Posts by Whitethroat

Wolf, I'll give Moonraven the final say. I'm a pushover lol.

Vow, you're free to RP all your cats. Despite our number of kits, I've allowed Shrikekit because some have not been active. Rainpaw can be mentored by Spidershade, a young warrior that has become a bit darker due to witnessing the death of Bearkit, and the death of her mentor Crowstar, then her other mentor, Wintershadow. I don't think Brindlepaw's death bothered her though (den mates and both saw Bearkit's death). He was a pretty minor character. I think she could use a cat to lift her spirits! (Of all the cats in the Clan, she has just had dumb bad luck. Not even Foxtongue had this much bad luck. It is SO ridiculous! Poor Spidershade.)

Clearly, I can't keep anything straight in my head. Clearwing will be best for Rainpaw.

Greywolf wrote:

Hi, Mooney's new friends. :)
Although he said not to take over Lightscars, he wants to do something with him once he figures out how to post again.

I do have a problem with this. Unexpectedly, a big one, and I am a huge pushover lol!
Devil has been communicating with Grey about the RP but cannot take a moment to post here about it? Without hesitation, I would remove Lightscars from his HP. It's been long enough. There is nothing to "figure out". Jack has posted. Moony has posted. Mega has posted. Etc. We have all managed with what we had.
Maybe he has no muse, no desire to RP Lightscars, that is fine. Remove the HP nonetheless. If you have no desire to RP an HP, which is needed, I do not wish you to be playing an HP. I have to put my foot down at some point.

Even coniferpaw's RPer has said something here.

I'm done with this. At this point, if I could edit the first post, I would mercilessly remove all inactive cats. All. Hell, I'd expect the same of my characters. And we did, kill them all during the revamp! Because I was inactive.
I created this Clan and I WAS NOT above the rules.

Sorry. IMO, good bye inactive HPs.

I know I could add more detail but I'm horribly tired and on my phone also haha!
Of course, I still googled things. There is some truth in some of the extravagant things I post (like the Square, it is real), but idk what side of London it is or how it looked back then or what type of people lived in the area XD. This is unpublished, for fun works. I play with the reality for fantasy. Like the sewers.
---

The burly man was Ambrose, standing out from the crowd then he angrily stood straighter. His head had been bent, lips brushing his partner's jawline.

He shoved the festival-goer away, and said menacing, "Watch yourself, mucker. You almost hit the lady." The lady in question was swooning from having such a man defend her honor, though her expression turned into one of horror when a pocket knife was drawn. Ambrose scoffed.

The Templar guards stepped forward and the assassin did not need to know this was his moment to make a distraction. In doing so, he'd be leaving Oliver to defend himself, but hopefully Jasper would follow him along the roofs.

Oliver ran hand-in-hand with his apprentice, shoving out of the circle and into the moving foot-traffic. They weaved between people until her hand was yanked from his. Seeing Adam, Oliver's blood ran cold. He knew now what this rat was capable of; manipulative and sneaky, throwing both her and he into iron cuffs.

"Adam," the Scot said carefully, hands up and palms out in submission. "You don't want to do this. Don't you... Love her?" The words almost stuck in his throat.

Enna had plans of her own. She bucked and faught, impressively taking down a man bigger than Oliver. Though, for his pride, Oliver reminded himself that he was a trained member of the Brotherhood instead of a pickpocket.

When she whirled on him, neck dripping blood into the breast of her gown, she looked expectantly at him. "Dammit, lassie," he growled, slipping a hand into the pocket in his waistcoat and producing a smoke bomb. "The plan is run. Silas is two more blocks east."

Oliver threw the smoke bomb, diving forward to shove her in the right direction. He ran low, urging her to do the same, so that their forms were beneath the lines of head. It slowed them from a good sprint, but two blocks was not far. However, when they arrived at the rendezvous point, the old man was no where in sight with the carriage. He cooed, calling for Jasper's help, but no response came. In fact, they were very alone on a very wide street.

The ground by Oliver's exploded in a cloud of powder, a shot from a gun. The Scot hated guns. He also hated the thought of dying.

"Take that dress off," he commanded, dragging her down the nearest narrow street. "We are going for a swim.

The London sewer system was constructed between 1856 and 1865, and the Thames Embankment was built in the latter year. In it ran a low level interceptor sewer from west London. They were hopefully not going to drown between the nearest entrance and being dumped into the Thames River.
"Hurry," he urged, handing Hera knife so she could cut away the clothing that could weigh her down. "Unless you have a better idea?" It wasn't meant to be insuring. At this point, he was open it ideas because the sewer system, admittedly, carried peril.

I am sorry for sounding like a complete and utter jerk, but I will not remove my previous post because in the moment that was how I felt--bothered. It isn't fair to the others that don't have HPs and are enjoying their characters, you know? ):
Of course, Moony is staff, too. I am not going to rage around waving my "I made this Clan" card. She is equally a part of this; my opinion was asked. I gave that, and the actions I would take if it were me alone. I would not undermine a co-staffer (never ever, moony!)

As for Devil, I will not accept excuses. There is always a way if you want it. This is a game, so if you want to play, you will. Inactive HPs slow the game down for everyone else.

i love how Grimeyes is a walking contradiction, and i don't say this sarcastically. i do like the character! xD but he wonders why others are so apprehensive when he has done nothing but guard the clan, yet his past is crazy checkered with the killings of family, and a lover! i don't think i've ever read his history though, if it was ever posted in his bio.

@chat café, thanks for the reminded on the RP thread! Your cat is accepted, but I will message you with a question in a moment, about having him interact with one of my characters. I see that you did not post a RP sample, but I am assuming you RP other characters here, yes? I can't tell anymore because of the update! I don't recognize half the names anymore haha! But really, so sorry. I'm bad with usernames as it is because I really focus on characters more than anything. Nevertheless, I scanned your last RP post just in case *thumbs up*

ic:
Oliver stiffly averted his eyes from Enna as she disrobed quickly, her fingers scrambling to pull the dress from her body. While he was not unfamiliar with the site of women's underwear, hanging as it did from the laundry line, or accidentally walking in on Lady Owens parading around her house without a care, he was unfamiliar with the hole made conveniently for the crotch. He saw nothing more than the bare skin on the inside of her thigh, but nonetheless.

God, forgive me, he thought, imagining laying eyes on a women when it was unwarranted was surely a sin somewhere in the Bible. Or at least, looked down on. With Lady Owens, it was different, she wanted the attention.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and gathered her dumped clothing, balling it tight. He hurried from her, stuffing the dress into the nearest doorway so it would not be laying so blatantly in the alley. Adjacent to it was the entry to the pump house, used to move the sewer water against the geographical gradient, and where they were to jump in.

Inside, he stood close to her side, feeling her shivering body against his own. Oliver would offer her a piece of clothing if he could, but a waistcoat--in other words, a vest--would do her no good. As he stared into the moving water, he noted that there was about two dozen centimeters between the water and pipe walls. It appeared they would be holding their breath some of the way, in a tight space. If she could handle that, they would be spit into the Thames within minutes.

She was brave, stepping into the water first, avoiding where the machines whirled quietly and automatically. Their lone engineer was probably taking a quick break, eating dinner, as no one stopped them. However, the guards' shouting could be heard faintly above the din in the pump house. He splashed in after her, gasping at the cold enveloped his chest, and urged her forward despite her lack of confidence. They moved along for maybe a minute, or so, before he noticed her fatiguing; the movements of her legs and arms were slowing. In contrast, the speed of the water was picking up, causing it to splash high against the walls.

With his head tilted back, craning for the air pocket, he shouted to her, "A little farther! At the bend, hold your breath! And relax!" He stared into the dark bend, where the light didn't reach, and the water moved chaotically with the turbulence. While the sight was frightening, it meant they'd would be free soon. He grunted with the effort of keeping his head above the water as long as he could, fighting the sucking motion of the water. Then, he gulped a big breath and relaxed his muscles, hoping Enna was doing the same.

He was sucked out of the pump house's block, racing toward the Thames.

Oliver wanted to reach for Enna, sure he had bumped her, but he did not dare exert himself. This wild ride would last a little over thirty seconds, over the threshold of most individuals, but they were athletic, and adrenaline was coursing through their veins. Oliver wanted desperately to live, though he was already beginning to feel his chest burning, his diaphragm wishing to exhale. Unfortunately, it became to much, and he allowed his breath to leave him, but he still fought inhaling for a couple seconds longer... Good thing, too, as he was suddenly falling from the Thames embankment, and into the river ten feet below.

He got the merest breath in before the splash. Oliver kicked furiously to the surface, gulping air, and dragging his fatigued body to the embankment's wall. His fingers found little purchase between the stone bricks, but his grip strength was honed by years of roof-running. "Enna!" he shouted into the dark between gulping breaths, headless of anyone who may be walking by above.

Oliver reached out with one hand, as if he could comb through all the water to find her. "Enna!"

occ:
sorry for not posting earlier! sheesh, I've been dealing with Clan stuff all day today. Well, when I got back from work. I forgot how hard it could be to manage a group when stuff comes up... A lot of people quit RPing after the site updated, or decided they didn't want their old characters, so another staff member and I have been figuring stuff out. >.> It's done for the most part, so now we can just get on to just enjoying playing the game.

Also, updated the secondary characters. When the FP messed up, it made everything short, and low-key, I like it, though I imagine it'll be driving people up a wall haha!
[spoiler]

Whitethroat wrote:

OLIVER CAMPBELL

Age;;
20 years old.

Gender;;
Male.

Master;;
Turner. Olive has graduated to Assassin.

Apprentice;;
Enna Auditore-Cicero.

Appearance;
The young man is tall for the period, standing at 5'10", but while
this towering height over his peers can be an advantage in battle, it
makes it harder for him to be inconspicuous; to blend into the crowd.
More often than not, he takes to the roofs. There he can be found,
standing royally over London, his black coat tails flapping, and his
dark curls brushing his heavy brows that shadow a pair of green eyes.
However, he is the type of young man that is horribly unaware of his
good looks.

Oliver's Coat is fitted with a hood, ceremonial to the Order. Beneath
it, he wears a thin long-sleeve shirt (lacking any garnish like pleated
cuffs) under a thick waist coat. The latter is actually plated with
small wooden squares--so not to take away from movement, be light, and
protective. It is a costume of his own design. He had toyed with steel,
but it was too heavy; he toyed with leather, but feared it was still too
easily pierced by a small knife. Additionally, his breeches were plain,
as well were his Wellington boots, but those were modified like his
waistcoat. He had a lower heel, and a slightly softer sole, to
accommodate running.

Fastened to his right forearm is a hidden blade, and to his left, a
crossbow gauntlet. While the age has made a switch to favoring gunpowder
pistols and riffles, he loved the sword, knife, and bow combat. Perhaps
Oliver romanticized his ancestors' methods a bit.

Personality;;
Oliver is young, and quite-frankly, hot-headed. He wants to jump into
any situation without any thought, but the Order asks him to hold back
and investigate. So he does, and he is darn good at it, because he is
intelligent. Unfortunately, his problem-solving skills have gotten him
into some close calls with some big Templar names. It seems he can
wiggle himself close to a person, or meeting, but getting out unnoticed
appears to be trickier for him. He's been scolded enough, told he isn't
living up to his ancestors' names.

Outside of battle, he is fiercely loyal, and gentle, like his mother.
Sometimes, he has wondered how he has lived the Assassin life for
nearly a handful of years, but his sense of duty always washes away any
doubt--has always given him spine--because in the end, he has more of
his father in him.
History;;
His mother is still surviving, made widowed by an Order mission when
Oliver was 15. She does not blame them, and neither does Oliver, but she
does fear for her son. She tries to hide this from him, but he knows.
It can make him hesitate when he's in battle, after he has made the
hot-headed leap. She's his weakness.

Oliver's father's father was the first Assassin in the Campbell
family. He never met his grandfather, but nonetheless, from the stories,
he idolizes him. Just as he idolizes his father, which is why the 'not
living up to ancestors' jab bothers him. In truth, it motivates him to
be better.

Secondary RP Characters;;
-Lady Owens: Head of the courtesans. Beautiful, pale woman with
curly black hair [eyes not described yet]. She is often found in
beautiful evening gowns that accentuate her bosom.

-Miss Springer: Lady Owen's parlor maid. [Appearance not described yet.]

-Mentor Swift: Though there are three councilmen running the Order, he is
top dog. [Appearance not described yet.]

-Clarence: The name Turner has given himself while undercover with the
Templars as an estranged cousin, now visiting London.

-Councilman Kilpatrick: One of three councilmen. [Appearance not
described yet.]

-Councilman Bedford: One of three councilmen. Actually is a woman.
[Appearance not described yet.]

-Edwin Thornton: A Templar and friend of Clarence. When the latter
had first met him, he was a measly policeman, but upon Clarence's
return, Edwin is actually heading the London police force--in just two
years. He is a Templar after all. He is around 45. [Appearance not yet
described].

-Turner: The man that mentored and trained Oliver. He is grisly in
appearance, with an unkempt salt-and-pepper beard, and thick brows. He
is a wiry, lean, and sharp man despite his age. Hates Cicero.

-Mary Taylor: A courtesan of Lady Owens'. An older, plumper brunette
woman with a sharp wit, and a sharp tongue; she is very perceptive.

-Silas: An older assassin that has greyed and wrinkled; well past his
prime. Known for being a strategist.

-Ambrose: An assassin with a strong build--wide shoulders and chest--
but has a bit of a gut due to his love of beer, bread, and cheese. 30s.
Known for his brute strength.

-Jasper: A willow of an assassin with goofy features--large (but kind) eyes
and ears--with a friendly smile, and a sense of humor. Late 20s. Known
to be very good as stealth.

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When her head broke free, he felt a rush of relief. Despite all the devil's deeds he had performed, and would do in the future, her death would have weighed heavily on his conscious, more so than any target.

"I got you," he grunted, pulling her towards him, but not doing the best to keep her head above water as he did not have good leverage. Oliver's other hand slipped from the wall, scrapping his fingertips, but he treaded powerfully, for her.

When she released him and pressed against the wall, clinging, he kept a single hand on her upper back, holding her against the stones so she would not slip back into the Thames. "Breathe," he ordered, to her as much as himself. However, he wasted breath by laughing at her chattering words. "Yes, we can get out."

In fact, he could not stop chuckling as he watched her scramble up the wall, eyes appropriately glued to her corset back. Not even when he began the horrible climb after her, muscles shaking and lungs screaming.

He wasn't mad, flopping onto his stomach beside her, a small laugh escaping him every other gulp of air. He was just so relieve, so shocked. The assassin had successfully stolen Enna from Cicero, the most powerful man in London--and down two men!

"Let's get back to the Order," he said finally, sitting up, unable to bear the cold himself. "It's a fair walk, lest you know somewhere closer?"

Oliver began unbuttoning his waistcoat to give to her. Not for warmth, but modesty. If anyone were to ask what the devil she was doing in her undergarment, he would tell a partial truth: she fell into the river from the embankment, and her fine dress was too heavy if she wanted to live. He'd imagine they'd get sympathetic stares then, rather than aghast glances.

Oliver did not verbally respond as she had huddled close, but he put an arm weakly around her. He did not last long in the position, having wanting to give her his waistcoat at the least, but returned to his was they began walking down the street. He pressed as close as he could, both hands rubbing rhythmically up and down her arms.

The Scot went to make a joke about the cool evening, and being as wet as rats, but the words failed to pass his lips. The sight of the lean-to kept him from speaking, as he realized this was home for her. Or was, before the Order swept her up and threw her into the ancient war with a frenzy. But did she consider the single bed in the barrack her home, or did she often think of this small spot? While it could never be as warm as the headquarters, it was safer.

He let his arms drop as she slipped inside, rearranging the straw. With their sodden clothes, the hay would stick to them, but he was more concerned about the owners finding mold in their hay storage days from now. However, his greatest concern was their well-being, so he slipped in after her.

"Don't worry about the knives," he said. He didn't appear to be a man of many words tonight, just a man of action. The Scot deepened the nest she made and then laid down. While there was less cushion between his shoulder and the floor now, he would be able to throw hay over them as a blanket.

"Lay down, your back to my chest," Oliver ordered. While he ignored her last words, he was grateful for the gloom in this space as he felt heat reach his cheeks. However, the rest of his was tense, shivering, and he was doing his best not to curl in on himself as he waited for her. "Please, it's so cold now that we've stopped moving."

Enna was just a silhouette to him now, sitting up and framed by the entrance of the lean-to, but he still remembered the color of the dress against contrasting against her skin. The whirl of her skirt and hair as he lead her in a tight circle the moment he took her into his arms. She was beautiful in the glow of the lamp light, but even in the dim light, following the shadow of her lines. Oliver closed his eyes, willing the images and thoughts away.

"How's your neck?" he managed.

I edited my character, Sootear. I've been squatting on that character since June, to RP him, but never found the right way to introduce him. By this time, his history is archaic, so he is instead a reincarnate, a loner named Soot.
In the spoiler is his new bio, from the character gallery:
[spoiler]

Whitethroat wrote:

SOOT, a reincarnate of

SOOTEAR

Age;;
36 moons (3 years).
156 moons (13 years).

Gender;;
Tom.
Tom.

Mate || Kin;;
None.
Fawnlight (kind of, see "History").

Rank;;
Loner.

Medicine cat in BirchClan. Left, then lived and died as a loner.

Appearance;;
The very handsome, blue tom has bright green eyes.
Once they were paler, but over time, as he matured, they had darkened.
They are set in a long, slender face, reminiscent of a Siamese.
Truthfully, he is a mutt-cat, his father having been a feral cat from
BirchClan, and his mother an ex-kittypet, a Russian blue. Since he takes
the most after his mother, he has a lean body with a tight set of
muscles which rest on a fine-boded body giving the breed--and him--a
very elegant and royal look.

Personality;;
When he was young, Sootear was a bit mad, in the
sense that he would go on long, endless rants about illnesses, herbs,
and StarClan. In truth, his fervent speeches did not make him mad but passionate.
He is full of passion, for healing, for love, and wherever his
loyalties may lay. But this passion was drained out of him when he was
exiled from his old Clan territory for speaking harshly against a popular rogue in
the area for taking kills from others the leader's growing anti-Clan opinions.
Over the last couple moons, wandering around a lone, he came to
understand his passion is compassion, and what is a compassionate cat to
do living in the woods by himself? Remembering Fawnlight, Blossomstream,
and Lizardpaw, he knows his place is back in a Clan. Upon helping Nolan,
another loner that was injured, he realized that living
alone wasn't for him. He defended cats that drove him away, but when
he tended to Nolan, the younger tom welcomed his aid. From the stories, he
knew Clans were just as loyal. However, he didn't know how to find
a Clan, or if they were even real.

History;;
Sootear was once a nurse in BirchClan, a position equivalent
to the medicine cat apprentice, but once he obtained his full name, due
to the fact the healer positions (equivalent to medicine cats) were
full, he remained as a nurse. In this time, he found himself falling for
a healer, a creamy she-cat named Fawnlight. Luckily, before anything
could happen between the two, the boss (leader) of the Clan, Firestar,
announced that they would be turning anti-Clan. He understood she was
hurt, and struggling with internal demons, but he was also angry.

Sootear had--and still does--a deep faith in StarClan. It was
unwavering, more solid than the cliff the Clan lived against, so during
the meeting he step forward and spoke against anti-Clanism. His words
were harsh, his sudden hate ran deep. Then, he turned his back on the
Clan, wishing Firestar dead. To his surprise, a follower (warrior)
joined him in exile. Her name was Blossomstream, a patient of his that
took the death of her litter very hard. They'd formed a bond during her
recovery, though her mind never healed like her body did.

Moons passed. They traveled to HawkClan in this time, an enemy of
BirchClan, and were rightfully chased out, but news soon reached their
ears: BirchClan was pro-Clan again. He returned for a shorter period,
but as a follower, but rekindling with Fawnlight wasn't enough to keep
him though; he hated life as a follower. Absolutely miserable.

Sootear left again, finding a home on the bank of the Shaderiver, a body
of water that flows through the OakClan territory. It continues beyond
the humble Clan's home, and widens, turning into a wetland. There laid
SwampClan, and there Sootear made himself a home across the banks
of the Shaderiver from them, on the last piece of solid ground. He lived
peacefully for a couple moons until everything turned to chaos.

SwampClan's territory was on fire, and cats were throwing themselves
into the river. The Clan was escaping, many in tatters after a rogue
attack, prophesied by a little she-cat named Foxpaw. Her cries were
really what drew the ex-BirchClan cat from his den. She was yowling
because her friend, Lizardpaw, was drowning, but only after he had managed
to pull her from the water; he was dying because he saved her.

The first time Sootear visited OakClan, it was to return this apprentice
to SwampClan, or rather OakClan since they had merged. The blue tom had
raced downstream, beyond where the Clan had made its escape, pulled the
black-and-white cat from the water, and nursed Lizardpaw back to health.
It nearly broke his heart to see the cats reunited, so he sneaked out
during the boisterous reunion.

He lived the rest of his life in solitude, but never forgot the SwampClan
and OakClan cats; never forgot BirchClan. Even though his heart betrayed
his vow of abstinence to StarClan, and he could never be a healer again,
he never forgotwhat he learned, and was known through the area as a healer
to loners androgues alike. None were allowed to stay with him though,
always driven away.

Upon his death, he was visited by Firestar of BirchClan, mother of
Splatterfall, a friend of Sootear's that would later become Splatterstar.
It was a shock to him to see her there, but her words soothed him. She
said she forgave him for the ill words he spoke against her anti-StarClan
beliefs. However, it broke her heart to tell him that BirchClan had
disbanded, and there was no StarClan in their old territory. Horribly
heartbroken that he would not be seeing his best friend, Blossomstream,
nor lover, Fawnlight, again, he begged Firestar to find a way to kill him
eternally. He did not welcome death to be a lost spirit, to live with this
grief forever, as he had in his living life.

So, she granted him another life, one with an eerily similar start, but he would
have to find on his own path to the Clans, with no memory of them, nor Sootear.

[spoiler]

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Friendly reminder about post lengths!

Lunar, no! Haha! It's Jim from the office wearing a mustache and dressed like a police officer. He's sitting in a car, and because he's embarrassed or something, he reclined the seat all the way back to hide!

Oh dang! What device are you using? If it's mobile, use the browser to read, and then notepad to reply. Then copy what is in your notepad to the browser when you're ready!

Turning his good eye from the leader, her bit into the soft skin at Whitemuzzle's rump. It was easier than expected, being the older tom's skin lost much of its youthful elasticity, but he still grunted from the effort. It caused him no pain to lift Whitemuzzle as it did Lunastar, but he underestimated the weight at first. He adjusted his stance, widening his base of support, then glanced sideways at his leader.

"Le' go," he said around the mouthful of fur, taking the first step towards the camp's center. It was customary for Clan cats to display the dead in the clearing of camp so every member could pay their respects. Members that were close to the cat would sharetongues with him one last time, even keep vigil with him all night. However, recalling past deaths, the latter has not been something OakClan practiced every time. They meant no disrespect.

Silverfur
[perhaps I should wait for Blossomfrost and Grimeyes to post?]

Soot
The blue-grey tom followed Nolan's cream-colored form through the undergrowth. His lithe body slipped between undergrowth with confidence grown from living life as a loner in a similar forest. However, he was growing a bit uneasy as the stench of cats grew stronger. Unlike Nolan, who wandered(?), Soot lived in one spot most of his life. After her grew old enough to live on his own, he'd settled on a small patch of forestland. He'd marked his territory, much like these cats did, but it was half-hearted. He did not mean to keep others at bay, but merely to let others know he was there. Most of the loners in the woods did the same. However, one moon, a loner was taking prey from others' territories. Not one meal, which was easily forgiven, but many meals. When Soot spoke out against this tom, he found out the tom had sweet-talked many of the loners in the area, ultimately creating a band. Since he was not a part of this band, and insulted their make-shift leader, they drove him from his home.

"You don't smell," Soot admitted, but added warily, "I don't like this. I mean, I use to mark territories, but this is a lot. It seems kind of intense." However, something washed over him, a sense of familiarness. He was wary, because he did not know these cats, but he was not afraid, so he continued to trail after Nolan.

Soot was unable to keep his whiskers twitching in amusement as he watched the young cat swipe at a moth that fluttered by. "How have you lived this long?" he joked with a mrrow of laughter. The loner wasn't aware of Nolan's history, and hoped he did not strike any sensitive chords.

I can't tell if that's a "naw" as in "aw"
or "hell naw" haha!
--

Oliver grunted in response to her words, growling playfully, "Och, weel, he kin dance wi' th' fairy." Despite his playful tone, he could not rest as easily as she, and found that he stayed up most of the night, ears straining at every sound. While she may have lacked weapons, he did not. While he did not wear his utility belt, worried about the guards as Ambrose had been, his gauntlet was still fasted to his forearm. Just one, his retractable blade, not his little bow.

While he trusted her--he had to now that they were both standing defiantly against Cicero more than ever--he did not know her past. Had she taken Adam to this spot once before? Would he return to ruin her for humiliating him in public? In this era, it was shameful for a man to be beaten by a women. It was also shameful for a woman to walk around the city basically naked. This also made him anxious, and he felt the need to solve this problem. Unfortunately, it wasn't something he could.

The Scot ultimately fell asleep at some point in the evening, but the activity of an early-rising stable hand stirred him. He felt like his nerves were hyperactive, and frayed. Feeling her chest rise against his, he glanced down.

She was still asleep, but had turned around at some point in the evening. Hay stuck to her cheek, just as he was sure it was to his, pressing an odd pattern into his skin. He plucked a piece away, and begged the girl to rise, shaking her shoulder gently. "Up, Enna. We need to go. Och, lass, my arm's asleep."

By remaining on one side all night he was stiff and uncomfortable. Even in pain. Had he remained any longer, he was sure he'd have developed some sort of sores! However, he hadn't dared move between possibly waking her, or alerting someone outside.

"We need to return to Lady Owen's," he added, expeession full of worry. For her understanding, "My mother."
skip to lady Owens? Idk I'll follow

Edgar Thornton returned to the Temple's library where he had left Clarence, his cousin. He was quick to fill the older Templar in: the meeting did not happen.

"He was embarrassed in front of our guests," Edgar sighed, sinking into a leather chair. He rested his head back, as if this story fatigued him. Really, his worry and apprehension made him feel exhausted, but mostly the hour he'd spent trying erase the visiting Templars' doubts about Cicero's fitness to run the London Templars. The leading man himself was busy interviewing the guards to find out where his daughter was during all of this.

"Enna is gone, back with the assassins, and our visitors are traveling back to their homes," he explained to Clarence. "Cicero promise to ruin Oliver if she tried anything, but I wonder if he has a soft spot for his daughter."

Clarence looked skeptical. "You think so, Edgar?"

The officer just laughed, admitting, "No, he looked ready to slit her throat."

Oliver rose with Enna, brushing bits of hay from both of their bodies. Another day, he would have been too shy to do this, to lay hands on Enna, but after their experience last night, he didn't think twice. Would things be different once they left this lean-to? Yes, to Oliver. Right now, this space felt like a whole other world, but once they stepped into that street, reality would return.

He put his arm around her shoulders as they walked, wishing he could shield her body even more. A part of him wished they still had their masks, but they were lost, and they were unable to use their identities. "Keep your head down," he ordered, doing the same. "Cicero could have people scouring the city."

The Scot rushed them along, basically dragging her. He did not stop for breakfast, because he did not wish to be in one spot too long, nor did they have any money for food. However, as he knocked on Lady Owen's back door madly, Miss Springer invited them for breakfast.

Lady Owens sat alone in her fine dining area, lovingly applying butter into a biscuit. Before her lay a few plates, for bread, fruit, and meat. It was enough to feed two well, but could easily be shared by three. "Please, take some food."

Oliver hurried to her side of the table, snatching two biscuits from the plate. Without much manners, he tossed one to Enna, and took a bite of his. He'd not even sat down yet. Miss Springer frowned, but Lady Owens forgave him.

"Welcome back to us, darling," she said warmly to Enna. "It... Horrible experience I imagined. Someone has to fetch you a robe at least." It was a jab at Miss Springer, who popped out of the room, and her disapproving looks with it, to grab one.

"My mother?" Oliver asked around a mouthful. Lady Owens took a small bite out of her biscuit, and nodded. Mrs. Campbell was safe.

"Please, sit," she urged the assassins as Miss Springer returned so quickly, offering Enna the robe. It was a substitute, until she got her own clothes. Unfortunately, Cicero has her mother's gear, and they left her dress in the street.

"No, I can't, I need a moment," he told them, hurrying away. He left Enna to make her own decisions, to take her own actions now.

He ran into the main hall, scouring the heads. Ambrose, who noticed Oliver's entrance, rose a hand in greeting. The Scot returned a stiff nod, but he was looking for Silas or Jasper. In the training room, he conveniently found both.

"Oh, thank God," Oliver said, unable to keep from embracing the two. "I was worried! Silas, you weren't were you said you would be."

"No, I wasn't," he responded. Oliver gave him a quizzical look, even Jasper. Silas's face was cold, but Jasper had the audacity to look sorry. "We were asked by the council to leave you. The concern was a little about our safety, and losing more than you to Cicero. Mostly, it was to see if you keep your, you're a firecracker, by you did." Silas clasped him on the shoulder, as if proud.

Oliver roared and punched him.

--

Edwin and Clarence parted ways soon after. The former had to handle two guards, Enna's guards. He was ashamed to have been the one to place them in a position so close to Cicero years before. Unfortunately, they had not grown out of their boyish habits as he'd hoped. He'd hoped to make fine Templars out of them. Well, one, but they came as a pair.

Clarence returned to his rented room, and sat heavily on his bed. Smiling to himself, he spoke to the floorboards between his feet, "Good job, kid."

"It was not the time for a test!" he shouted, color reaching his pale features. Oliver would have swung at Silas again if Jasper don't leap forward, slipping his lean body in between the two men.

"Hey, mate," he began, an apology ready, but Oliver huffed like a bull. However, when Enna stepped up to his side, he willed his hands still. He'd fight no more with her here.

Oliver turned to face her, chest brushing her shoulder. He saw her anger matching his own, and found no need to apologize. Instead, he glared at the pair from the corner of his eye. He was expecting Enna to speak her mind, but if she did have anything to say, Oliver guessed that Enna kept it to herself when she noticed the Council.

Oliver hesitated before following, feeling like a bucket of cool water was thrown on him, ridding of his anger. When he met the four, he was greeted by Mentor Swift. He immediately wanted to apologize for their ragged appearance, but decided to hold his tongue. Instead, he raised his hand to rest it on Enna's shoulder. In confidence, he said, "My apprentice can report everything."

Councilman Kilpatrick raised a brow in surprise. About a week ago, Oliver Campbell had spoken harshly against Enna Cicero.

Jasper glanced at Silas, remarking, "Guess we should not tell him it was the Council's idea?"

Silas shook his head. He turned away from the sight of the four, murmuring, "His father didn't want us to baby him. Kilpatrick was doing so out of loyalty for our old friend. You're still too young to understand, Jasper."

The older man, ever the strategist, didn't like the idea of going in with four men. Two would've have been the max he'd have allowed to the festival, but even then, Silas didn't believe risking any additional man's life for a personal vendetta. Admittedly, if he knew about the Apples, he may feel differently, but only the mentor-apprentice pair, the Council, and Clarence knew of the pieces' progress.

Oliver stood, arms crossed, as she spoke. He did not look at her as she told her story, but instead stared hard at the stone ground, brows furrowed. The beginning of her story was new for him, just as it was for the councilmen. As it went on, he stopped listening, and mulled over what he learned. He was not aware that Enna was having dreams, not that she received an education on the Apples. It made him think of his book about the Order. Now that he was living some of the lore, he realized how little it explained.

"Thank you," Bedford said to Enna when she concluded. "You two are excused."

With that, Enna and he began walking away, giving the trio privacy. He sought some for them, leading them to the barracks, which was the best he could do. Waking assassins did not dally in their beds, and those that stayed up late the evening before, slept heavily, secure in the headquarters. Oliver realized he'd not slept well in two evenings, between studying the book and anxiously laying in hay, and could feel the weight of it. Admittedly, he did not wish to train, nor even find her clothes. He just wanted to rest, but as the saying goes, rest only came to the dead. While Oliver still had breath in him, he'd work.

He ignored her last words about Silas and Jasper, and also chose to press her about her dreams later. "I'll find your clothing, and then we can train," he promised her as they reached his bed. It'd been moved back since the evening he slid it close to hers. The trunk was untouched. He opened it, pulling from it his more traditional Assassins attire. It was the only clothing he had available since his black and grey waistcoats and pants he wore were home or smelling like river water.

"Please, look away," he mumbled, rubbing weariness from his eyes. The hand he lifted to do so was red and bruising from Silas's face.

Soon, he was free of his dirty clothes, and in the traditional assassin's robes. They were far more functional than anything he usually wore, but far less fashionable. He felt silly in them the moment he stepped onto the street. However, he could not avoid the public, since she needed attire.

He settled into the edge of his bed, adjusting the way his gauntlet rested under his navy blue sleeves. Oliver was quite the simple man, and the most extravagant thing he owned were these robes. What set them apart, for they were just as 'safe' a color as grey and black, was the thin gold piping and brass small buttons.

Looking up at her, appreciative of her patience the last five minutes, he admitted apologetically, "I know no woman your size, and your mother's clothing is gone. Do you... Women's store? I don't... I've never been... Would it be appropriate?"

This was his way of asking, 'What would you like me to do?', as clueless men often do. Oliver tugged self-consciously at his robe's sleeve again before making to strap his bow gauntlet to his other forearm.

That is so cool, and reminds me of the labyrinths from the games, both the Templars' and the Assassins'! In theory to this RP game, perhaps the Templars grew powerful enough to abandon their caves and make their large 'Temples', but the assassins stayed in their hiding spots, making them bigger and better throughout the centuries.

In a real life stand point, the cool history crap is why I've been dying to visit the UK. I live in an historically rich state, but the revolutionary and civil wars have come to disinterest me. I've been learning about it, surrounded by it, since I was born! Haha
How's Australia? We don't learn much about it, other than it is where the English sent criminals. I'm imagining you're one of those, "yeah, my great great granddad was an axe murderer" people xD
---

Oliver gave her a shy smile with said, "Oliver, please rest." She appeared to still be full of warmth despite her predicament. In fact, more so. For days they'd been so stiff around each other, but there was a small shift during the throwing practice, and the night of the festival unlocked something more. She smiled more, laughed more. Oliver believed this was trust, as he felt no walls were up against her. Only against himself.

As he rested back onto his bed, fully clothed and carelessly on top of the sheets, he remembered her warmth last night. He'd not slept then, wondering what may be in the cold, and he could not sleep now, wondering about the warmth. When his eyes shut, he was imagining her close to him again. He wasn't desiring her sexually, but simply remembering the intimacy, something he'd not experienced with another woman.

It was necessity, he told himself sharply. With a small huff of breath, he rolled over onto his other side, as if turning the thinking switch off in his head. However, he heard Enna rise, bare feet padding out of the barracks. He opened his eyes, staring at the far wall for a moment, willing himself to think of nothing. Ultimately, he thought of his mother, sent away because of Cicero and Enna. He prayed she was safe.

He laid there, studying the features in the stone bricks until she returned, back to her. He himself up and turn around, accepting a plate gratefully from her hands. As he began to pick at the food, he said, "No women's shop. I think we shall buy some young boys' clothing for you to train in. It is cheaper than a women's shop, or buy men's.

"We--you, I've been saying we, sorry--can also request Order robes from our tailor, after you acquire some money in the future. Perhaps, from your first job... I'm sorry your mother's garb was lost when you agreed to go with Cicero."

He paused, chewing. Clearly when he wished not to think, he still mulled over everything. "Then," he added, before she could speak, "when you're dressed--today, not in your future robes--we will order you a blade. A man, an artisan really, can fit you. It won't be done for some days, but it won't cost you a penny. Mentor Swift always covers the first fitting and blade."

He frowned. While they we there, they could purchase her a cheap sword, but they needed money. "No, you will be dressed, we will acquire a couple easy jobs, and then we will visit the smithy, aye?"

Oliver realized that speaking out loud quieted his mind, allowing him to put his thoughts in order. Despite this plan, if she agreed to it, they would spend most of the day scuttling about, hiding. Their reputation was at an all time high, and between the Templar guards and the police, which they now knew were being led by Edwin Thornton, they would have to be careful.

"Then, I'll cap the day off by slitting Adam's throat, begging for God's forgiveness tomorrow at Church," he said, sounding satisfied. He was joking, but a part of him wasn't, which was why he glanced from his plate to Enna, to gauge her reaction.

When I googled Port Arthur, I was expecting a prison for some reason. Like, British turd heads made convicts build their own housing. Then it hit me. Australia is like Georgia! Georgia was colonized by criminals as well, a 'penal colony' as they call it. see, way too much knowledge on colonization and civil war but it wasn't necessarily a prison. I took it way too literally for, like, 2.1 seconds. I also read about the massacre, the 'worst in history' and in comparison to our 'worst in history'... 35 dead in AU, and 49 dead in US. Did you hear about the gay bar that got shot up?!?!
Anyway, I wondered how Australians could all agree to limit the gun usage, or whatnot, but then I googled the populations. AU government had to appease ~23 million. Ours has to appease ~318 million, which means we have a likelihood of having absolute turds in our population. We have an absolute turd in the white housed

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wip bc
i just got a 10% battery life warning!