Fennec

Cancel my appointments, I've been sold into slavery.

Aleksandra hardly paid attention to the sword. She had no interest in swords, seeing as it was one of the few weapons she had absolutely no skill in wielding. Her father had tried desperately to teach her, but daggers and the staff were her calling. She remembered the weight of her daggers in her hands and wondered sadly where they might be. Often, if the slave was carrying valuables upon capture, the slavers would let the masters judge whether or not to include it in the payment. Saints, her horse had been more valuable than every weapon and article of clothing in Volsung's wardrobe ten times over. A beautiful dappled grey Tirion river horse, the hardest breed to ride. One could never break or tame a Tirion horse. Caego would most definitely be in the castle stables if she looked there. She'd not be getting him back. And after all the trouble she'd gone to when stealing him, she thought with a sigh.

As for her daggers and staff, they'd been of fine make, along with her hand-painted wolf mask from Xiang-Bao. It was possible they were all in storage somewhere in the castle. She'd ask the prince once he returned. But until then, she had clothing to make. She crept to the door and peeked out, catching the attention of the nearest guard. He looked as if he might ask her to go back in, but she flashed a sweet smile at him. After charming him for a few minutes, she asked for a needle and thread. "Mending the master's clothes, I am." She got what she needed and then set to work.

She cut a few inches from the legs of both sets of trousers, and then one long rip down each side. Taking them in to fit her was easy and only took about an hour. She set the finished products aside and set to work on the tunics. They were a greater challenge, with more seams and more fabric. In the end she shortened the sleeves and bottoms, then cut out some panels in the backs and laced them with ribbons almost like a corset, but not as tight. She'd need some sort of cloak to wear when she was outside, but at least the clothing now fit and looked flattering on her. Almost at an afterthought, she sewed the colorful scarves she'd found onto the hips of the trousers until they looked like short half-skirts, feminine enough that she supposed she wouldn't be bothered.

She pulled on her new clothes and stood in front of a mirror sat in the corner of the room. She looked more like a woman than she wanted to, and the tunic was stretched tighter across her ample chest than was comfortable, but it would do for now. She could fight and walk and run in these clothes, and that was all that mattered. She turned and glanced over her shoulder at the skin of her back, exposed every inch or so by the ribbons. Her scars were easily visible, but if no one looked too closely they might not notice. She deemed her clothes to be satisfactory, then settled down in the prince's bed to take a nap. The drug the slavers had used was still in her system and she felt the need to sleep it off. She had nothing better to do, anyways.

Cancel my appointments, I've been sold into slavery.

((Was at a wedding. Home now. Gosh, this is exciting.))

Aleksandra was visibly disappointed when their fight ended. She wanted to keep going, despite how heavy hear limbs felt and her growling stomach. She was surprised she'd been able to fight like that. The drug that slavers had used was still in her system, so she'd been slower than usual, not as strong. She dragged her sleeve over her sweaty face, walking around the room as she came down from her battle high. She hadn't fought like that against just one person in three years. It left her feeling giddy and jittery, like she couldn't keep still.

She turned to watch Aulfr open his closet, and she swore she almost drooled. All of those weapons, armor, and the trousers. Would he really allow a woman to wear clothing like that? Most men in the castle would probably notice and make her wear something more practical, so she'd figure something out. Maybe a long sash to make it look more feminine? She padded over and grabbed two pairs of trousers, the smallest and most formfitting she could find, along with a few light scarves and another one of his tunics.

"I'll need a needle and thread, and I'm also not a cobbler, so I can't make myself boots." She looked very pointedly at his feet, the size of a giant's, and then her own, small and delicate as a child's. "None of your boots would fit me. But other than those things, I'll have these clothes ready before tomorrow. Are you sure no one will mind that your servant wears trousers? I can't do much to change them except take them in and add something that looks like a skirt."

Cancel my appointments, I've been sold into slavery.

Aleksandra observed his posture with dismay, slowly sinking into her own half-crouch. He was going to make some move soon. He'd spoken of her proving she could fight. Obviously a little thing like her couldn't just go out and attack a guard for him. He intended to test her mettle himself. As he removed his weapons, she could feel the adrenaline start to flow through her, and a grin slowly crept across her lips. He was going to be a difficult opponent, but not impossible. She hadn't had such a challenge in awhile. When he threw his first punch, she barely had time to dodge it.

But dodge it she did. She let his momentum carry him past her, punching him once in the side and sending a sweeping kick to his back. Her kick never landed, because she slipped on another discarded article of clothing and crashed to the floor. She kicked out at his feet and rolled away before his next blow could land.

They roamed the entire room for the next ten minutes, trading blows until Aleksandra's lip was split open for the umpteenth time and she was covered in bruises. But she'd hurt him as well. A few very painful jabs at key pressure points, what she believed was a well-bruised rib, a few attempts at a kick to his groin that had to be sore by now. She found that she was laughing as they fought, the exhilaration of a worthy opponent too much to remain serious over.

Cancel my appointments, I've been sold into slavery.

Aleksandra listened, her lips twitching into a smile that she just couldn't hide. Telling some of the truth had gone better than expected. At most, she'd probably only have to stay in this castle a year or so. She knew how ambitious the son of the Oberjarl was, and figured that with her as his informant, he'd soon grow antsy enough to make a move for the throne. Her grin grew as he mentioned a royal pardon. For once, her luck had turned.

She gave him a nod in answer to his final question, then swept low in an overly exaggerated bow. Bowing was typically for men, but her curtsying was horrendous. So bow she did, her eyes never leaving the prince's. Her irises were the intense blue-grey of Noxan steel. "I am at your service, Prince Aulfr. My name is Alexia Rayt, and I would be honored to serve as your spy, assassin, and informant." She figured there was no reason to act small now, so she drew herself to her full height. She really was quite short, but her confidence and self-assurance made her seem bigger than she was. She also did away with her meek voice, favoring the way she normally spoke.

"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like something to wear, your Grace." Her true voice was low, velvety, and husky, made almost seductive by her Ardanian accent. "I know trousers aren't usually smiled upon when it comes to women in this country. Perhaps I could wear some hide leggings under a dress? I've seen other women dressed that way."

Cancel my appointments, I've been sold into slavery.

Aleksandra was only seconds away from giving in and breaking his wrist when he finally let go of her. She pushed aside the pain and let herself breathe for a few moments, trying to focus on what he was saying to her. She was near-fluent in Noxan, but it was the hardest language for her to translate seeing as it was so entirely different from Ardanian. It was so much softer and fluid than her own language. An odd contrast to the people themselves, who often acted like barbarians in her opinion.

She didn't stand up when she was able to. Instead, she looked up at him and didn't bother to hide the calculating look on her face. She couldn't tell him outright that she was the vengeance-driven vigilante that every kingdom in the civilized world wanted to imprison. But she could tell him enough to keep her from being raped. But what would she say to him? Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, actually staggering against the wall for a moment, feeling lightheaded. She could already feel the bruises forming on her throat, but bruises were like bug bites to her. After regaining her balance, she turned to him and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm very good at being invisible when the need arises, your Grace. And I already know a few very interesting things about your father's court that might be beneficial to you. I'm afraid I can't reveal my sources. And, as you've already surmised, I know how to defend myself. Clearly, as I'm covered in scars and none of them fatal." She did have scars everywhere. Nicks all over, especially her hands. A white line bisecting her lip from being punched, a slightly crooked nose. Peeking out from the collar of her commandeered shirt was a light burn scar that continued all along her right half. She had whip marks down her back and cuts all over her legs. Her body was a battlefield all it's own. "I can act as your servant and as your informant, if you'd give me the chance. Since I don't suppose you'd take to the idea of just letting me return home." She'd figure out a way to escape eventually. She just had to give the prince and the guards time to relax around her.

Cancel my appointments, I've been sold into slavery.

(('Ardanian' is a good term for someone from Ardany. Noxan works for Noxus. I'm still working out Xiang-Bao and Banti.))

Aleksandra turned to the door as it swung open, falling into a half-crouch instinctively, her muscles tense. Whomever walked through that door had purchased her for obviously deviant reasons, and she had to be prepared to defend herself. To her absolute dismay, it was a man easily twice her size, and no doubt much stronger than her. She'd have to stun him and run instead of actually fighting. But as he approached, she couldn't see any sign that he was about to molest her. No leering grin or smirk, no lecherous look in his eye. What she did see was concealed anger, determination. And before she could reply to him, she was in the air, wriggling around and cursing in her native tongue. She was about to give him a mouthful when suddenly, she found she could breathe quite a bit less than before.

Immediately, her hands were on his wrist, but she held herself back from hitting the pressure point that would numb his hand. She couldn't let him know she was a fighter, since he already thought she was a spy. And harming him in any way was a death sentence, and that was if she was lucky. So she played the weak act, grabbing at his wrist with a fear that she didn't have to pretend at. "Please, your Grace. I'm not a spy. I'm a storyteller and a seamstress." Thank the Saints that both of those things were true. When she was waiting for contracts or had no leads, she made money by telling stories in taverns, mostly the ones about herself, the Fourth Devil as people liked to call her. Of course, no one knew it was the Devil herself telling the stories. She liked adding fuel to the ever-growing mix of rumors on what she looked like and why she hunted criminals. And as a seamstress, she made cloaks for hunters that broke the shape of the wearer into shadows. She'd learned the technique from a man in Genta who called it camouflage. "I've been in Noxus for two years, your Grace. I figured it was time to head home to see my family. My father could be anyone, seeing as my mother worked in a brothel. I just wanted to go home and see my Nan." She let tears well up in her eyes.

Cancel my appointments, I've been sold into slavery.

Yes, it's very good. The length of my posts might be a bit disappointing for awhile, but I adapt quickly. I'll be writing full length in no time, I promise.

Cancel my appointments, I've been sold into slavery.

I just meant like, picking her up and setting her very firmly in a chair while she wriggles around with murder in her eyes. Because she is fun-sized. She's only five feet tall. He probably towers way over her. xD

Cancel my appointments, I've been sold into slavery.

Hehe. You, sir, are very funny.

Have him manhandle her (because really, she's like fun-sized) and question her like he did in your first post.

Cancel my appointments, I've been sold into slavery.

I don't, but it sounds weird enough for me to know I should.

Want me to give you some suggestions on how to introduce him, or it is just a matter of willpower?