliant on whatever protection mister Asher could provide, which seemed dubious at best.

Taking it, instead, would put him right in the Furino's home court, and could easily be construed as favouring her side. Something he already [i]did,[/i] if only because Raiden's self-introduction hadn't exactly fostered feelings of warmth in Callum's heart...but such an outward appearance might spur the man on to more direct measures. Of course, there was little doubt that the inn would be watched over by Anabel's guards, so there was some guarantee of more immediate safety there.

And at the same time, a guarantee that he couldn't just cut and run. Both had their eyes on him, both knew that there was [i]some[/i] connection he had with the late Duke Nathan, and both sought to use it—him—in some manner. One for the queen, one clearly against the queen. He sat there a moment longer, looking down at his pie...utterly disinterested in eating it further after some man riding a giant wolf so casually stuck his glove down inside it.

[color=#fcba03]"Well. It can't be helped, can it?"[/color] he muttered to himself after a moment, straightening his back and standing up. He spotted a dog nearby, waiting dilligently by the home of its master, and tossed the remnants of the pie over to it. The cur shamelessly began to devour the discarded pastry with gusto. [color=#fcba03]"But, really. [i]The Sparrows?[/i] What sort of fool reads a second-rate story and decides to name their organization something like [i]that..."[/i][/color]

Leading his horse, he walked on down the street. As adequately as he'd managed to walk himself into their little trap, there was nothing to do now but await whatever came of it.

[hr]

Later that evening, Callum left the room that had been provided to him, walking down to the tavern. Sure enough, it all had matched with what Anabel had told him to expect; the rushes covering the tavern floor were themselves clean and fresh. Undoubtedly changed daily, if not more often should any patrons get messy or sick. His eyes scanned the room quickly, looking for wherever his pursuers had placed themselves...He'd come down intentionally on the later side of dinner, both to claw back some semblance of agency in the proceedings by making them wait for a moment, and to avoid getting surprised by Raiden Asher deciding to soil his food a [i]second[/i] time.