[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/necCR92.png[/img][/center][hr][sub][color=darkorange]Location:[/color] The Jail[/sub][hr][hr]

Elio could fight (and/)or fuck his way through just about any mood that struck him. Case in point: he wasn’t even pissed about Aliseth and his [s]concerning[/s] batshit [i]behavior[/i] anymore. He’d worked his frustrations out on some [i]other[/i] dark haired, slate eyed man with a strong grip (and a particularly deft tongue) last night, and now Elio considered himself moved on. He no longer gave a shit about Seth’s new dead-eyed stare, or the chilling smile as he’d implied Zeph was dead knowing [i]full well that he wasn’t.[/i] If he wanted to be a traumatized freak with a serviceable right hook, that was no longer Elio’s problem. 

So [i]fuck[/i] Aliseth.

Yes, Elio could move past anything — except if it got in the way of his [i]work[/i].

The ice and snow crunched under his boots, each step a warning. Heat flickered in his eyes like the torchlights cutting the night air. When the jail came into view — impeccable work, if it weren’t [i]half finished[/i] — his gaze darkened. He’d heard about the new resident this morning. Elio wouldn’t have cared about some troublemaker getting thrown in jail (he’d been the troublemaker in question often enough) but the building wasn’t completed yet — his work wasn’t [i]done.[/i] And if the work wasn’t done, Elio couldn’t stand by the quality, and for a craftsman of his caliber that was [i]unacceptable[/i]. His father would’ve —

[i]Fuck[/i] his father. 

Elio barely glanced at the prim little lady scurrying out of the building, her face pinched and her clothes far too fine. Of course, he couldn’t help but file the information away — too sweet and proper for a jail, young enough to be naïve, displeased and distraught as she fled — but it was secondary to his true purpose to being here. 

Ignoring the alarmed shouts of the guard, Elio forced his way into [i]his[/i] building. 

[color=darkorange]“What was it?”[/color] he asked, his voice low and measured as he stalked through the door. His gaze found the prisoner — he was [i]singing[/i], the little prick. Small, deceptively wiry, annoyingly golden hair and ghostly blue eyes. A stupid smile on his face. [color=darkorange]“Steal a loaf of bread? Kill your brother? Coerce some ingenue into questionable choices?”[/color] 

Elio couldn’t help but dart his eyes around the building, a critical gaze cataloguing all the work there was left to do. The ceiling unfinished. Supports not yet reinforced. The runes drawn [i]unevenly[/i] against his stone. He scowled, resenting the way such imprecise work still managed to hollow out his magic. His workers would have to complete this job [i]around[/i] the prisoner, without the use of magic. It would only make for slower, sloppier work. 

[color=darkorange]“Some blighter managed to attack the [i]Princess[/i] and get away with it, and she’s got more eyes on her than fleas on a stray. Fuck, so does the little [i]Princeling,[/i] and even [i]he[/i] got away with his fun.”[/color] Eyes narrowing, he focused again on the prisoner. [color=darkorange]“So what crime was so essential that you couldn’t wait a fuckin’ [i]week[/i] to do it, and how were you so incompetent that you couldn’t even dodge this town’s shit excuse for security?”[/color] 

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[sub][color=darkorange]Interactions:[/color] Anora Raunfeldt, Gadez Paladice [@Dezuel][/sub]