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Kinwrathi · (11-07-2013)

You'll Go Out in Style

The midmorning sun strikes through the open window, its rays hitting Arrellia's bare skin for the first time. She shrieks and pulls her arm away from the opening, staring dumbfounded at the path of light creeping into the building.

"What the fuck was that?" Her eyes still fixed on the ground next to the open window, she appears about to stick her arm in the path again, before common sense gets the better of her, bringing that same arm back to her side.

"That's the sun," Derrick laughed, pulling on the customary third piece to his suit - the jacket. "You're gonna have to get used to it, dear." The sarcasm in his voice as the last word flung from his mouth made the newest addition to the party unwillingly stuck on Earth spin around in agitation, storming her way over to her host.

"You're a fucking prick."

"Sweetheart, tell me something I don't know."

Stepping into the room, face covered by a burlap sack, was Itaria. Her body language a lot less anxious than the last time she was to go out in public, she stood with almost an air of confidence around her, with her identity now sealed behind the unyielding protection of the sack.

"It really isn't that bad, once you get used to it!" Her optimism and cheeriness came off rather repugnant to both Derrick and Arrellia, who simultaneously cringe at the sound of her needlessly excited voice.

"So, about our proposition..."

"Soon."

Agitated, Arrellia lets out a groan, before brushing by her uncooperative guide to this strange new world, stopping to whisper in his ear.

"You said that soon ago."

"Did I?" Chuckling, he puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping the woman dead in her tracks. "Pardon me; I wasn't aware that soon was a measurable quantity of time!" He releases his grip, shaving her into the wall. Putting her hands out to stop her impending collision, she hits the wall with her hands and spins off, hitting Derrick in the face with the back of her hand.

Taken aback, he rubs the site of impact with two fingers, licking the trickle of blood coming from his lips before spitting a splash of blood onto the carpet floor.

"Is that the best you got?"

"Depends. Wanna see if a God can die?"

"To hear one of my own dying in my arms? It would be an interesting experience, to say the least."

"Guys, enough!" Stepping between the two and pushing them away from each other, Itaria's voice changes from cheerful to authoritative in a matter of moments. Both parties slowly lower their hands, stepping at each other in unison, arms raised once more, before easing back once again.

"She started it," Derrick said with a laugh. Walking by the two and out the room, he starts down the stairs, calling upwards from halfway between the first and second floor: "You coming?"

"Fuck..."

Hesitantly, Arrellia follows closely behind the masked woman down the stairs and out of the building.

An Aggressive Campaign

Stepping back from the ivory tower's balcony where the speech was conducted, back into the Palace's throne room, Empress Borrellia is immediately stopped by just the person she did not want to run into at the moment.

"Madam!" The same, irritatingly posh voice yelps, where the assistant comes from the front entrance to the throne room. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Of course I do!" Her eyes narrow, until the only thing in her field of vision is the eyes of her boundary overstepping assistant. "What are you insinuating?"

"You, you know as well I do, the soldiers pledge loyalty to the crown. They won't appreciate you disregarding it in favor of this regionalistic approach!" His eyes shift back and forth, any location that stopped him from maintaining prolonged contact with the Empress.

"They pledge loyalty to me."

"You think that now, but what'll happen when they stage a coup?"

"Let them try!" Falling backwards into the large throne, where her husband had given orders from for the months that they were together, she laughs aloud. "What can they do; reestablish the monarchy? Their blood isn't royal!"

"Neither is yours," the man scoffed, smirking with an air of pretentiousness at the gaping Empress. "Oh, you think I wouldn't find out your secret, Peasant girl?"

"Not that you wouldn't learn; just that you would actually act on that knowledge, you prissy upper class bitch!" Leaping out of the throne, she charges at the man, who kicks her off and sends her sliding across the ground. Straightening his jacket; he reaches to his waist, removing a longsword, reminiscent of what you would call a Katana, and aims the tip of the blade at the Empress.

Slowly getting to her feet, she rolls out of the way, narrowly avoiding an unfortunate end in the manner of getting split in half with a longsword. Without hesitation, she grabs the man by his flowing brown hair, and punches him in the back of the head. When that proves ineffective, he breaks free of the grasp and twirls around, before getting the full brunt of her foot in his groin.

Dropping to his knees, he drops the sword on the ground and it lands with a -ting- echoing through the large, empty room. Picking it up, she places one foot on the man's back, forcing him face down on the cold, wooden floor.

"Just, just answer one question. It was you, wasn't it?"

She smiles, knowing exactly what he was asking. High above her head, she lifts the sword.

"Yes." The blade comes crashing down on the man's neck, separating his head from his shoulders. Blood leaks onto the floor, staining the blade of the sword maroon.

"Hmm," she mumbles, looking around the room. "This was a bit messier than intended." Reaching into her boot, she pulls out a small shred of thick cloth painted red and blue, with a border of white, and places it in the pocket of the man's jacket.

"Oh well; probable cause, right?" Asking the question to no one, she received no confirmation.

No rejection either, though.

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