I️ don't, but maybe then again I️ DO (ARRANGE ME UP, LAND)

Trita watches Dakara work for a long moment from the corner of her eye and Luna catches it, sending her a puzzled look that the knight ignores.

Which makes Luna sigh.

Which makes Trita roll her eyes.

And the two stop their interaction there. Trita turns and walks away, walking right out of the room to a connected closet storage area to look for further things.

An awkward silence falls over the two that are left. You'd think after years in court she would be better at small talk but she finds herself coming up short for a long painful moment as this stranger works on helping her take her dress off.

"So, Dakara... What do you do here? Should things work out, will I be seeing you often?"

And that's a big questionable "should." She personally doesn't plan to stay here long enough to find out but she can at least act personable and friendly, it's not like this poor woman has done anything to be deserving of her frustration.

No, that's the gracious king and his spoiled prince with the aid of her selfish, good-for-nothing parents.

It's getting harder to hide her growing irritation but she manages decently well considering the cursed corset is getting tighter before it lets up with instant relief.

The princess's phrasing throws Dakara off a little bit, and she unintentionally pulls a corset string tighter than she needs to while loosening it. Should things work out? It sounds like she's already deemed herself too good for this place.

"Well your highness, I️ mostly work in the kitchens now, but I️ was also a maid here in the palace before that."

Dakara's not sure why she supplied that information, which she usually keeps to herself. No one really needs to know the reasons behind why she was really transferred to the kitchen and why Shand's chambers stay a mess now. That doesn't do anyone any good.

"I'm always around, though, your highness. I️ run errands all around the palace for just about everyone, so regardless of how long your stay is here, I'll be happy to help you with whatever you need."

Dakara's tone stays detached and professional, respectful and mindful of her own station. The princess and her friend seem like they might want to get chummy, but Dakara doesn't think that's in anyone's best interests at the moment.

"I... See."

She gasps in, trying her absolute best to respond to Dakara amidst the tightening.

"Well, I hope to see you again. It's nice to know there's a decent person here."

Luna sighs, instinctively pulling at the corset to try to free herself from the slip.

"Yes, well, given what we saw of the king, you're lucky you even found a person that offered to help here. It's not fun being the scum of the earth, is it?"

The two cut their eyes at each other, Trita returning with a bag in hand. For having a professional princess-knight relationship, these two act casually around one another, especially so given the fact there's another person in the room, but neither seems to mind.

"What are you talking about? Haven't I always been? Little bird's gotta sing for the masses, even mimic some wedding bells."

Neither of them are paying attention to the several long locks of purple hair that have fallen from the veil on her head, jostled free by Dakara's assistance with the dress.

"Could be worse: Could be the funeral march."

"Ah-ah, I do think I was threatened by King Dolan to some capacity so that song may be in my future, you don't know. I'll start practicing, as if I didn't memorize that one the day I turned seven."

"You're so dramatic sometimes... But also a true and fair point."

Dakara keeps her eyes down and keeps quiet as the two talk. She's practiced fading into the background, as it's a necessity for working here in the palace, but it's still difficult to hear them speaking that way.

She won't lie and stick up for the king- he can be such an ass, and she won't lie and stick up for Shand or anyone else, really. But she has an insider's perspective, where neither of them do.

She's heard the older kitchen staff, during down moments in the cool of evening, talk about what the king had been like before he lost his wife, even before that when he had been the prince and his father had been the cruel and the harsh one.

Though she'd never admit it, she's spent quite a bit of time daydreaming, wondering perhaps if King Dolan had been more like Shand at that age than he'd ever admit to anyone. If maybe one day Shand would actually grow up to act just like his father. Maybe there's no way to break a cycle like that.

Well, she thinks now, if anyone is going to have to deal with the repercussions of what Shand grows up to be like, it will be this young woman. Dakara's finished loosening her corset so all the strings hang slack, and now she can see impossibly long cords of hair, deep plum colored hair, falling from underneath her veil.

What a beautiful, unusual color. What a shame to keep it hidden. Almost immediately, her mind jumps with what she knows Shand will say about it.

The princess turns, feeling Dakara's hands still at the corset, and catches her staring. Dakara drops her head with a blush.

"I'm sorry, your highness, please forgive me. It's just.. your hair is beautiful."

“O-Oh.”

Luna tugs the veil, averting her eyes, not mad. No, she looks... Embarrassed? Ashamed? Like she’s expecting Dakara to react a certain way any second and only gets more nervous each second that passes and she doesn’t.

“Oops.”

Trita smirks, playfully tugging the veil, slipping it slightly off her head, many more strands of the unusually colored hair falling out. This sends Luna into a near panic and she backs away from both of them, snatching the fabric, moving it back into place.

“Don’t do that! What if someone else saw?”

The concern the princess feels never touches her knight’s face. If anything, she looks annoyed, like the concerning situation was exactly the point of her action.

“And? Your Highness, its just hair.”

“It’s not and you know it.”

“Do I? Or is that just what your parents have told you?”

Luna huffs, turning her back to the rabbit, snatching up the under pants and shirt of her armor, ready to storm away and change. As she moves, she glances at Dakara apologetically before running behind a folding divider.

Trita sighs, looking over at the red-headed servant.

“Sorry about that. But at least it’s nice to see unusual hair colors are more accepted by people in Natania than Atron. It’ll make life a little easier... Right, Princess?”

The embarrassed royal groans in response, still hidden away to dress and the upset response makes Trita laugh quietly.

“Also, sorry again but do you mind packing a small pack of food for us to have? She would like to spar out in the surrounding forests and fields but we may be out for some time and I think having food with us would be beneficial. It doesn’t need to be anything fancy, just bread and dried meat would suffice, honestly. Enough for two people, please.”

Sent from Topic'it App

Dakara fights to keep her eyes from visibly narrowing as she watches the princess's reactions to her knight's words.

Granted, they don't know her very well or know what her real value around here is, but she's heard every excuse in the book, including this one.

"So...good food with a shelf life...for two...enough for one day or more?"

She tries to hide the questioning in her voice, knowing her inquisitions are already out of line. But something about the behavior of their guests up until this point tells her that maybe they won't be too bothered by it.

And that maybe they need her help.

Once Shand is out of the castle walls, once he's slipped past the outer defenses and is finally free, he bypasses the four nearest towns and makes for the one further east than the others.

It's a good hiding place for him, he's learned from experience. They'd been involved in a small insurrection many, many years before and although that's all dead and gone and behind them now, they still refuse to post the king's portrait or any other royal likenesses or memorabilia. Just to honor the memory of their relatives who gave their lives in the struggle, they say.

Shand doesn't really care why, he just knows that he can drink in this town where no one knows his face or asks him any questions. But it's a decent half a day's walk, and he's not particularly free to use any of the king's highway roads to get there. So he has to go off the beaten path.

He's never minded forest navigating much, the crunch of leaves underfoot or the foliage all around. He does get irritated when branches periodically come out of nowhere to smack him in the face, or thorns decide to stick to his clothes and poke him at the worst times.

And truth be told, he's just always preferred the sea. But with Natania's only sea coast being so close to the Atron border, he was never given permission to wander off there alone.

Clearly why he had to take matters into his own hands and do it on his own time. As branches whack him in the face and he stumbles over a few gnarled roots resembling fists grabbing at the dirt, he daydreams about building his own vessel there on the beach, something small enough for him to sail, and sailing off alone.

He's not sure where he'd end up, but anywhere would be better than here.

Trita watches Dakara carefully and it's now obvious that she was watching the servant for this reaction specifically, as obvious by the smirk she's suddenly trying to contain.

"Enough for two people over extended time knowing the princess may be the only one eating any of it for said extended time, yes. I am fine and will just eat here."

She has no intention of following Luna around kingdom come, knight or not. It's not that she doesn't care about her princess's protection, she does, but lord knows she doesn't actually need all that much help. Besides, someone has to stay and slow her parents down enough to give her time to escape completely.

That's Trita's job.

Maybe one day they'll meet, one day she'll chase after her charge and monitor her in her new freedom for some time, but that's an issue for a later moment. Her tasks before her in this one is clear.

Dakara pauses for a moment, evaluating the response and trying to decide if her intended one is appropriate. She speaks slowly, head tilted, letting each word hang in the air just enough to gather some weight.

"So then would the princess maybe also enjoy a map of the castle and its secret passages and surrounding grounds and neighboring territories in her...picnic basket as well? Along with all the other...survival items she'll need for her... sparring outing?"

Dakara actually folds her arms now, not caring whether or not the knight is playing this game with her for good or ill. While it's Dakara's duty to make the princess and her personnel comfortable during their stay, she's not sure helping her run away falls under acceptable offshoots of that responsibility.

Then again. It's not like it would come back to bite Shand should this treaty fall through. His life will stay the same, granted, his father will be more irritated with him in his irrational way for a while, but it will blow over, just like things with Shand always do.

"And is the princess also taking recommendations for safe houses that may somewhat cross to the Atorn border?"

Dakara presses her lips together, smiling slightly, listening for the princess's reaction from behind her changing partition.

Now Trita arches her eyebrow skeptically at Dakara, something about the growing willingness paired with the smile and offer screams more than just simple servant assistance. It's concerning.

When Trita doesn't respond as she had been, Luna steps out from the divider, tight riding pants tucked into tall leather boots and form-fitting high-collared undershirt on, looking much more like the girl of the stories than the girl that stepped out of the carriage, even with the veil still secure on her head.

"That would be kind of you."

Luna looks over to Trita who is still watching Dakara, trying to make a quick judgement call. It doesn't appear like she's actually doing this to assist the princess. No, she's doing this to assist the prince it seems. What is their connection? And who is she to butt in and decide The Princess of Atron isn't good enough for some rebellious little punk of royalty?

It takes a second but she has to remind herself that, in a lot of ways, she's doing the exact same thing, pushing her side of this arranged marriage towards running and freedom.

By the time she's regained her composure, Luna has already begun to slip on her leg armor pieces like a well-memorized puzzle, everything fitting into place with speed and obvious practice.

"Yes, I agree. That would all be beneficial. Thank you."

“Of course, your highness.”

Dakara stands still, continuing to observe, testing the waters.

“I hope I️ haven’t been too forward with either of you, but I’m also sorry your reception here hasn’t been as friendly as it should have been.”

She hesitates, and there’s a moment where she feels more compassion for this princess than she should, where she thinks she would probably offer her assistance solely for the fact of how miserable she looks and how hard her upbringing sounds.

But she figures she’s said enough, offered enough already and if any of this gets back to those who supervise her, she’ll regret what she’s already done more than enough.

She bows her head and locks her eyes back onto the floor.

“I’ll bring those things up for you right away. Is there anything else you might need?”

Both women pause at the apology, looking at each other then back at Dakara, confused by the kind words

“Thank you.”

Luna smiles, eventually breaking the silence, honestly touched by the kindness but she does seem to hold an air of concern in her eyes.

“You should leave before you say something you’ll regret, though. We’re not really worth getting fired over.”

Trita nods, picking up one of the metal arm pieces, snapping it into place on Luna’s shoulder, keeping her back to Dakara so she can’t see the moment of worry even she has on her face. The princess picks up on it, however, and smiles more.

“Don’t worry, we can forget your name and face if we need to. We’ve done it before, right?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never spoken with a servant named Dakera.”

The knight intentionally mispronounces her name like she’s never heard it before, like trying to speak a foreign language for the first time, as both women turn to throw playful smirks at her. It’s obvious where Luna has learned several of her mannerisms from when they stand side-by-side and mimic each other’s expression.

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Dakara opens her mouth and starts to speak, but then decides she doesn't really want to have to explain why she could never actually get fired from her post here in the castle. She just smiles sweetly instead.

"Yes ma'am, your highness."

She curtsies slightly and exits the room, making her way down the hall and into the next wing before heading down to the kitchens.

She peeks her head around the grey-veined marble corner, watching to see, and nobody's coming. Ducking around the corner and through the nearest doorway, she glides through the front half of Shand's chambers with purpose, as if she's there to clean them.

Fat chance on that.

She pushes open the door to his bedroom, the one room sorely out of place in this castle, littered with half finished projects and papers and model sailboats and piles of books blown asunder by several open windows.

He's replaced marble with wood everywhere he possibly can, and where he couldn't, he's hung maps and drawings and important book pages up to cover the coldness that surrounds him.

She knocks a half eaten apple off his rumpled bed and looks around, half expecting him to pop out of some corner and scare her with a childish look on his face.

But after a few more moments, it becomes clear that he's not in the room, and neither are some of his favorite things, favorite clothes, his knapsack.

Dakara frowns as she flicks some more crumbs off the covers and then crosses the room to close the windows before they blow all the pages clean out of his books. He's not here, so where could he be?

"A suggestion."

The two were silent for a long pause after Dakara left but now Trita breaks it, feeling the need to interject a thought into the quiet.

"I guess two: First, don't wear your entire suit, just take all the pieces you already have on your legs, your gauntlets, and your cauldrons, but leave the massive chest and hip plates here. Walking around in complete attire will attract more attention. Dressed as you are now, at least you just look like some well-armored mercenary. Actually, that's the story you should go with: Mercenary. Take some jobs if you have to in order to prove your story true."

She doesn't even give Luna time to respond, to agree or object to the idea, she's already taking the last pieces in question from the bed and moving them back into the trunk.

"Secondly: Don't show that level of kindness to any random stranger you meet. It's fine that you did with her, but not every situation will end that way."

This second suggestion irritates Luna and obviously so, she cuts her eyes at Trita and stands from the bed defiantly, gloved hands firm on hips.

"Excuse me, I am a soldier first and foremost, you don't have to tell me that, I know how to carry myself through life."

There's no arguing with her stubborn proclamation so the knight just nods, letting her warning hang in the air anyways. She knows the princess will need it, try as she may to appear strict and battle-worn, she still carries an overly compassionate heart, a heart people have tried to beat out of her for years, including herself, but it's there still. Her greatest strength and weakness.

"Of course. I guess just remember what I said, then: You're a mercenary."

"Yes, yes, I got that, thank you."

While she's compiling all the requested items and packing them up discreetly, Dakara goes through all the places in her mind she imagines Shand could be.

He could be screwing around in the treasury again, although he's done that enough before to be bored of it now.

He'd know better than to show his face back in the kitchen to try and swipe more food...then again, maybe he wouldn't. But a quick peek around the end of the servant's hall reveals that the kitchen is only full of rushing cooks and servants carting plates of food away. No Shand.

He could be in the library in that dusty nook where all the naval records and maritime volumes are kept, the only place in the library that sees any love from him or really much of anyone nowadays.

That's probably her best bet. After she's got two bags full of what the princess needs, she carts them upstairs and dips quickly into the library.

She hides the bags behind a tall, stuffy looking chair and scales the ladder that leads to the balcony rung, where the oldest and dustiest and most boring books are all stashed.

It had been Shand's favorite place as a child because from up here on the balcony, no one can really see you when you're huddled in the corner under a blanket. He'd slept up there a lot of nights, at least before he'd altered his room to fit his comforts better.

But he's not there now. His old blanket and pillow are still there, untouched, and she knows he still spends an odd night or two here.

But not enough to leave book laying around. There's one volume tossed on top of the blanket, one of his favorites, a reference book that dissects the construction of all popular seafaring vessels down to the type of material best used.

She pulls it into her hands, feeling the hard, scratchy binding and taking in the old smell. She flips it open to get a little more of the smell, and when she does, she notices a slip of paper sticking out from the back of the book.

A note, from Shand. So he assumed she'd come here to look for him? She wants to sigh and laugh at once- he's always one step ahead and it's frustrating, but fun.

So this arranged marriage stuff is really shitty, and apparently not a joke, so I'm leaving until it all blows over because it will clearly all blow over. Don't tell anyone, you know where I'll be.

She does roll her eyes now, but he's right, she does know where he'll be. He's never taken off for good, for an indefinite amount of time yet, but he's made day trips in and out without being noticed missing. She wonders what the fall out will be this time. Then again, maybe she doesn't want to think about that.

Slipping the note into her apron pocket, she deposits the book back in its place on the shelf and descends the ladder, grabbing the bags back up and making her way back to the princess's chambers.

With a light knock on the door, she slides in, holding the bags out, not sure of what exactly to do about the current situation she sees unfolding before her.

Trita is sitting on the bed with her legs crossed by the time Dakara gets back, arms folded on her chest, looking to the side where Luna is adjusting the final pieces of her outfit, pinning the veil up under itself so it doesn't drag on the floor behind her, though it's long enough that it still hits and flares down to her lower back even folded like this.

"Your supplies are here."

The announcement of Dakara's presence finally makes the princess turn. She nearly looks like a completely different person, elegant court maiden to graceful soldier, but there's still that same air of regalness like no matter what she wears can take that from her even if she tried. And she definitely is trying. Still, if anything, she looks more comfortable with the pounds of armor weighing her arms and legs down, oddly, and she moves like she has more freedom thanks to them.

"Thank you."

Luna walks across the room, taking the bag and slinging it over and across her back. She bounces on the balls of her feet, checking to make sure everything is steady and in place, though Trita just rolls her eyes, annoyed she would even think a single armor piece would fall off if she was the one that helped her put it on.

"So, you said you had some suggestions for us on great destination places for sparring, yes?"

The armored royalty tilts her head, watching the servant woman expectantly.

"Our sweet princess is going a little stir crazy."

Dakara clasps her hands behind her back, the wheels in her mind turning. She knows what she wants to tell the princess. She knows what she should tell the princess. But why shouldn't she get a little fun out of this impossible situation, too?

"There's a town about three or four towns over from here, called Fenner. It's got a small pub there, the Hobgoblin. A lot of trackers spend nights there. The town is more or less removed from a lot of the politics here at the capitol, so folks won't ask questions. You could easily find someone willing to direct you back to the border."

She smiles sweetly, wondering how many more variables will need to be perfect in order for this trick of hers to actually work. Truth be told, it's not much of a trick at all, especially since nothing may actually come of it.

But something about the way this princess holds herself and speaks, to Dakara and to her friend both, tells Dakara that maybe she needs a bit of a good time. And she knows someone who's cornered the market on those.

"Fenner, Hobgoblin... Natania has some interesting names."

Luna comments quietly, repeating the names over to herself as she draws the map out from the bag, looking it over to follow along with Dakara's suggestion.

"Says Fengari Estenor."

Trita laughs to herself, watching the princess start charting out her path. It stings a little to know her charge of six years, the charge she's grown so fond of over time, is now about to up and leave, to venture forth on her own. This is what she wants for her, to find her freedom, live her life, get out from under her parents' thumb, but the worry is also immense. If there was ever anyone who could handle herself in a fight as well as Trita, it's the princess dressed in light armor before her, but it doesn't stop the concern.

Will she make it to Fenner? Will she find a tracker that can lead her where she needs to go and then, from there, can she live the life she wants on her own? What does this new completely uncertain future hold for the younger woman she is supposed to protect with her life?

It's terrifying but the best thing she can do is let the princess go, let her escape all of this and cover her tracks here at the castle, keep this royal business from finding her.

"I guess I should be setting off."

Luna folds the map, sticking it in a pocket on her hip for easy access, looking between the two women in the room with her, not really knowing what to say to either of them right now. It's not like they aren't aware of what's going on or that this is probably the last time they'll gather like this.

"I really appreciate your help, Dakara. Let Trita know if you ever need anything because of all of this."

Trita nods over Luna's shoulder in response to the offer, finally pushing herself off the bed to stand near them.

"Alright, let's go get you moving then."

Shand has made this trip back and forth from Fenner more times than he can count. He'd started running off on his day trips when he was pretty young, around the same time his father had started trying to select a new wife. Things were hectic around the palace and he was hardly ever even missed.

And that, of course, started a cycle of normalcy around him never being seen or heard around the palace grounds, and that had benefited him well ever since.

He'd tried to steal Dakara off on a trip there once, but she was always the more practical one and had tried to beat him over the head with a rolling pin for even suggesting it. He hadn't suggested again.

Now, he leans back against a tree in the thick forest, the gnarled, curled up bark hard against the back of his head, but his eyes are growing increasingly tired. It's not even nightfall yet, but he knows the late nights he keeps are to blame.

The evergreen pine needles that litter the forest floor make a nice carpeting, soft and fragrant underfoot, and they're also great for hiding and covering tracks. There's also a small stream a few miles further toward the center of the forest where he always stops to wash the scent should his father ever get wise and send the dogs after him.

His father has never once cared enough to send dogs after him, but something tells him this might be the time dear old dad finally breaks them out.

He wonders what everyone will say when they do finally realize he's gone. Maybe his father will wise up and suddenly realize how often his son has been going out on a whim. But beyond that, he mulls over in his mind the fact that he's probably starting a second war with his actions.

Natania has been winning the war for a while, and they've been secretly building a navy with their spare change time and all the tax increases they've levied in the name of national security. Maybe he can stowaway on a navy ship, commandeer the vessel and sail away somewhere far from here.

But he has to get to Fenner first. He pushes himself to his feet and makes himself continue on, pulling another piece of bread from his knapsack and nibbling aimlessly at it.

"I have a feeling the king won't be happy to know you've stolen one of his horses."

Trita comments as Luna hoists herself onto an average looking, easy to blend in brown horse, testing out the reigns, getting a feel for the creature.

"It's one of his workhorses, I doubt he'll mind all that much."

With that, an odd silence falls as the two think over this moment a little more now that they're actually here and neither really knows what to say.

"Trita, if I never see you again-"

"Stop. Stop. Don't make this too sentimental or else you'll never leave. I know what a softy you are. Don't make yourself stuck here."

They both exchange little smiles at one another. The thought isn't wrong: They may never see each other again should all of this workout, but that's the ending they want for Luna's happiness. So Trita puts on a brave face, pushing past the emotions to make sure her princess doesn't lose the fire and determination to do what she must.

"Princess Fengari Estenor, General of the Second Squadron of the Royal Atron Army, it's been an honor. I hope you're as good of a mercenary as you were my charge."

Her hand smacks the hide of the horse and it lets out a high noise, rearing a bit before taking off towards the forest and Luna quickly loses sight of her guard, knight, and friend.

But it's for the best, she can't look back. She can't get stuck in a loveless marriage all for the sake of saving face for her parents. Atron will be absorbed with or without some strange random prince taking her hand, the formality of the marriage is just that: A formality. It's unnecessary.

Now she's off, away from it all, making speed towards Fenner and to where Dakara had pointed her off to.

Shand has been lounging at the Hobgoblin for a while, although to be fair, Shand makes it his goal to lounge as often as possible, in as many places as possible.

It's easier here than most places. The whole pub looks like someone had hollowed out the inside of a huge, ancient tree to make it. There are few windows, and the walls are deep, dark wood stained with all sorts of things that one probably shouldn't think too hard about.

The bar itself is nothing fancy, clearly just a huge slab of wood over top several other huge slabs of wood, soaked in spilled alcohol to the point that it will never not have that pungent, dingy damp smell.

Shand honestly likes it. He likes the bar and he likes the corner where he's been curled up in a barebones wooden chair at an equally minimalistic table. But he knows how to get comfortable in most places he goes, regardless of setting, and here is no exception.

He's got his head leaned back against the wall, knees pulled into his chest and kept there by how close he's scooted the chair into the table.

Sleep is somewhat close, although Shand could never actually fall asleep in a place like this. So much noise, so much going on. There's a fair amount of other patrons filling the pub, some grizzled and obnoxiously hairy men at the bar, and of course the busty ladies paid to give them attention.

It's really all a great place for people watching and hands-off experimenting with human nature, and if Shand wasn't as tired as he is, he'd be ridiculously enraptured by it all.

But he's had a few pints, more or so enough to be relaxed enough to almost be asleep. Even though they don't know who he really is here, though, he's got to keep up appearances, even if those appearances are fake.

He always travels as a tracker, because in this part of the country, trackers are more or less solitary- depending on the nature of their business they could be hunters, they could be tracking fugitives, any manner of things. But the constant is that most folks assume being in touch with nature and the lay of the land inclines them to prefer to keep to themselves. So it had been a perfect choice.

Shand listens to a drunken chorus of some drinking song break out at the bar, cringes as he can hear a man fall out of his seat on a bar stool and thud heavily in the floor. It's not the most peaceful place to be, but it beats the palace by all counts.

It's not the worst place Luna has ever seen. When you're trailing around with armies, you see some pretty wretched sights. It's also not the best place she's ever seen. Being royalty, she's also stayed in and relaxed with the finest luxuries. This place, Hobgoblin or whatever it's called, kind of just falls on the middle of the spectrum.

With a quick adjustment of her veil, she casually walks in like she's been there a million times before, slipping past people, trying to force a miss-step here and there so she doesn't seem too graceful. On the battlefield and in court, the natural grace that's been harnessed and trained for a lifetime into elegance is a virtue, but, around normal people, it just makes her stand out like she's not even human.

Maybe she really isn't now that she thinks on that one for a bit.

She's very careful that no part of her skin, which is mostly covered thankfully, touches a single person, silently cursing Trita for not letting her take her breastplate and hip guards, knowing the tighter clothing doesn't completely cover the heat that is always spilling from her. It's easy in court, no one touches you in court. It's easy in a battle, you're in full metal armor. But, again, here in the normal average world, people casually bump into each other and no one walks around in full metal suits.

Okay, maybe she has to thank Trita, really. Her shoulders, arms, and legs being protectively covered seems a little out of the usual, but nothing that most people take a second look at. Her entire suit would have been way too much.

Now that she's here, though, she could really use a drink. A whiskey. The smallest of smiles is on her face when she gets to the bar, imagining the fit her mother would be having if she knew what her daughter was about to drink. But she doesn't, and that fact of freedom nearly makes the smile uncontrollably.

She orders when she finds a place to stand then takes a look around the room, definitely not the only armored person here but she looks like the only mercenary in the room. That's odd. Well, maybe not. Mercenaries were common in Atorn with them being a military-focused kingdom, but it doesn't look like that's a hot career here in the heart of Natania. She probably should have picked a different lifestyle as her cover but it's too late now, she fits the part.

Shand's ears prick at the slightest sound of metal clanking, so slight it would have escaped most. But he's so used to spying and eavesdropping around the palace that his ears are tuned to small things like this.

He opens only one eye to survey the place, keeping any sign of interest off his face. But the crowd at the bar has gotten thick because of how late in the evening it is, and the rest of the place is dark and smoky and frankly not worth the effort it would take to look around it well.

So her repositions himself, stretching back in the chair and letting his legs stretch out and rest across the tabletop, chair leaning back on just the back two legs so he can cross his arms behind his head.

As comfortable as he is, he's still a little preoccupied with what he's about to undertake. He's never straight up fled the country before, and although he's admittedly a trickster and sometimes a punk, he doesn't disregard his country's future altogether.

He's an only child, and it's not like his father doesn't have wards, but if Shand makes it out of Natania, there will be a huge vacancy in the line of ascension. Maybe his father will lose his place on the throne to opportunists, extended family members with more reliable lines.

Truth be told, he doesn't want his father to lose his position or deal with civil war on top of the fallout this will cause with Atorn, but he can't help but wonder if it will all be better in the long run. He's never deluded himself with the idea that he would make a good king. He's never enjoy it, of course, but if he had shown any predilection for it, he would have obliged and submitted to that duty. After all, it's his country too.

But all his predilections are for things forbidden to a royal heir, a prince. It toys back and forth with him, thinking about what this is going to mean for his father and his people, but not wanting to think about giving in and going back, either.

So his nerves need even more help than they've gotten already. He opens one eye again to map out the easiest route to the bar, around all the tables and staggering folks. He side steps it all smoothly, only almost tripping once, but that's the fault of his own feet more than anything else.

He leans on the bar somewhat heavily, so it supports his whole upper half and he looks only a fraction of his full height.

"Give me rum and skip the glass."

An abnormally tall man slips up to the bar beside her and she instinctively moves her arm from being even remotely near him, acting like she was reaching for the short glass of whiskey in front of her as to not make it look too obvious and awkward. Last thing she needs is a drunk giant accidentally rubbing arms with her for her secret to come out.

Wait, her arms are in armor so she probably would have been fine and that was all for nothing. Luna rolls her shoulders to shrug it off, better safe than sorry anyways, and throws back the couple of shots in front of her, slamming the glass back down like she has a grudge against it.

The bartender slides a bottle to the man then looks to her and she nods. She could definitely use another. As she waits, she steals a glance to the side to get a quick view and profile of the man beside her as he tries not to catch his own attention of the metal pieces around her arms and shoulders. Is mercenary soldier really that odd of a job around here? Has no one ever seen armor before?

He's obviously tall and would tower over her if he was standing, this bottle isn't his first drink of the night, and he seems to be something of a traveler. What that means specifically, she has no idea. Doesn't look like a tradesman or anything like that, so an adventurer? Maybe, but that also doesn't seem quite right either.

Her eyes snap away when another round is in front of her but she takes a second to stare down at it this time, swirling the caramel colored liquid around with a bit of a scowl when she sees her reflection in it, sees the veil still heavily over her head. If she ever gets the chance to make it to the other side of the world where no one has heard anything of Atron, this damn piece of headwear will be the first to go.

She throws back again, resting her cup a little slower this time but still with a noise.

It's strange in these parts to see someone dressed like her, like a lone mercenary just wandering into a pub, but also to see a girl of her height, delicate and elegant and beautiful, throwing back shots at the bar like she's ready to burn down the world, is also something of an oddity.

Shand nearly chokes on his first swig from the rum bottle with suppressed laughter as she scowls down into her shot glass. Clearly this was the source of the sounds he'd heard before, with her pieces of armor here and there.

"What, did you lose the rest of it?"

His voice is mocking but still good natured, not turning to her yet, but facing straight against the bar the same as she is. When she gives him a quizzical look, he clarifies.

"You're a few pieces short of a full suit. Did you leave your jousting lance outside with your noble steed and your loyal manservant, or what?"

His lips twitch with a teasing smile, and there's nothing malicious in his tone, but he clearly has no worries over accidentally rubbing her the wrong way.

Great. The last thing she wanted was to actually speak to the guy. Why did he have to open his mouth and start a conversation? She keeps those feelings from her face for the most part, only glancing at him from the side again, a smirk on her face.

"Had to melt the other pieces down for scrap after a run-in with a dragon. It ended poorly... For the creature."

She rolls her eyes and motions for another glass, waiting for the bartender with an impatient tapping of her finger on the bar.

"Ended poorly for the manservant, as well, but, you know what they say: Death row-ers get one last meal. Guess that works with dragons, too."

His words aren't mean but she's not about to sit here and take these little remarks silently and with the politeness she's been taught to have since she was born. Doesn't matter here.

"And what about you, Sassy? Lose some come decency on your short walk from your little drunken island to the water source?"

She quickly jabs a thumb back over her shoulder towards the table he had come from, clearly having noted him in her quick sweep of the room but not having thought much of him until this moment.

Still, she keeps with his pace and keeps her tone amused and friendly. It's not like he's done anything to irritate her so she isn't upset. Confused? Yes, but not mad, so she lets some casual playful banter roll.