the_lioness | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's a peaceful day at the end of the universe.

Whether or not it will stay so remains to be seen and is not actually the story to be found here.

Indeed, this story will likely have little to do with peace or quiet.

Alanna is certainly not thinking of such things as she stands near a picnic table, awaiting Lucy.

Or is it not Alanna at all, and in fact Alan? Clad in black breeches and boots, with a worn linen shirt covered by a faded green tunic over bound breasts, Alanna very much looks like a boy. Perhaps it is easier to discern her true sex than it once was, but she has the mannerisms and the stance. Her vibrant red hair is tucked under an unremarkable cap, and there's no mistaking the spark of mischief in her eyes.

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Caspian's clothes are a little too big for her, admittedly, but the extra material hides curves, and with careful wrapping under the tunic, it's a (possibly smaller than average, possibly more slightly built, but certainly passable) boy approaching Alan.

He--she?--is smiling widely.

'Alan' turns and takes in the outfit, grinning with approval. A quick bow follows, the sort of bow one would be more apt to see on the streets than in court.

"Good day, lad. Alan at your service. Are you prepared to see our grand capital city my way?" Another cheeky grin. "First, you need a name."

"I can think of no other way I'd like to see it," 'he' grins back. "I've been called Matthew, in my time, if it suits."

"It suits thee well."

The accent is muddled for a moment, both lower city and country rolled into one. And then it's just Alanna again. Laughing.

"Oh, but I almost wish Adam and Caspian were around to see this."

"We will be back. I'm certain they can see us then," she says with a small smile.

Hopefully, Caspian will not be too bothered by the note she left when his clothing was borrowed.

The fact that she signed it from Lilac and Lavender and it may have mentioned his outfit being held hostage til he LEFT LEFT FOR GOOD LEFT FAR AWAY is beside the point.

Lucy is quite obviously a genius.

Actually, he should thank her. His clothes are likely the most safe on Lucy, after all.

"This is quite true," Alanna agrees. "Then we had best be on our way. Any questions?"

She starts walking, the loose-limbed, casual gait of a boy.

She stretches, a little, and then walks after Alanna. "Only if there's anything you think I should particularly know before going, really."

"We'll exit into the cellar of the Dancing Dove, George's tavern," she explains as she holds the back door for Lucy. "It's dark, so watch where you place your feet."

She considers for a moment.

"It's the Court of the Rogue -- a thieves' den. Even at this hour, they will likely be too deep in their cups to notice who comes and goes. But one or two might recognize me."

"As Alan or Alanna?"

Possibly both. Alanna still isn't quite sure whether or not most of the thieves ever connected the Lioness with the odd young boy Alan who used to hang around George.

"Alan," she finally decides. "It's how they knew me originally."

With that, she opens the door. As promised, the cellar is dark and musty, and she holds her hand out, quickly using her Gift to make light.

"Mithros, it smells like ale down here."

"Lord, I'll get drunk off the fumes alone."

It's lower, and rougher, a little, than her normal tone.

"Shall we?"

Good-naturedly, "we shall."

It's nice to be able to laugh about it. Once, she never would have considered laughing about or enjoying her disguise.

Leading the way, Alanna maneuvers between barrels and crates and tilts her head to listen as she begins climbing the stairs. Indeed, the crowd above seems boisterous.

Halfway up, she starts when a thief stumbles into the stairwell and starts to descend towards them. Singing.

"Ooooooooh, she was me dear, me darling one / the best I ev'r had / imagine me surprise, I says / when we discover'd... hey, yer glowing."

Alanna shakes her hand, and the purple light fades.

"He does that," Matthew says cheerfully and offers the thief a hand to steady himself with when he stumbles again.

Green eyes seek at purple, and even though it's not terribly bright here, there's pure mischief in them you can't mistake. "Whatever you're drinking, I think we need two drafts of."

The thief blinks at Matthew in confusion, then grins, displaying a mouthful of black-tinged teeth.

"Right-o, lad," he takes the proffered hand long enough to lean against the wall and stare at Alan. "Ye. I seen ye a'fore. Come back to win all me money at darts, have ye?"

Alan simply smiles. "It's not as if it was yours to begin with, Roark. But Matthew and I are always up for a contest."

Grumbling, the thief staggers back up the stairs. Alan appears to be struggling not to laugh as they enter the main room. It's not much more light than the cellar below, and filled with smoke. A shrill female laugh sounds near the hearth, and as expected, the crowd pays them little to no attention.

"And what'll ye wager, if ye're to join in our game?" Roark asks, beginning to collect darts from the board.

Matthew shrugs, idly and glances at Alan. "I've currency from Below, and a few trinkets that might amuse."

Roark gapes. "There's coin below?"

With a snort and quiet confidence, Alan pulls a small purse from a back pocket and tosses it to the thief.

"Keep your trinkets, Matthew. You might need them later." The thief catches the bag, drops a dart and eyes Matthew for some sign of these fabled trinkets. "Ten gold nobles," Alan continues and picks up the dart.

"If you know where to look," he laughs, and for the trinkets, well, you'd have to know where to look there, too.

"After you, then, Alan," Matthew declares, and picks up a dart for himself, fingering it thoughtfully.

"By the Crooked God," Roark mumbles, and if hours later, a fellow thief catches him digging for coins in the basement, he'll be too drunk to properly explain anyway.

After a quick wink for Matthew, Alan lets the dart fly. A good shot, but not the best.

A crowd begins to gather. Speaking quickly to one of the women who apparently works there, Alan points to the ale and holds up two fingers.

Matthew eyes the board speculatively, still fingering the dart.

"Shall we make it more interesting, Alan, you and I? Aside from this game these fine fellows are so kind to let us join, just between friends."

There's a laugh behind him from the crowd as he looks over at the red-head and quirks an eyebrow in question.

"Ye're askin' fer trouble, sonny," Roark whistles.

Alan, however, remembers full well that it had been Gary who won this thief's money, not him.

He's also seen 'Matthew' throw a knife.

Head tilted, he sucks air through his teeth and runs his tongue over his lip, making an expansive gesture towards the crowd. "What say you, friends?"

"AYE," shout the assembled theives as tankards are thumped on tables.

"More interesting it is," Alan says with a grin. The woman returns with the ale and a third cup of something resembling lemonade. "What's the wager? Something at home?"

He fully expects a dare.

"Story of my life, mate," Matthew informs Roark, with a wink before taking an ale and a thoughtful sip.

"There's two fine gentlemen we both know," he says finally. "Both who've been lacking in garments of late. I say loser presents both with tea towels, and explains why."

"Doesn't sound like much of a wager, lad!" someone shouts, and Matthew laughs.

"You'd have to have been there. So? Is it a deal?"

Stifling a giggle, Alan holds up a hand in a commanding gesture rather surprising for one so small. The chortles and loud speculation die down.

"Not bad, not bad." Alan grins wickedly. "But let's do it up right! Loser takes any remaining clothing hostage, hides it and then leaves a signed note explaining why with said tea towels. Hmmmm?"

Country boys are so odd, more than one thief mutters. However, it sounds as if someone will be naked, and thus the crowd approves.

"It's a deal," he declares, and raises his mug to prove it before taking another drink.

He eyes the board again and the dart before throwing it, and the gesture looks lazy, the flick of it an afterthought, but appearance as deceiving.

And Matthew is very, very good with knives, and darts are close enough.

"A deal," Alan agrees before taking a swig of lemonade. The third tankard is passed to Roark with an agreeable smile.

He doesn't really have to watch Matthew's throw. Alan has already resigned himself to losing, and is not bothered by it in the least. He's good with knives, but it's the angle of darts that has always given him trouble.

That's not to say he doesn't try.

A brief hesitation, a slight shift of weight, and he throws his second dart. It's closer to the bulls-eye, but not as close as Matthew's.

"Nicely done," he grins and throws again, hitting near his first dart.

"Ye do this often, lad?" Roark asks, after draining most of his tankard, and Matthew shrugs and smiles.

"From time to time," is all he'll say.