Thalken Talink
I'm stuck, I'm stuck, I'm stuck here in my skin
I'm stuck, I'm stuck, I'm stuck with you
Tell me it gets easier, tell me it gets easier
- "Easier" by Mansionair
Location: Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park) ⇢ Wall of Jericho (Northwest Interior)
Skills: None currently
Thalken's gaze narrowed as Constantin dismissed and more or less ridiculed his disbelief. If you had endured a past full of unspeakable violence and hardships like his, you would be in shock too at being so openly offered a mundane job. The remaining shock seemed to evaporate as his features hardened and a dark glint came to his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw clenching and unclenching before he spoke.
"Consider the feelings mutual," he retorted gruffly. He wasn't about to even try to act civil if this was how he was going to be treated.
Screw that. He held back a sneer as he followed the Russian asshole. And it didn't take them long to locate the The Great Bazhooli, the boisterous man's voice reverbrating to his still slightly sensitive hearing. He still had a lingering headache from his hangover. It was getting better, but it wasn't totally gone just yet, nor would it likely be for awhile. As Constantin declared he was leaving, Thalken faked a "pleasant" smile in the man's direction. In actuality, it probably looked more like a mixture of a grimace and a snarl. As he looked back at the tent, his "smile" quickly faded, and he could feel his anxiety creeping up again. He turned his back to the tent as he let out groan before plopping down into the grass, not much unlike what he had done outside their gate the night before. He decided that he would just let The Great Bazhooli come to him. Besides, he wasn't in any rush to set the terms and conditions. A heaviness came to his features as he absentmindedly plucked at the blades of grass at his feet.
Fast forward a little bit, and the circus was packed and moving out. Thalken found himself closer to the front of the procession, seeing as he was one of the guides. As it turns out, that crazy German fellow was also a guide, so apparently, the job wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. Additionally, just because he was working for the circus now, certainly didn't mean they wouldn't still be watching him like a hawk. He could feel his guards' eyes boring into the back of his skull, but he ignored them, or at least tried to. He let out a small sigh as he stared out the window of the moving wagon at the passing scenery. It wasn't really much of a sight, but it was the only entertainment he had at the moment. He felt confined in the small wagon with guards watching him closely, and yet at the same time, the further he got away from what he had once considered home, the more freeing it felt. It was liberating,
and terrifying. He thought about what he was leaving behind. In all honesty, he was eager to leave it all. Well, all but one thing. One thing gave him pause, and one thing made him question his actions. His twin sister Thalcona. It dawned on him that in his eagerness to flee his father he hadn't accounted for her. She was literally the only person he cared about in this life, and he was abandoning her. And it pained him. It really did. It seemed that he could add it to all the other knives that were stabbing him in the heart. His face hardened, and he clutched onto the window pane as felt unsteady all of a sudden.
Just then, the procession came to a sudden stop, which nearly caused him to bash his head into the window. He let out a low groan of frustration. As his attention returned to the window, he could see the Wall of Jericho, emphasis on the wall part, loomed immediately ahead of them.
"I think you should reconsider having that German fellow as a guide considering he just led us into a bloody wall," he growled before he attempted to make his escape from the wagon in order to figure out what the hell was going on out there.
Fyror Kildragon
Integrity is doing the right thing
even when no one is watching.
- C.S. Lewis
Location: The Docks, Preston, England
Skills: N/A
Fyror's brows rose slightly at Miss Fontaine's bright optimism. He however didn't quite share her outlook on the matter. Perhaps that made him cynical, or perhaps he was just being more realistic. He opened his mouth in order to argue against pursuing the naval vessel as a means of travel, but he quickly shut his mouth as one of his father's many lessons came to mind.
"Unless they're doing something potentially life threatening, do not argue with women. It's unsightly and unchivalrous, not to mention the fact that it's entirely pointless. You'll never win, so just suck up your pride, shut your mouth, nod your head, and just go with it." Colonel Theodore's words played back through his head. Fyror held back a sigh and instead nodded his head before gesturing for Colette to lead the way if she so wished. His lips thinned into a hard line as he followed in behind her. Maybe he would once more find her steadfast independence and strength of will to be admirable, if it were not for the worry that was gnawing at him. Every second wasted to him was one more step that Lord Rutherford was ahead of him and one more step closer Millicent was to her doom. It begged the question of would they ever be able to catch up? Was this a hopeless pursuit? Fyror shook his head. No, he couldn't think like that. He couldn't give up hope. He
wouldn't give up. Perhaps though if he had even an inkling of Colette's level of optimism right then, he wouldn't feel so riddled with anxiety. In the end, it didn't really matter whether they got closer or farther way, either way he was slowly losing his sanity to the depths of his overprotective nature.
He blinked a few times as Colette was now talking to him again. He realized then that he had actually zoned out for a moment there, no doubt succumbing to the stress that was overloading his brain and weighing down his body. He had zoned out long enough for the naval vessel to quickly reject them as he had known they would. Had he been a man of lesser integrity he would said "I told you so," but he didn't have it in him do something so curt. He just nodded his head and followed the Frenchwoman's lead. While some men would take offense to a woman taking charge, as if it would somehow diminish their masculinity, Fyror wasn't one of those men. Women weren't lesser beings in his eyes. They were worthy of the same level of, if not more, respect as men. As he followed Colette to the merchant ship, he made certain to stay alert this time around. His lips thinned once more as the man on board stated his inflated price. Fyror reached into his coat pocket where his wallet was, a frown tugging down on his lips. He wasn't sure that he could spare that kind of money. He had already spent his money once on this journey, if he spent much more he wouldn't have anything left in the case of an emergency. He glanced over at Colette, shaking his head slightly. She seemed to understand that the price the man was asking for was just too steep, and she headed for their last option, the small fishing boat.
He noted Colette's seeming reluctance, or perhaps it was disgust, as they went up to the smaller, and much less luxurious, vessel. He kept his mouth shut as Colette did the talking. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet as the man stated the price. It was a more realistic fee, one Fyror was happy to pay if it meant they could leave for Port Annan so quickly. He pulled out the amount of cash requested and handed it over to the man.
"Thank you kindly, sir," he stated earnestly. He gave the man a small appreciative smile before boarding the ship in behind Colette. Once again, she was taking the lead and he was following. He gave a small, albeit strained, smile before gazing out at the open ocean that laid over yonder.
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