the sun has finally fallen into the embrace of the horizon, shedding the sky of red and purple hues for the black of night; the shadows stretch, wrapping around ZOTIKOS as he slips through the HALLWAYS to the living quarters. / @bitsyarachne
he must force himself to stare ahead. he's looked over his shoulder once, twice, thrice --- no more. there are few unfamiliar faces here, and no names that have never passed his lips. no note will rest at the door to the seventh's living quarters, no message will fall into his hands, no whispers will reach him.
the blood of eden has no use for him any longer. but surely they will arrive soon.
his rapier rests heavy against his side. a hand flexes over the hilt, but he doesn't withdraw it. zotikos doesn't need to prepare for anything --- he doesn't at all. but his heart still rattles at the cage of his ribs, thumping anxiety and caution. steps quickening, he turns another corner --- ever closer to gen, ever closer to the release of the tightening hand of shame closing on his throat --- but something flickers at the corner of his eye.
a hunt has begun.
pausing, he slowly turns back, hand finally falling to his rapier. a breath, another, and zotikos backtracks around that same corner to meet the princess herself.
"your highness." tone courteous, expression molded to neutrality. the black of the night almost engulfs them, if not for the flickering lamp-lights in the hallway. "is there something you need?"
The princess does not sleep. She has yet to discover the pea beneath her mattress, keeping her from the comfort of dream's embrace. It isn't a new issue formed from the unfamiliarity of Canaan House. No, Arachne rarely sleeps through an entire night. Even as a wailing infant she'd rouse the household staff a half dozen times through the night. Her poor mother. Her poor Cavalier, these days. She doesn't wake Gawain, for once. She wants to explore the halls without the watchful eye of her primary, despite the risk in doing so. There's something to be said about the feeling of shadows on one's skin, the stench of dark secrets lingering, thick in the air.
She walks, fingernails trailing against the wall as she does. She does not know exactly where she will wander, but then, that seems to be the point. She thinks of the key ring back in the quarters she's sharing with Gawain, of the singular rule on Canaan House. The hallways are meant to be explored. She is a sensory seeking creature, yearning to satisfy her curiosity in all ways. Dust and dirt collect on her fingertips as she walks, heels clicking in the quiet of the night.
She isn't alone. She sees him before he seems to see her. The seventh cavalier, out of bed, and without his necromancer. Curious. She tilts her head, idly trailing behind him. She makes no move to alert him to her presence. He seems almost skittish, as if afraid of being caught in the light. Her curiosity grows. The pair from seven are mostly unfamiliar. She's seen them around, but they seem content to keep to the edges of the room.
Finally, he notices her. A warm smile spreads across her lips as her eyes fall toward the movement at his hip. His hand rests at his rapier. Does he sense a threat? She blinks, her features purposefully soft, unassuming. Her hands fold behind her back as she sways just a little, shifting her weight enough to swish the fabric of her skirts. Her head cocks slightly to one side. "Are you offering?" She hums, "How chivalrous of you." She compliments. She is fae, searching for his true name, charm worn like heavy perfume to lull him into complacency. "It is lonely at this hour, isn't it? If it isn't too much trouble, I'd gladly welcome your company." An appetizer, if nothing else. "It is a pity. It seems I am a disadvantage. You know my title, perhaps even more than that. I only know you to be of the Seventh House. Tell me, darling, what do they call you?"
