Subtlety is key (Ginger)

[aranion]

Aranion bit harshly into the rich juicy apple that had been placed on a plate in front if him. He munched absently and slowly as his eyes looked around the vast room. Swallowing thickly, Aranion didn't glance at the man tending to him as a drink was poured, shaking, into his glass. Eyes watching the the liquid fill the clear glass, Aranion noticed that he was much more of a half empty kind of guy. A perfectionist others would call him. In truth he had no intention to drink it since he wasn't thirsty but telling the man to stop would require extra effort and that was not something he was handing out on a plate today, in fact any day unless it was for the country.

It had been a long day. The weather was still slightly chilly and there had been much to do inside and outside. It was Sunday, and Sunday was a busy day for him. Everything was to be taken care by him. Drills were to be planned out and guarding was to be completely finished. Even though Aranion was a captain in the army and all he was required to do was command a part in the army, he always tended to the military aspects of Minas Tirith.

He had been up early, even before most of the other gondorians. Aranion hadn't rested through the night at all, but he didn't care. He didn't need the sleep. Besides, he had too much to do to worry about idle time, and that much was obvious as he changed into clothes that he would be comfortable in. Pulling on his black light armour that he used for training, he looked himself at the mirror. Once he was settled, he ran his fingers through his messy hair and then shoved his feet into his black boots. He was ready to face the day. Shaking his head slightly, he slipped easily from his room and was soon roaming the hallways of the capital. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and no one seemed to be doing anything illegal. He always made his rounds early in the morning, because most of the enemy thought no one would really be paying attention. But that was because they didn't really know Aranion.

He himself constantly patroled the halls and the rest of the capital, and he made sure that his guards did the same thing. No one that didn't belong to the gondorians or the other friendly nations would be able to get into this place without serious consequences. If you weren't a friend to the world of men, you usually didn't get out alive. Aranion saw to that personally, simply because it was one rule that the Stewards had constantly enforced. That was one thing that the Stewards hadn't wanted to give away. Any of their own secrets or positions. So the spy was killed without any remorse. They couldn't risk the prisoner's escape, or anything of the sort. Aranion agreed with it, and that was what it usually came to. Sighing quietly to himself now, he continued his silent walk along the hallways, and then once he was certain everything was ordinary, he disappeared into the training ground for a good portion of the day. He had a lot of things to think about and worry over, so he would be spending his time in the training ground to go over possible plans to strengthen the faction , and stop the other factions from trying to move up in ranks. He could not disappoint his father, or the Steward by allowing that to happen.

It was almost afternoon when the Captain made his way out of the training barracks and started to walk towards a pub frequented by soldiers, occassionally trying to touch his back. Many long months had passed since the accident that had left Aranion almost a cripple and with a large scar on his back. He didn¢t remember much of that day- flashes of nasty Orcs and the cries of the men he¢d been riding with. A lot of red, and so much pain. The Healers had told him the mind chose to forget such terrible things lest men go mad from the memories…but he grew weary of the Healers. They were always telling him to lay back down, to stop touching the bandages, to think about learning to read and write in case his back never fully healed.

He¢d proven them wrong, though, for he had healed. Even through the pain, he worked, looking out over the land from his tiny grey room, seeing the distant line of trees that marked Ithilien- where his fellow soldiers had been at that time. Oh, how he¢d longed to be back among them- his true family. He had managed to overcome the pain and return to them, but once in a while his old injury would come back to haunt him, whenever he worked himself to his limits.

Aranion entered the small pub- the little place that had been so close, yet unreachable when he¢d been a…prisoner in the Houses of Healing, and he felt the need to throw a smug grin at the Houses as he entered the noisy, smoky den. However small it had looked on the outside, the inside was worse. Packed nearly to the brim with rowdy men, Aranion tried to avoid knocking into anyone by twisting and ducking under raised arms…for a time. After only a minute of dodging elbows, the Captain changed his mind and walked as normally as he could- hitting aforementioned elbows and all but shoving men out of his path before he arrived at the long bar and leaned over it- trying to catch sight of a barmaid.

A pint, my fair lady. he said to a blonde barmaid as she tended to him. Only after drinking the first gulp did Aranion look over to see who he was sitting next to.

[hades]

ooc: coded ...

Ah! Yes, this was it. Most definitely it, the room was dark and easy on his eyes. The only light was that which seeped through the door way and the windows. He was the only one of his kind in the room, large, well built, a dangerous lethal weapon. He didn’t feel dominated at all sitting where he was. He demanded respect and the attention of others. He was the top of the food-chain in the little pub. He sat tall and proud, his face narrow and his slits. He had the whole ‘looking down on you’ part accomplished, he was a professional at it. The only part of him that moved was an occasional adjustment of his large eyes whenever something (or someone) moved in the darkness. But there was something terribly wrong with the whole situation. The male that sat at the bar was a giant owl; his wing span was about five feet in length. His black talons were only an eighth of the way covered by the soft fuzzy feathers that inhabited his feet. His eyes were large and orange and the ear tufts on the top of his head were at their full capacity.

Dénor was his name, it meant brave in Rohirrim. He sat at the bar, his healthy feathers gleamed in the dim light, he was alone, and on purpose. When he and Ginger arrived in the great city in the realm of Gondor he hadn’t much liked the landscape, that is for its’ prey. He liked deer, or larger prey. He liked a challenge! He would not be denied this. Yet Ginger had managed to kill only one of the best looking stags the land had to offer, and she meant to sell it to the butcher for a good amount so that they might be able to afford to stay a while. The elf was definitely a different sight to the eyes of the people of Gondor. They must not have seen very many in these parts. Distracted, Dénor swung his head around gracefully as the door to the pub opened…

Well that is just peachy, it had a worm! Putting the peach back in the stand she looked for a better looking one. Finding it, she purchased it and walked away. Where had that blasted bird gotten to now? He hadn’t been in a mood, heavens no! In fact he seemed perfectly pleased to be among so many people. Dénor had an ego, and it had to be fed. Ginger didn’t like it when he took off, especially during the day! The bright sun bounced off the white washed walls of the city. It was indeed great, but large. She didn’t need to ask where the dark places were, all she had to do was look at the sun to tell where the shadows were, and of course check the pubs. If there was one thing Dénor liked it was a nice, dark, foggy pub. So, she started at the bottom and worked her way, seemingly all day, through the city checking every pub she could find.

“No giant bird here, miss.” -
“No birds are allowed in here!” -
“No animals are allowed in here, period!” -
“What on earth would you want with a bird?” -


Dénor’s eyes went from slits to orbs in a matter of seconds. A blonde gentleman, tall in stature, strong looking and lethal made his way to the bar. Immediately you could tell what he was thinking just by looking at his eyes. ‘Who are you? Who do you think you are? How dare you!’ Now he felt threatened, now he felt like he needed to make himself out to be the better man, merely to feed his ego. The man sat down beside him and ordered a pint of liquid that came in funny looking cups. Dénor stood up straighter and looked the man in the eye when the man faced him.

[aranion]

On an afternoon like this one, walking through the streets of Minas Tirith felt more like swimming. The air was thick with damp that seemed to weigh on the skin, making sweat easy and clothes to cling oppressively. It was also laden with a smell that was almost visible with the naked eye, the sort that latched onto you and never quite seemed to wash out, staining the very soul. And then, there was the quiet. It seemed that this afternoon, the world had been muted, with any sound coming only in half-hearted blurs that quickly faded away.

And this is how the world shall end, Aranion thought, remembering the words of a famous philosopher. Not with a shout, but with a whimper.

Aranion knew he was wandering. He walked aimlessly through the streets, passing without thought through the pools of grimy light and shadow. His mind drifted away, going back when he had first slain an orc in battle. Aranion supposed he should be should have been happy about that. That he should have felt something. But he hadn't. He had felt numb, in body and mind. That numbness stayed with him as he returned to the present day as he walked the streets, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. He knew only that he needed to find someplace to cool off, to think through what would happen. Somewhere anonymous, and with the thunder tumbling in the long distance, preferably sheltered. After several moments, the pub presented itself. The city had many others like it, and they generally were very nice places, used mainly by the guards and the army. But he remembered several people saying that the pub would serve as a shelter in times of need, for those displaced and looking for a new home. Even more, Aranion simply had a good feeling about it, something that he couldn’t explain. Hesitating for a moment, he threaded his way through the people outside and pushed open the door. Immediately, the light, sounds and smells washed over him in a wave. It was good to see that the world wasn'’t all dark, even if it did nothing to lift his spirits. He felt somehow outside of it all, as if he was an observer in his own body. For once uncaring of the eyes on him, he drifted to his own personal spot in front of the bar.

Checking next to him to see who was sitting close to him, he raised an eyebrow when he met the eyes of an eagle owl. Taking another gulp from his mug of ale, he looked at the owl again. Checking to see whether or not someone owned the eagle owl, he found out that the owl was probably all by itself since no one paid any attention to it. Shaking his head and sighing, he wanted to leave the owl to itself, but it seemed as if it stared down his very owl soul.

Incapable of tearing his eyes away, he started a staring contest with the owl. He just stood there, looking at the owl with a mild interest and mild amusement.

[hades]

She had been searching for nearly the entire afternoon in all the pubs she could be directed to without looking like she was after more than what she was. The elf had received many odd looks from the people she accidentally bumped into, offering many apologies. Once, that morning, she also clumsily knocked over a fruit cart. The apologies spilled out endlessly as she helped the young man gather his fruit and put it back into the cart. Surely someone above would hear of it. Ginger had apologized so much that the young man shook his head and told her to watch where she was going. Then he mumbled something about hearing that elves were graceful creatures. Groaning inwardly Ginger continued her search for her feathered friend. Things weren’t looking to good, what if someone had captured him? What if he was getting himself into trouble with the, what were they called again, stewards? How would she explain her birds behavior if it came to that?! These worries clung to Ginger’s mind as she walked into another pub, looking around for any sign that Dénor had been in the area.

It wasn’t until the early afternoon that Ginger made her way closer to the guard’s part of Minas Tirith, awkwardly she proceeded into the pubs one at a time, flinching away from some of the looks she was getting. Shaking, she searched the pubs, one by one, by standing in the door way, rarely did she walk inside. Only once had she been approached by one of the lesser guards and asked if there was anything he could do for her. “Oh yes,” she had replied, “I’m looking for a giant with feathers and an ego the size of your city.” Not exactly a compliment, but the guard obviously didn’t like that response. Ginger smiled and left to continue her search. It wasn’t until five smaller pubs later that she found what she was looking for…

Amusement, was that AMUSEMENT he detected in the strange man’s eyes?! Dénor couldn’t believe this man thought he was funny. According to the giant owl this man was invading his space, his pub and all the others he allowed to be in his presents. All of them were lucky he didn’t rip their faces off. Now wouldn’t that be funny? Minas Tirith defeated by a single angry owl in the middle of the day. If that were the case, the forces of evil would have taken him in a heartbeat! Or they would send armies of angry owls to storm cities and take over lands! The man stared at him, unblinking. Fine, if it was a staring contest he wanted, then a staring contest he would get! The loser would submit and leave the pub immediately before he changed his owl mind and attacked the stranger he was staring down. Dénor couldn’t lose; he could go unblinking for long stretches of time.

It was at this point that Ginger walked into the small pub. She was greeted with the smell of smoke, just as in the others she had visited, and the aroma of food. Three people were leaving as she proceeded to look through the haze. To her amazement, she found Dénor sitting on the pub counter top staring down a gentleman who looked like everyone else she had seen since she ventured into the last five pubs. Carefully and quietly she maneuvered her way to the bar. Standing before them, an eyebrow raised in curiosity, she waited to see what would happen next.

Out of the corner or his eye Dénor saw his master standing before him and the stranger. His head turned towards her sharply. His gaze giving way to recognition before sharply returning to the strange blue eyed man, his gaze hostile now and still unblinking. If the man saw, he hadn’t noticed in the few seconds Dénor had turned his head. “I am so sorry, Sir.” He heard Ginger say. To this Dénor gave a small screech of indignity. No one should ever apologize to a trespasser who is trespassing!

“If he has bothered anyone I’ll pay for damages. It isn’t beyond him to attack needlessly.” Ginger knew this; the wound Dénor had left on her arm was only just starting to show signs of going away.