Thread: Family Rivalries (Alexander and rwinrich)

A hand scratched idly at his head as the girl was carried away by her carriage, the small fae wondering if this all had really happened. A finger swatted at the invitation that lay in front of him, he supposed that this was proof enough, but it was not signed to him, and she had never even asked for his name. His mind mulled over what it all might mean. The pessimistic part of his mind shouted out at all the things that didn't make sense, that were warning signs, and how this was all a trap, set after the king had found out one of his secrets. The rational part of him... mostly it agreed on all those points, actually. The only dissenting voice in his head, well, that was the lusty part of him, swayed by the girl's juicy and beautiful body. Exactly how a nymph would lure you. The hand atop his head lowered, dropping slowly towards the invitation, but with a small series of flicks, his other hand tapped at the invitation, pushing it and pushing it, until it fell off of the wooden top of his stand, and off to the side. He left it there. The wind could blow it away, or somebody else could find it and take it. If they were stupid enough to try to use it to get into the ball, well, they'd probably steal Burton's ill fate if he had chosen to go. Regardless, he didn't have much taste any more for playing shop, even if it was mostly a front. He started to grab things off the top of his counter, and place them in a cart a few times his own size, and it dawned on him why he rarely closed up shop early. It was too big for him to haul off on his own, and he rarely switched to a greater-sized form, in order to never mix his public presence here, with the alias he used in his private deals. Fortunately for him, Mullo was wandering his way back over, as soon as he saw the princess leave, excitedly hoping to converse with the fey about the talk he just had with the girl. Burton tried to brush his friend's questions off, as he continued to fill up the cart, but he could not defeat his partner's persistence. There is an exclusive event being planned. It seems the king is gathering all of the boot-licking fae, so that he can whore off his... er... marry her off. The small man jumbled his words, as he split his attention between talking and working. For whatever reason, Princess Talula doesn't fancy that so much, and I think she's hoping for somebody to crash the party. Burton grumbled to himself. Whether it's taxes, or enduring those racist decrees, or entertaining this absurd request to save her at my own expense, I hate being the playtoy of the royals. His friend's reply, after he took all of that in, was simple. So you're not going to go? Burton scoffed, a finger angled at the invitation that had been dropped to the ground. Oh. I didn't realize you were afraid of women so much. I thought if anything, a beautiful girl like her could sway you from your lonely habits. When those words reached his ears, the bottle he was carrying dropped from his fingers, and it smashed upon the ground. Sure, he hated the thought of playing the role of the fool... but now his pride was at stake, as well. He could show Mullo. He could have the girl wrapped around his finger, leaning into him, much like she had been leaning her body over his stand a scant few minutes ago. It was loud in the place, the party in full swing, but that's why such men as he was talking to now were stationed here. And what introduction shall I make for you, sir? Burton didn't have an alias in place, so he gave his real last name with a sigh. Bitterbury. Bitterberry who, of what, sir? He blinked several times at the man, a blank expression on his face, and wishing he was at his normal height so he could scowl unnoticed, rather than standing tall enough to look a human in the eye. The 'of what' part doesn't matter. Fae don't have any rights here. And that was my name. I'm Burton Bitterbury. His frustration in dealing with the man, having no idea how these formal matters went, made him feel so out of place here. He could be enjoying himself this night in a tavern, impressing a maid there with his coins, but instead he was here, absolutely wishing a drink made its way to him so he could start his path to inebriation, and trying to impress a princess with whom he stood no chance. He already felt strange about his appearance, being about five feet too tall off the ground, but it was nice not to have his hair touching the ground, he supposed. It was strictly longer than it had been before, but more proportional, coming down only a bit past his shoulders, and it was tied up into a tail in back. Not only was this one of his less-favored forms, he had also gotten a jarring outfit from the tailor that made him even more distinct. He wore a black vest with a black undershirt, and equally dark trousers, that might have been more at place at a funeral, than a ball, full of the colorful outfits on the other guests. He did have a bit of color added, some purple trim on the vest, and purple stitching all throughout. That was the king's color, and only the king's, so what better way to provoke the man? It was just subtle enough that he could probably plead ignorance, if cornered about it, but if the color of the trim was what enraged the king the most tonight, then Burton clearly wasn't trying hard enough.