The city at night. It seemed to glitter against the black sky, golden light warming the cobble streets, fancy houses hiding the slums and alleyways where dark figures and mysterious criminals and poor civilians hid. The clean avenues was merely a facade. Sparkly storefronts with expensive watches and clothes covering the problems beneath. A guard rode tall upon his sleek, white horse. He was adorned in strong, decorated armor. His steel blade was sheathed at his hip as the horses hooves clicked upon the ground. He passed restaurants and bars, alight with laughter, festivities, and the clinking of glasses. He brought out his lamp when checking the darker streets, passing by the homeless huddled in blankets on the sidewalks as they slept through the night. It was business as usual, his heart locked in a sturdy cage upon the horse. Many had been stolen from the city lately. One of the nicer buildings was dark, the doors shut tight. The back rooms was a different story. It was with dim lamps and the fireplace as a young girl sat in front of a microscope, peering down at a cracked heart as she began the repairing process. The walls were lined with books and the tables covered in tools and papers and studies. Knick knacks sat upon shelves, containing animals skulls, feathers, gems, crystals, and other objects of interest. Outside of this building was a different story. The tall structures generally shielded the public from the bitter cold, but a cloaked figure atop the roof could certainly feel it. Her hood was pulled over her head as she stared sharply down at the poorer, unprotected and unprepared masses of people who kept in the alleys and dark, decaying crevices of the city. She was known nowhere, not even these wretched places. She was merely a ghost who passed by. You would never know your heart was missing until she was a mile away. (@Eluuna )
The Creator pulled her cloak over her shoulders, her brow furrowed as she moved through the town. Her frame was hunched over as she carried bundles of wood, attempting to head back to her home. A faulty step made her stumble, however, and she tripped, spilling the wood all over the cobblestone streets. A couple of miles away, the Pacifist leaned back in his chair by the fireplace on the outskirts of town. His heart sat quietly on the mantle and his long fingers strummed the guitar quietly. An old bloodhound slept peacefully at his feet as he relaxed back in his chair. The Spirit felt the icy water soak her boots as she leaned back against the bridge, her chest rising and falling with her last sprint. She was listening to footsteps above her, counting her breaths as she waited for them to leave. The Charlatan approached one of these homeless, his hair like moonlight in the dark. He knelt down beside one shivering from the cold. "Hello," he said kindly, his voice soft and silken.
A figure smoothly stepped in, helping her pick up some of the wood. He dressed in black and had a sleek demeanor, a long coat covering him and black leather gloves over his hands. He approached her, holding a bundle in his arms. She would notice a long scar over his right eye, but an eyepatch hid a majority of the injury. Otherwise, he was quite handsome, two white streaks in his hair complimented his cold features. His eyes, however, held a frightening sense. "Here you are," he said quietly, his voice low. "Careful, next time." The figure checked her back, peering into the fabric that was slightly illuminated by a collection of hearts. She closed it tight, pulling it over her shoulder before skipping across the rooftops, heading back towards the abode in the forest. She noticed a house she had passed previously. Looking at the sky, she decided to scout it out. The night was still young. Cyril often protected the inner city, finding much of the crime there. He stepped off his horse carefully and tied it to a pole securely. He clipped his heart to a hook on his waist, starting down a quiet marketplace alley with a frown. The homeless man looked up curiously, his wrinkled face squinting in the moonlight as he pulled his thin blanket around him tighter, looking quite uncertain. "..Hello."
She looked up, her eyes clear in the darkness. She took the bundle from him carefully, her brows furrowed. "Yes," she said quietly, avoiding his gaze. "I will. Thank you." The bloodhound's ears perked up and the Pacifist frowned, sitting up and setting down his guitar. "It's alright, Logan," he said quietly, his voice a low Southern drawl. "Don't worry." The footsteps faded away and the Spirit exhaled in relief, strapping her bow to her back and climbing out from under the bridge. Her trousers were soaking wet and she looked down with distaste, shivering slightly. The Charlatan gave the man a small, kind smile, extending his hand. A larger burlap sack hung from his fingers. "In this bag, sir," he began, "there is bread to fill your grumbling stomach, water to quench your dry throat, a new, warm blanket to protect you from the elements, and liquor to keep your spirits high. It's yours, if you want it."
He gave a smooth nod, brushing himself off. He pulled back before continuing on his way, calmly resting his hands behind his back, his gait elegant. The girl circled the house, keeping a distance. She squinted into the windows, slowly approaching silent footsteps. Cyril passed by the civilians. He eventually approached a dark bridge, peering out he noticed movement. "Hello?" His weathered face softened as he took the bag, starting into it. "Thank you, young man."
She watched him leave, a frown on her lips before she pressed on, hurrying towards the castle, her strides fast and prim. * * * He opened the door with a frown, his eyes searching the darkness in front of him. "Hello? Anyone out there?" * * * She frowned, looking up at him as he approached. The heart on his belt caught her eye and she started shivering. "H-hello..." * * * He gave him a smile, dipping his fingers into the bag and showing him the blanket. "See this? It's made of the finest silks in the land. Can I show you how it works?"
He started back, the cold air crisp against his face. *** There was silent. He wouldn't see anything in the dark stillness. *** It was locked well, and he kept it close. We was aware of the dangers of heart thieves as of late. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "Are you alright?" *** He sat up with interest, nodding. "Certainly. I appreciate it."
He frowned, closing the door and bolting it once again before rubbing the bag of his neck, sighing. He returned to his chair, sitting down tiredly. * * * She stepped forward, hugging herself tightly. "I-I'm c-c-cold," she explained. "I-I f-f-ell in the w-w-wat-t-er." * * * He sat back before helping the man take off his coat. "It relies on body heat, so it requires skin-to-skin contact," he explained, setting the coat down on the ground, exposing the man's bare arms. "I know it's cold right now, but you'll see that it's worth it. Here, wear the blanket now."
She slipped up to a window, peering in curiously before sitting down, waiting for the lights to go out. *** He approached her, his gaze wary before he offered his hand, pulling off his cloak with the other, offering it to her. "Is there anything I can do to help you? Do you live near here?" *** He took the blanket, pulling it around himself as he tested it.
It didn't take long for him to doze off, his head lolling. * * * She took it gratefully, looking over her shoulder at the water. "I... I can't swim-m, I... I thought I was going to drown..." * * * He would feel the heat coming from it immediately, warming him in a way that the thin blanket had never managed to quite reach. The boy folded the coat over her arm, slipping his fingers in the pocket subtly and pulling the heart out, trying to avoid notice. "It's nice, right?"
She looked in again, watching the dog with a frown. Nonetheless, her fingers slid onto the window as she attempted to open it. *** He offered his arm. "Here. Do you live nearby? Anywhere I can take you?" *** The old man didn't seem to notice, relaxing. He was distracted by the blanket. "This is wonderful. Thank you."
The dog sat up, growling threateningly. *** She took his arm; she was very cold, shivering as she came close to him. “I’m not from the area,” she said faintly. “I was supposed to meet a friend, but... but...” *** He stood up, offering the coat back to the man. “Stay warm. It’s growing colder by the day.”
She reached into her pocket, pulling out a treat. She often fed the strays in the city, but held it out to the dog. *** He frowned, looking around. "Do you remember where?" *** He took with a smile. "Thank you, sir."
The dog didn’t seem receptive to this, his hackles raising as he growled. *** "W-we..." She seemed quite out of it, looking around anxiously. "You don't understand. We were supposed to meet here and... I think he was trying to steal my heart! He... he tried to take it and when I f-fought back, he threw me over!" * * * He nodded before heading down the streets, his hair glowing in the moonlight.
She pulled out another, kneeling down slowly. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Here, boy." *** He frowned, looking around. "Let me take you to an inn where you can stay for the night." *** The man relaxed again, closing his eyes comfortably.
He seemed uncertain, tucking his tail in between his legs and whining. * * * "He took my money," she said tearfully, leaning heavily against him. "I can't afford a room."
She held her hand out with a treat, inching closer. *** He watched her. "I can pay for a night. Let's go."
The dog moved towards her, slowly taking the treat from her hand. * * * She shook her head tiredly. "I can't let you do that."
She smiled slightly, patting his head. She stood, moving into the living room. *** "I can't leave you here," he said flatly.
The boy was still asleep, his head turned towards the fire. He was clearly tired, his hand open on the armrests. * * * She hesitated, looking over her shoulder again. "I just... I can't believe..." She mumbled before falling back in a swoon.
