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| Freya LaShale | Jan 30 2009, 02:16 AM |
Love Thief
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A sultry smile permeated the thicket of Borodora, moonlight glinting off of a pair of greedy green eyes, locked onto the back of a horse-drawn carriage. Around it lay four bodies, wrapped snug on the ground in fur and woven cotton, three hours into sleep. Two bodies stood erect, eyes open, ever vigilant. One worked as a blunt obstacle between the opening of the coach and any unwelcome thugs attempting to gain entrance. Another sat in the seat of the driver, keeping more of an eagle eye on their surroundings. They were men of business with no lenience for on-duty fun and games. Not a word had been spoken between them since their graveyard guard shift had begun. Even then, they had only opened their mouths to specify who got to stand, and who got to sit. Altogether, they kept a vision of sight of three-hundred and sixy degrees. To make things even more difficult, they had chosen to rest in a clearing, which meant there was little room for hiding or sneaking. Clever. What, exactly, did this all mean? It meant that what they were carrying was of enough value to go through much extra effort, not to mention by the clothes they wore and the crest their shirts bared, they were on official business of the kingdom. Oh yes, there must be a treasure within. "I'm sick o' waintin," an irritating whine took the green eyes away from the serene scene. Behind her, what you might call no more than a moron was on his rear, legs propped up, digging designs into the dirt with a dull dagger just in front of his lap. He had finally looked up at her when he heard her turn. "When ah we gonna do it? We din' come alla way out here ta spectate." "We sure didn't!" she squatted in front of him, snatching the hovering dagger away. "But we have to be patient this time, Darling. Any impulsiveness may kill us. We would be left to rot, and no one would know otherwise. Do you really want to die like that?" The seductress tilted her head at him and smiled. He gave her a look like a child would its parent, with doe eyes full of embarrassment. "No... I don't want to die like that..." he admitted bashfully. She gave his mop top of hair a quick ruffle. "At least you're man enough to admit there is a chance of defeat here. I've worked with men who considered themselves invincible. It turns out, they were very much mortal." Her compliment made him smile, as all this time, all he was doing was trying to make her smile, make her like him. He was a bit closer to obtaining his dream woman, the one he had met only last night. Freya once again turned her attention to the clearing, deciding finally about how to go on doing this particular job. Ideally, she would like to leave the four on the ground sleeping. It would have to be fast and quiet. At the very least, if they were to wake, they would be disoriented and easy enough to disable. "Michael..." she cooed down to her accomplice, flashing him a tempting glance. "...Y-Yes?" "It's time." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I cannot convince you, My Lord, of how utterly low and ashamed we are after the happenings of the night before last. Our night watchmen, when we awoke, were laying unconscious. The offerings were gone, the door torn open. I have made it clear to no others what has happened, and nor have my men. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Freya!" his heart pounded, watching them run towards her to the point where time seemed to slow and his throat closed up. "...What are you doing...?" The last came as a whisper for fear they might take him too. She just stood there, not a hand on her blade, waiting for them to come and take her. Her head turned, eyes to the ground, long lashes calmly blinking as her full red hair played in the forbidding breeze behind her. When the orbs opened, they watched Michael, looking alarmingly apologetic with a crooked smile. It was as if her eyes swallowed him up, wrapping him in a warm, yet uncomfortably wet, blanket, all the air around him whispering, 'I'm sorry, Darling.' ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Fortunately, we were able to track the bandits to what appeared to be their hide-away. They were captured and their lair searched, but we were unable to find what was lost. There are two. The male refuses to speak to any of us regardless of what we do, but the female took little persuasion. She has agreed to speak with you and only you of the whereabouts of the lost items. My men and I agree that she is not a common bandit. On the contrary, she has spent the last night in our company and we have found her to be quite charming and personable. She has revealed her name to be Freya LaShale, part of a family you may know, Sire. We request that you speak with her and keep her safe, as we are while she is traveling with us. It would be preferable - if there is the possibility - to not punish her as long as she returns what she has taken. Marcus Lacefield --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The letter had been sent ahead of the approaching caravan. It wasn't long before they reached their destination. Michael had been taken to a separate location while Freya had been escorted to accommodations not quite as unfavorable as a cell, but instead resided in the barracks with the men who had taken her. As night came upon Angkar once again, she found herself on top of a pallet, hugging her knees as she curiously listened to a soldier by the name of Todd. He had been venting, laying upon the thief the woes of marriage, clearly specifying that she must never marry, something that she knew already. Regardless, she humored him simply for the sake of company. Edited by Freya LaShale, Jan 30 2009, 02:21 AM.
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