Crooked Charisma

“Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.”

[blacksheepmorgaine]

I haven’t had a job in a while. There is something wrong with this picture.

[silentandswift]

Perhaps all of your time drinking with little Liam is too distracting, Gatton.

[silentandswift]

Cohav Task #03

[aurorahaleofcohav-blog]

I’ve always found that fearing another only leads to weakness in their eyes. 

And often your downfall. If such fear cannot be overcome.

[silentandswift]

But fear and weakness are not the same. The strongest men - and women, of course - feel fear like everyone else.

[aurorahaleofcohav-blog]

And who would tell them what I say? You? 

As far as any of them know or would believe, the innocent, shy daughter of the archbishop knows nothing of these matters. 

[silentandswift]

Nay, never me m'lady.

Men who do not fear the women in their lives rarely last long enough to see their twentieth festival.

[aurorahaleofcohav-blog]

I didn’t know Lady Steelblood but she held some sort of status in this town. 

Could be any one of the other lords or ladies. 

[silentandswift]

Any one? You speak too freely, m'lady, and some would have your tongue cut out of your pretty little mouth before your father could so much as protest just for the implication of such thoughts.

[aurorahaleofcohav-blog]

And here I thought that was the punishment for letting someone die in their sleep.

And that still doesn’t answer my question. 

[silentandswift]

You just have to ask yourself m'lady, who would want Lady Steelblood dead?

[silentandswift]

Count Your Blessings // Mal & Morgaine

[blacksheepmorgaine]

Morgaine smiled taking a seat on the end of the bench and acted as if her full attention was on the service starting in front of her. It wasn’t often she made it to the early morning church service. Normally she was found stumbling into the later afternoon one. It was a very rare day when she could be found at church this early, and with out the smell of alcohol on her breath at all. 

With a quick little smirk falling on her lips Morgaine looked over to Mal only for a moment before looking back ahead. “Sir Jacob, Coming to church not sober? Well that is a sin.” The smirk was still on her lips as Morgaine reach into her small back and flashed Mal the top of a flask. Removing it from her bag all the way and bowing her head as if she were going along with the pray being told Morgaine bought the flask to her lips and took a swig.

"Now there is nothing in these laws that I can tell that say anything about drinking once in the church." It was a clear lie but Morgaine didn’t much care for the systematic of the laws and carefully not to be seen head the flask out for Mal to take if he choose too.

[silentandswift]

"Tis true. How the riffraff that frequents our inns walk around without hellfire smoldering their dirty linens I will never understand." Malik's eyes are drawn immediately to the flash of metal, and he isn't surprised at what he finds. Seeing Morgaine without her alcohol is akin to seeing Morgaine without Liam; it just doesn't happen, and when it does, something is terribly wrong.

Mal mimics the proper positions for Church, but his mind is elsewhere. He recites the olden prayers in his head, to the Blind one, the Seer, the Crone and The Inescapable. His words, although a chant, deviate from the traditional script as he seeks guidance for those under his care, and a life void of remorse for his loved ones. He prays for his mother, his lovers, his students and his teacher. He prays, hoping that the Gods smile down upon his fortune and his cause.

They don't answer, but that's alright. If he was a God, Malik would have more important issues to tend to than the plight of a single, untalented mortal. Still, belief is strong and Malik is stronger.

"Be careful, m'lady. The royal guards come to service this early, and they'll do more than demand coin if they catch you."

[defectivetowndrunk]

Compelled by Curiosity [Malik]

[defectivetowndrunk]

"Early? Perhaps… When one day melds so seamlessly into another, it’s just so difficult to tell."

Liam laughed, absently stretching out his back with a satisfied grunt. He had no work to be getting on with, the last bit of trench digging he had gotten involved in had ended just the other day. Thankfully. It had been such a bore! Not a single bright spark there, he’d had no fun at all. However, it had given him enough money to get himself a little oil for his lamp at home and just a bit left over to quench his thirst at the tavern.

"My dear Morgaine shall be around forever, she is a stubborn one."

He smiled fondly and tucked his hands in the folds of his tunic. If he was sure about anything it was the fact that between he and Morgaine, she would be the one that lived longer. Though, admittedly, he sometimes surprised himself by the fact he was still going. But here he was, drifting through life and doing… Not good, he supposed, but alright. For now. However long that would last.

Liam sighed and shook his head. How morbid! It was not a time for thinking about such things. Slipping a smile back onto his face, he took his attention back to Malik. 

"As for hopping fences… Deny having fun, I dare you. But you shan’t be telling the truth."

[silentandswift]

Malik can't help the laugh. Liam always is full of surprises. He just shakes his head at the man, eyes darting back and forth to make sure they haven't been followed. As far as he can tell, the coast is clear, but that doesn't mean it will be forever.

"Word of the wise, friend. The guard will be out for serious blood today so it's best to keep a low profile." Mal's seen them, wandering the streets earlier. There is frustrating and rage pooling around the city, and most of it has nothing to do with the crown prince. When a noblewoman dies, people talk. When the daughter of the Duke is viciously murdered and a cover-up sweeps through, people do more than talk. Malik can only imagine the stress the Duke has put on the poor, base guardsmen, but they looked about ready to tear a drunkard bit from bit this morning, and Liam happens to be a drunkard Mal needs.

"Perhaps we save the fun for any other day, when a grisly man won't peel the muscle off your bone as a sacrifice to the angry nobles, yes?" Malik doesn't wait for his answer, taking a running jump up the side of a rundown building. His gloved fingers grab for a rusted roof and he pulls himself up. Mal winks at Liam before he takes another running jump to clear the four foot gap, using his momentum to make his way to the Marketplace center, where his meeting with Farah waits for him.

[aurorahaleofcohav-blog]

Deaths are always so tragic.

I wonder how this poor girl came to meet her fate?

[silentandswift]

I imagine if it was peaceful, the Duke wouldn't be ready to flog half of the city's guard.

[geekorunique]

joseph morgan → monte carlo festival

[silentandswift]

Don't Shoot the Messenger || Malsolo

Something is definitely wrong. Mal isn't sure what to call the sense, he just knows it has never failed him in the past. His steps may be leisurely as he walks through the crowd, blending in seamlessly, but his hands curl into fists in his pocket.

It's simple enough. Right before the ceremonies, Malik and Farah have an arranged meeting at an old spot. It's in the center of the market; there is something to be said for hiding directly in plain sight. Mal passes the shopkeepers he walked near earlier when he was tailing Liam and stops, scanning the crowd. There, right next to a favorite bun stand is where Farah is supposed to be. Instead, a fidgity youngster is rocking back and forth on his heels, standing out like a sore thumb. Mal walks past the boy, grabbing the edge of his hood and yanking back. The boy stumbles towards him, out of sight of the oncoming foot traffic. Mal's elbow is wedged under his s throat, using the momentum to his advantage.

"Where is she?" Malik demands, his voice full of ice. The messenger can't even grow a proper beard; he's a babe fresh from one of her little encampments. There's a small roll of parchment, clutched in his hands and Mal yanks it free, elbow still keeping him in place. The boy shakes under his grip, and Mal has to make the choice of reading the note or questioning the boy.

A quick, heavy tap to the temple has him unconscious in Mal's arm. He lowers him lightly and without sympathy to the ground. If someone kidnapped Farah, he will have the lead to her. And, if not, it really is her fault for not showing up in person.

Malik picks at the wax seal, unrolling the small page that reveals Farah's loopy handwriting. His brow furrows as he reads, and a grimace turns the corners of his mouth down. Malik tucks a gold noble into the boy's pocket and turns on his heel, flagging down the first messenger he recognizes. It's a young lad, the son of a whore and magician that take up residence at Treefall, who just started running routes. Harold, Malik thinks in his head, eager to please with fast legs.

"Find Rodric. Tell him I have a situation and to meet by the Barn."

[silentandswift]

Headcanon 12

Malik has little nicknames for different parts of the city, usually of the ironic sort. He calls the Church "The Barn" since it is full of mindless animals. The Slums are Treasury Street and The local inn that serves alcohol week-round is the Watering Hole.

[defectivetowndrunk]

Compelled by Curiosity [Malik]

[defectivetowndrunk]

Liam squirms a bit from the warning pinch to his shoulder, grinning but nonetheless resigned to behave himself for the moment. He would never go as far as to seriously upset the man, certainly not with the things you hear rumoured to be his workings. Malik was in the middle of a thick, far-ranging and incredibly well spun web… And as drunk and daft as Liam could get, he was no fool and would do what he could to refrain from getting tangled. 

Besides, he’d had his fleeting moment of petty payback and that would do him! He lightly patted Malik’s chest in a sign of surrender and clung lightly to the front of his clothing. He wanted a mentally touched, dependant cousin for his little performance? He shall get one of the finest calibre! Enough for a passing playwrite to offer him a career in acting! With a laugh at his own musings, Liam looked up at Malik, an adoring smile plastered across his face.

"Are we going home now, Cousin? Will you play with me when we get back? Show me that game with the dice again?"

Dropping his grip on Malik’s clothing and drawing his arm back from the other’s waist, Liam instead took his hand, grasping Malik’s fingers tightly. With a light bounce on the heels of his feet, Liam glanced back over his shoulder and nodded towards the entrance of the Church grounds. 

 ”Do let’s go home~!”

[silentandswift]

"Yessir. Have a'good day guardsman."

Mal just shrugs when Liam pulls him along. The guardsman either believes them or is too bored with the entire situation to pay attention; either way, they walk right out the front grates, which creak behind them. Malik pulls Liam along, leading him out of side of the inposing building, before dropping the act. He pulls free from Liam's grasp, rights his shoulders and has a clear smirk on his face. The transformation is nothing but a handful of small changes, but it changes him into an entirely different person.

"A bit early to be getting drunk, isn't it, love?" Mal asks with a tut of his tongue. The adrenaline of success and mischief never seem to lessen, and Mal has an added spring to his step. He looks the man in front of him over with a critical eye, making sure Liam won't be causing any more trouble. He seems sober enough to understand how close he was to getting flogged, and that's good enough.

"Next time, Liam, let us not hop any high fences meant to keep the common folk out? I doubt you have the coin to bail yourself out, and Morgaine won't be around forever."

[defectivetowndrunk]

Compelled by Curiosity [Malik]

[defectivetowndrunk]

Liam near on high leapt out of his skin at the sudden voice coming across the lawn from the Church corner, so focused as he was on the guard. However the patrolman seemed to be just as surprised apparently not expecting the presence of another either. Liam frowned. He knew who that was. They had drank together, that was for certain… Or rather, Liam had sat with him and more than happily accepted the drinks that the other offered. 

The confused look remained as the other reached him and, with such familiarity that any onlooker would believe them to be related, rested an arm about his shoulders. Liam smiled as the realisation hit him- Malik! That’s who it was, high up in the Guild or… Something like that. He never did have a good head for remembering things of politics. Still a little bemused by the voice that certainly wasn’t Malik’s usual accent or even pitch, Liam couldn’t help a short burst of laughter. The guard was sucking this straight up!

Was this a game? Surely. he would play too!

"Cousin… Ah, cousin! I was just… Lookin’ for you."

With a sickeningly fond smile, Liam slipped his arms about Malik’s waist and squeezed, nestling into the man’s shoulder and looking back over at the guard with an almost shy expression. Now he was no proficient actor, but he could play the victim and he could play the fool no problem, and this was looking to be a mixture of both aspects. Though 'tapped in the head' was it, Malik had said? How rude! He was going to get a little back for that one…

"I knows how much you just love the Church, Cousin, thought you might be here! Tell the man, you tell him how much you love comin’ to Church, Cousin.”

[silentandswift]

Good boy. Malik lets his shoulders dip slightly in relief as Liam plays along, and he has the guard eating out of his hand in no time. He doesn't flinch when an arm wraps around his waist, and the guardsman seems less and less confused as they talk. Mal's grateful; a seasoned slum guard would have had Liam in shackles before Malik could even talk. It seems as if the Pantheon is smiling down on them on such a sad event, and Mal will take what he can get, where he gets it.

"Thank ye so much, guardsman. Poor Billy here, his Ma left him wandering 'round the family farm and a mule knocked him right between the eyes. It's a miracle he's still alive."

Mal taps 'Billy' on the shoulder, squeezing his fingers between Liam's dirty tunic to hit a key pressure point. It causes discomfort more than pain, at least with the pressure Mal's putting on it, and if he was one of Mal's boys, he would have his reward for a loud mouth very swift-like. Nevertheless, Mal now has to keep his role, stay convincing, and get them both out of there are quickly and quietly as possible.

"Ain't a higher God out there, sir than the belief has it. Nothin' short of a good prayin' m'aunt's doing right now, hoping this varlet would be returned right to us. You've done m'family a high honor, guardsman. We'll leave you t'peace now."

[anunexpectedassassin-blog]

Possibly showing your disrespects elsewhere. Didn’t think such a small rule would actually hold effect, at least not to you.

[silentandswift]

Such a small rule? This is life and death we are talking about here, love. Even a man such as myself holds faith with the God of Death.

[defectivetowndrunk]

Compelled by Curiosity [Malik]

[defectivetowndrunk]

It wasn’t until he was firmly over the gate and brushing grass off of his knees that Liam realised he didn’t have anything one could call a plan of action. But, surely, this was his style! He was, in a word, a drifter and frankly (in his own opinion by any means) he was rather good at it. If one doesn’t seek a goal then one doesn’t get disappointed by failure and any bonuses in life that do come along were to be celebrated with even more vigour! Liam smiled. It was all well and good standing here thinking about the living of life, but he must get on.

With an air of such casualty that any onlooker would think the man had no worries in the world, Liam took to strolling lightly towards the Church. The gravel path crunched beneath his feet and he tutted. With a neat sidestep, he took himself onto the grass instead. Of course, visitors to the Church were not technically supposed to tread on the lawns… But technically, he reasoned, he wasn’t really there for visiting purposes and was free to take no notice.

That’s logic for you.

It hadn’t really crossed his mind that the place might be being guarded, and it was with an air of surprise that he spotted the patrolman turning the far corner of the building and walking down the front of the Church. Liam paused in his stride in a manner akin to a wild rabbit sensing a predator. Of course, he would be fine if the patrolman didn’t spare a glance this way… But as he stood stock still in the open, he wondered how unlikely that would be.

[silentandswift]

Oh goodness. The morning is shaping up to be nothing short of interesting as the drunk man in front of him attempts to scale the fence. Once he scrabbles over it and does a terrible job at hiding his presence, Mal can only laugh at the situation. The mop of curly hair in front of him finally strikes a chord, and Malik remembers exactly who he's following.

Liam is pretty to look at, but Malik doesn't like playing with other people's food. Mal buys him drinks every so often, and Liam is a wealth of gossip and town rumor. It's a fair trade, if you ask Mal, considering he is the one who has to root through all of the lies and deceit and pick out what is actually real. He knows for a fact that Liam and Marcus have tumbled at least once, and it's enough to keep him out of the other man's pants. Besides, Malik never pays for sex. He doesn't need to.

A simple running start launches Malik off of the building and onto a lower ledge. A younger guard is stuck on Church patrol, and Malik almost feels sorry for the poor lad; being stuck guarding a room reserved for empty-headed bigots is not his idea of fun. From his spot Mal drops down, out of Liam's line of sight but close enough to the church that he's able to hop the fence in a fluid motion. The patrolman hasn't seen Mal yet, but it's only a time before he sees Liam. Mal ducks behind a lavish decorative column, out of sight from anyone within the Church walls.

There are multiple ways to go about this, but Mal doesn't want to draw attention to himself, Liam or the Church as a whole. While disabling the young, inexperienced guard wouldn't he hard, it would draw more attention than it is worth. Just as the guardsman lays eyes on Liam, Mal turns the corner, his face lighting up in relief and recognition.

"Oh thank ya High Lord, guardsman," Mal starts in with a southern accent, laying it on thick. "M'cousin here, he's tapped in the head. Unscrewed, ya know?" Malik wraps an arm around Liam, hoping the man is sober enough to play along. The guard looks confused, and he obviously doesn't know the slums well enough to know who Liam is. Good.

"It's alright, Billy. I'll take ye home to Ma and she'll fix you right up." Mal comfortingly taps Liam on the arm, treating him like a defunct small child. If anything, his drunken stupor will just help the act.

[countesszahara]

Old Friends, New Faces || Malik & Zahara

[countesszahara]

"Took you long enough, dunderhead." She drops the act, for a half a second, when he finally figures it out to put on a smile. One she hasn’t had on her face in a very long time. A genuine one. The word is one she also hasn’t used in many more years, in fact was probably last used towards Malik himself. Still, she’s pretty sure that the ice behind her eyes doesn’t leave it completely. After Sehira, and the things she’s had to do for the rebellion, the innocents she’s killed to hide her true position, her eyes would always hold a coldness, a darkness. There was no help for it.

If it there wasn’t, she’d likely have gone insane a long time ago, though considering her father had her hunting magicians since her childhood, she was fairly good at ignoring the images that she could never completely forget. Peace wasn’t something that came to people like her, she had figured out, and her hope was to simply to stay alive long enough to see the church overthrown and to have her payment from the man that ordered the raid that had killed her love. She thought rarely of life after that moment, though it was quite nice to know that some of her old friends were still something resembling safe, with Malik standing right in front of her, apparently at least close enough to the side she was on that she would likely not have to kill him herself.

Thank The Gods for small mercies. She thought.

"So this is how you greet your old friends these days? I was apparently right to insult your manner’s earlier." She asks, every bit the steely noble again. She’s done what she could, clued him in to her loyalties and had it been anyone but Malik, and had he not made the comment first, she would never have trusted the words she spoke to him to come out of her mouth; or allow the small moment where the child she once was, happy to see her old friend, surface. Feelings, strong ones, were dangerous and she avoided them as much as possible, but Malik had, and apparently now that she is face to face with him again, she somehow knew always would, hold a dangerous line to her forever guarded heart.

[silentandswift]

The smile is the first familiar sight all night. It's out of place, a relic of a past time, and Malik isn't sure what to do with it. His face remains blank, passive, because it's muscle memory and easier than reacting. Part of him wants to scoop her in a fierce hug and cling to her. Zahara was one of the only stable fixtures in his mixed, rough past. She represents something more than the gossip, and it's lighter than Mal has been in a long, long time.

But it isn't on the larger scale of things. Mal can't forget what he's heard, what he's seen and who he has lost. While Malik doesn't have magic himself, Galin Stone taught him the art of meditation, control and what patience looks like on other people. When common folk could not brave the journey to Treefall, whether for lack of fighting finesse or the fear of the Church, Malik would travel, train and disappear into the night. Those people, the ones who Malik spent hours in the downtrodden slums of the city mentoring, are the very people Zahara hunted, tracked and killed.

Perhaps he is partially to blame. Mal disappeared when the Thief Lord took an interest in him, leaving his childhood friends and fun behind. He trained for nearly half a decade without stepping foot in the city, sending money and letters to his mother under a pseudonym of a far cousin. He wasn't there to help Zahara become a better person like he should have been. Malik had been selfish, and he knows it.

"I don't have old friends, love," Mal answers as he sheathes his daggers. He does not feel guilt. Whatever he missed, it is now gone, and Mal has never been one to revel in the past. Her admission of the Old Gods says something, but he doesn't have the time to figure everything out at the moment. He looks at the table in front of him and grabs one of the first reed pen he can find. He scribbles down an address, a meeting place deep in the slums of the city. If she's willing to meet him there, at the requested time, it'll say something.

For now, he takes a running leap, crotches in the windowsill just long enough to to turn to look at her. Their eyes meet for a second and Malik just can't over how foreign they look. He drops down, fingers hanging onto the ledge as he braces his arms for the next catch. He free falls, eyes open and hands ready to catch onto the next ledge. Within fifteen seconds he's lost in the night, running home along rooftops with old memories tucked away.