[ from here @filthtouched ]
"Oh, if we're talking about things I'd let you do, I promise that simply tying me up won't be all." His smile shows a hint of teeth as he rises, still unable to instill a habit of dusting himself off.
The boy—Matthew; it's a name to remember—moves like very few at Garreg Mach do, if any else at all. Here, they've enjoyed (ha!) the presence of kings and queens, of princes and princesses; men and women of noble upbringing, all with some claim to power through a measure of divinity in their veins. Crests. Dragonblood. As if it'd make a difference at all when eventually their own hubris lays sweet kisses to their lips, again and again, until blues and purples fade into thick, poisoned black.
Matthew, however, is not one of them. It isn't in his speech or his clothes; he speaks as many others do, and dresses as the rest, in the pitch blacks and glimmering golds of the Academy uniform. It's in the way he moves, silent and deadly, the pivots he takes that only a choice few of their classmates can manage. It's in the way he watches, sharp-eyed and unforgiving, two steps ahead even when his smile promises he is three steps behind.
The lightness of his steps say thief. The way he'd bound Niles says something more.
He's not likely to pose any threat to Leo, but that isn't why Niles finds himself held captive by his intrigue. His singular eye dips lower, purposefully letting his gaze drag slowly down from Matthew's eyes to his mouth to his shoulders to his chest, meant to disquiet him even as Niles steals glances of his hands.
(Callused, but almost everyone's is. He can't tell what kind, though, or where. Sword calluses are different from axe calluses. Those are different from a spear's. A bow's. A dagger's.
Which do you use, little shadow?)
"I don't normally enjoy multiple rounds with the same people," he says, reaching out for the rope, "but I certainly wouldn't mind another one with you. How about it? I promise I won't be too rough once I've got you tied up and at my mercy..."
You’d have to be deaf not to’ve heard about Niles. People talk. Matthew listens like it’s his job - and that’s because it is. Before anything the Church demands of him, his duty is to Elibe and to Ostia. Not that schoolground drama tends to be of much interest, but hey, he didn’t get here without a healthy interest in mundane gossip.
Anyway. This sounds like Classic Niles Bait™. And not even the fancy kind, really. Maybe Niles thinks he’s easy, then. “S’that so?” He mirrors the other’s smile, just a hint of teeth.
If there’s something to the way Matthew moves, then so, too, is there something about the way Niles carries himself. It’s not unusual, one supposes, for street rats to recognize one another. Maybe it’s that look in the eyes. Or the calculated weight of one’s steps... Matthew’s always liked to think that if he doesn’t want to be heard, well-
there’s a reason Lord Hector refers to him now and again as a
“Why, multiple rounds give you the chance to better know your partner, no? Although you’d have to watch you don’t get complacent...” With a chuckle, he makes to hand Niles the rope, but pulls it back at the last second, humming and feigning pensiveness. Finally, as though come to a conclusion, he tosses the coil over. “You’ll have to catch me first then, kiddo.”
