Ill-bred Cotton-eyed

Bury me face down

With the false stamps in his passport, he had lifted on the back of carts to Alderrath's other districts, for he made it a habit to circle the Rings as much as possible to prevent making a name for himself as a bamboozling bloke. Now it was the Middle Ring's turn. There was to be a jousting game between two riders and the Middle Ring was his go-to for events such as these. It attracted the perfect balance of rich aristocrats and aristocrats who posed as aristocrats, but who were really more like the corrupt topside of high society consisting of greedy gamblers.

Groaning, Crawford skittered on his fingertips and heels before finding his footing, shaking the remains of hay off his dirty swallowtail coat like some atrocious dog-bird beast. Just the night prior, he got locked in the stable of the jousting rider's horses. It was part of his plan - but man, did he hate the big animals. The things he had to degrade himself for, just for another day of living. His lips pressed a small smooch on a switchblade before he put the weapon away. Totally worth it, though. Or so he hoped. He hadn't used the blade to cut loose some cinch straps of the saddle of the more 'experienced' rider beforehand or anything, so the poor chap would faceplant into the sand at some point during the upcoming joust and Crawford knew exactly on who not to bet on. Not at all. Once he looked up, he found himself underneath the grandstand where all spectators were seated. He sneezed in a bowler hat he definitely had not stolen, jingling some coins in the palm of his hand he definitely had not pickpocketed. The sun was already climbing high when the last rows of seats were filling up. Only following a few stairs brought him among the crowd. He smiled softly, for today - today would be a good day!

'Good 'noon, m'lords! Round up, round up!' he yelled cheerfully while clattering the few coins in his hat as he waddled along the rows of benches. He had seen it before: there was often some kind of blaring clown out of the blue, riling up the audience to come place a betting deal with him. From that point forward, the crowd grew enthusiastic, and more people started to bet among each other. Just like now. No one seemed to bat an eye at his scruffy attire; they were more amused at the fact that he had more faith in the scrawny noob rider than the lean, experienced one. It was easy winnings in their eyes. But then of course, they didn't know about the loosened saddle. Before long, Crawford made bets left and right with all kinds of snobs: young, old, but all most definitely foolish in his book. He saw the mocking gleam in their eyes, the shakes of heads at that silly, unseasoned gambler. Yes yes, laugh, pompous crack cloths. Throw your big sums at Ashmoor's Crawford Funding Foundation

Before the day was done, he wouldn't have pockets deep enough for all the gold he'd win. Nice nice! Much fun! Renestrae's fat rack, was it good to be this clever. He puffed out his chest, smiling and holding out his hat while being the friendliest he could be. More! That was supposed to be the last part of his scheme, at least, until some bloke with a big gut bumped him in the thigh. A crude swear word left his lips as he lost his balance, lumping down in a rather large lap of a rather large man. Much like a lap dog he had actually been to all of his previous masters.

(een hoedje)

MATTHEW WINTER

❝ There was no sin he would not commit for the right price ❞

He had been invited by some man to join him in some jousting game. It was all on him, he insisted, as he had done so much for him in the past and all that. The Winter had smiled at the guy and had only agreed. But he didn't look forward to that day. Those kind of matters weren't for him. To watch games like that were something for simpler people. Games were usually rigged as gambling was like a drug to the brain. It lured people in, kept them there and benefited on their loss. Usually he wouldn't bat an eye towards games like this. But well. He felt quite generous today. Before attending the game he had approached the man that had organized the matter and offered him a... Kind amount of gold. That is, if he were to be entertained today. The man in question had been startled of his appearance, that much was sure, as you didn't see a Winter everyday. He always thought it was quite funny to see the panic in their eyes when they knew who he was. What he could do them. What power he held over them.

The man that had invited him had made sure that they had some good places. Not that he cared. If he didn't like the places that he had picked out, he would just take someone else's. It's not like people here had a choice. He was in the middle ring, in his eyes the majority of these people were mere low living servants. Worth as much as the dirt he walked on, they deserved little to no attention from him. But he kept a small smile on his lips, looking as charming as ever. As his guards whispered something to him, he nodded and took seat. The guards in question swiftly taking place next to him, folding their hands behind their back.

As he had started some small talk with another man, a voice caught his attention. His hazel coloured eyes shot to the man that was rattling his hat, slowly starting to chat with some people around him. He was placing bets, riling up the public as he did. Matthew followed the man as he went on. His moves way too confident for someone of his stature and his class, that much was sure. The hat? Most likely stolen from what he could see. The insides seems to be made of a fabric he had seen before in Lemuria. His smile widened when that specific detail caught his attention. Not that it mattered much. The lower the ring, the more Odirian shit you'd find. But things like that could have quite the price tag. Now he could also be mistaken... And this... Fine gentleman was simply more introverted, not knowing what he was doing. The man averted his eyes slowly back at his conversation partner. He would keep it in the back of his mind.

And well, before he knew it said rat fell on his lap. The tall man looked down at the thing that had fallen on him, squinting his eyes when he did. His glare deadly, it only took half a second for it to shift back to his more gentle expression. A chuckle came from his lips, his hands reaching to the man as he tried to grab onto the others hair, pulling him back and off him. But he wouldn't let go, not now. He tilted his head, his hazel coloured eyes looking onto his guards, who had already drawn their weapons. He simply gestured with his free hand, which resulted in them easing up a bit. "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in," He said in an almost silent matter, his gaze going back to the stranger. Maybe he could have some fun with this.

He eased up in an instant, letting go of the stranger before standing up and putting his arm around the others shoulder. "Why it's been so long my dear friend, how have you been?" His voice was loud enough to catch some peoples attention. If they weren't aware of who he was, then they were now. "Oh please take a seat my dear friend," he said, gesturing at the free spot next to him. "We have so much to catch up on," Like where you got that Lemurian silk inlayed hat from. What other secrets were you holding onto you rat? What entertainment could you bring me today?

Bury me face down

Coins, hello? What are you thinking, you gorgeous, precious little things. Now that he was in this position anyway, Crawford shamelessly ducked between the man's legs, pawing greedily over the flooring for his scattered gold pieces. Back into the hat you go! It was obviously his first concern: he'd collect his gold, disappear into the mass and probably never see this chap again, after all. Shame? Pshht! No gain. Sounded all like a neat plan - if not for the big hand mercilessly grabbing a fistful of his scruffy hair.

'A-ah-'

All of a sudden, his sly ass was yanked away. But as the menacing little man was pulled up, any ire intent froze as soon as he met with a noxious gaze. Slowly, Crawford raised his trembling hands, his pale lips soundlessly muttering. Being held up by his hair like this.. he felt like a hunting trophy. Fresh game of black bunny hanging at the ears. No.. no, not even that. It made him feel like something else entirely. Vermin. Through tears of pain, he eyed the armed figures standing at either side of the man. The average spectator came with juicy gossip, a thrill for the games, coin. Not just any guest came with guards, however. His shrewd gaze wandered back to the charismatic character in the center. 'Pardon me, m'lord,' he softly said. Growing up in the slums with poor education had failed him to learn about bigwigs, but even he knew - this.. wasn't just any random snob: this was someone of importance. Of influence. Of status.

After what seemed like hours, he was finally freed from the humiliating grip. The raven-haired man gasped for air, quickly ruffling his hair back into something more 'passable'. And then he attempted to just.. merrily wobble away into the crowd, because, if anything, he'd rather mingle with less significant victims, bye. That would've been darn jolly indeed, if he didn't found half his face suddenly mushed in the armpit of the much taller man. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a muffled moan in the rich fabrics. With jittery jerks of his head, he eyed the hand clasping his shoulder, and then up, gawking at that face of sophistication like some wary animal. This fellow treated him like they had met at some luscious feast - and Gods, how he wished that to be true. Except it wasn't. He was offered: a seat. He was called: 'friend'. And, quite intelligent as he was, he also picked up on the sardonic edge of the voice, feeling alarmed by the ice in his belly ever since this bloke's demeanor had done a full three-sixty. So he wished to, you know, kinda go.

'Yes. Nice. Okay.' He laughed a soft laugh, nervously nodding to the stranger. 'I love a good chat. Hurray!' Crawford weakly made a celebratory gesture with a fist, softly uttering his words in a rather hurray-less tone of voice. It sounded more like a 'someone please kill me right now'-kind of way, but truly: he did his best. All smiles and internal cries. 'Kinda going' wasn't a valid option right now, he knew well enough. And so he shakingly crawled in the seat right next to this walking red flag. Whatever could it be that he wanted from him?

MATTHEW WINTER

❝ There was no sin he would not commit for the right price ❞

The smile on his lips grew when his loud voice had caught the attention of more people around him. Some looking on to the man he had called friend. Muttering words to each other, Matthew could only feel glee as he did. Look on all, for this would be the greatest display all could wish for. His smile only grew as he felt ever delighted. This was what he lived for, this was what made him come out of bed in the morning. Truly, he should get a trophy for all he did, because well.. He was truly great at what he did. Mumbling and whispers wouldn't reach him, but his careful eye could pick up on what was mouthed. Winter. That's right, a Winter. Wasn't that a sight to behold? Now hold your gaze, the game was still going. He could feel himself get more excited as he took his seat once more, looking at the stranger that he had claimed his somewhat equal. Funny little man. He not only acted like a rodent, but he also looked like one. Fascinating how ugly he actually was.

And finally, something came out of the other. Matthew chuckled as he heard his voice. Lifting his hand slowly as his gaze went to his guards. Don't let him out of your sight. He wouldn't want his little plaything to run now. He was right where he wanted him. But first, he wanted to see what he had planned for himself. A good chat. That is surely something he could offer the other. "Huuzah indeed," Said the luxurious looking man. His hazel eyes going over the hideous face once more. Eyeing him as if he was some sort of prey. He smiled softly. "Say, my friend, what are you doing here?" He said, leaning back in his seat as he spoke. His eyes going over to the game in front of them. Sooner or later it would show something. Wouldn't it? What was a man like him planning to even do here? The coins that he was collecting was most likely what he was after. Greed. Oh... One of his favorite sins. Easily to manipulate, he often saw it in the eyes of his clients. Greed was something that you could easily set to your hand. And for someone with as much money and power as him, it was the easiest thing to use someone for.

He looked back at the stranger, smiling politely as he nodded. "You look so surprised to see me, friend. Why, please, relax," He looked up, his gaze going over some people. "Would you like some wine? Something else?" He looked back at the other. "I'll be sure they'll get it for you," His wishes were always fullfilled after all. "Anything you desire," What did you desire little rat?

Bury me face down

There was some kind of murmur going through the crowd. A commotion of sorts; spectators who started to whisper and point at the tall figure. A spectral snake, forebodingly curling, buzzing, seeking among the many individuals, until, at last: it found him too. It crept and wriggled around his spine, in the same fashion as the loud entities that would never leave his head. Crawford tried to pay no mind to the cold shivers, but Great Patron, how couldn't he? Suddenly the whole tribunar was getting hot and cold. His knees anxiously rubbed against each other in attempts to regain his composure. Why the people stared, murmured - he knew now. Something among the maggots in his skull clicked and he knew now. Even someone from the slums ought to know about the Winters.

A Winter..

Crawford leaned a bit out of his seat and sniffed the hell out of that man - but, discreetly, of course. A small whiff, really. Hardly noticeable. And Lord Winter, he smelled.. it was.. deluxe. Just like his matching theatrical skills. And that chiveled jawline. And perhaps that perfectly styled hairdo. And that tremendously lavish button on his elegant coat, smiling at him in soft twinkles like a gentle tavern wench, welcoming even the likes of him with a small peck on the cheekbone. That, that too. Especially that. He'd imprint that snob scent and that distinctive face in the crooks of his mind for many encounters to come. Look at them now, adorably sharing a hip-hip-huzzah amongst each other already! Almost like they indeed had known one another for years, bantering their little inside jokes back and forth. Crawford thought about what to reply when he was asked what he was doing here, knowing he had to act swiftly. Pointing at the Winter with gleefully narrowed eyes, he chuckled through his nose. 'You know, I'm so glad you asked, m'lord Winter!' he chimed. 'I'm a bit of a.. - bless my poor mother turning in her grave, for I could spit taking the very word into my mouth -' He shook his head piteously, before planting a kiss on the pendant of Renestrae he wore under his murky coat. '- A pecuniary 'Alchemist', if you will. Is that what those filthy Odirians call it? They nicknamed me that because I turn coin into, ta-dah: more coin! Like magic,' the black-haired man said with a yellow-teethed smile as he rolled a coin across his fingers, and swiftly made a second one appear. He trusted a man of Lord Winter's high status could put two and two together, after all, seeing as he probably noticed the betting crowd earlier.

'Charity. For Our Patron Deity's Holy House, and probably some homeless outreach projects regulated under Her same roof. That's what I'm doing here, m'lord. And what can I say?' He shrugged, putting a hand on his heart. 'I'm an honest man,' he added the latter softly. One of his mouth corners perked up, blue-green eyes casting a peculiar glance at the aristocrat over the rolling silver pieces. It lasted only a brief moment before the black-haired man burst out in a soft laugh, making it clear that he was just playing around. Just playing, indeed. The blare of a horn suddenly sounded through the arena and the riders entered, their horse and squire by their side. One buff guy donned in red - and his little betting horse: the smaller rider with a blue crest. There were some boring formalities: the last preparations of saddling and armoring were made, the noble who probably had arranged the whole tourney gave a speech. Yawn. Crawford didn't know who he was and he didn't care. The joust would start soon, but there was another game at play here he could invest in.

His eyes fluttered when he was offered - well, anything he desired, apparently. 'Why, I would like some wine, m'lord, thank you!' Wine. Yes please, wine. Give it. He never had 'rich' wine before. And now that they were on such friendly terms, who was he to not milk some more opportunity out of their encounter? 'I almost wouldn't dare ask, but surely my good friend the prestigious Lord Winter would spare some coin for these charities, wouldn't he? You are, after all, a man of principle,' he spoke loudly enough for the crowd to hear, making a few heads with anticipating looks turn. Crawford smiled innocently, holding out his hat to the man. You can easily miss a good fund for these homeless projects, you grabby bastard with your baller wardrobe.

Matthew Winter