The Cockerel [Alais]

[Hyacinthe mab Necthana]

The Cockerel, a quaint tavern filled to the brim with patrons, was marked by the faded and chipped sign of a rooster with wings spread wide. That, and by the constant flow of men and women venturing within sober and out as drunkards. The tavern, though, was set upon the bend of a serpentine street within the slums. It was surrounded by the sound of others running to and fro and accentuated by the bark of those within pounding their fists and feet loudly. It was without a care for the hustle and bustle beyond within the street that smelled of the heat, sweat and dirt.

There was laughter and curses, and there were even arguments and threats thrown about. There were men and women, too, from all walks of life, but more of the lower class than anything else. Those there were also gamblers as well, and men who didn't seem to mind dwindling their coin away until the moment they had nothing more to bet and left blind, stinking drunk. The women, though, were smart and played off of such men and used them for their own ends...well, most of the time; attempting to the comfort them with that of the flesh. At least before they lost all their coin. Then there were the women who truly worked there.

The drifted to and fro between round tables and seats, and they offered wine and ale, and even food for the right amount of coin. Their faces, though, were plastered with wide smiles. Although, more often than not, they were harassed by the swat of a hand or by a man who longed to feel a woman settle upon their lap. Otherwise the women were left to their own devices as the men barked and caroused, and cups held aloft were sloshed over with drinks that spattered the tables and floorboards.

It was the norm for the Cockerel though...

...and as for Hyacinthe...well, Hyacinthe felt at home.

There were cheers amongst the men when he had arrived. They had been expecting him for days by then and had even scolded him for waiting so long. In fact, one dared to leap out of his seat and nearly topple Hyacinthe over onto another table. They grappled for only a moment as the man dared to pound his knuckles mindfully upon the top of Hyacinthe's head and rub down roughly. Hyacinthe groaned and everyone had laughed before he was embraced properly.

"Where were you?!" Jonas dared to ask.

The man was one who held a station at Camelot's main thoroughfare and the porticullis. He was a city guardsman and a close friend of Hyacinthe. He looked somewhat crossed with Hyacinthe there, though, and continued to watch Hyacinthe with those dark eyes of his. All the while the other men, too, were looking up from the table with wide smiles up at him.

"I was spending time with the love of my life," Hyacinthe stated.

Jonas laughed and the other men only grinned at him; after all, they knew what Hyacinthe was all about, and what that was, was Hyacinthe's daughter. It's then that Jonas gestured him to a seat at the bench and Hyacinthe lowered himself onto such eagerly. It was a welcome respite from the heat of the day. Truth be told, Hyacinthe wouldn't have thought that he'd have missed the shade of the forest compared to that of the stifling Cockerel. Nonetheless, he uttered no complaint when he was offered a wooden cup full of wine.

"It's hot as horse shit out there," Hyacinthe grunted before drinking deep. They all laughed and nodded. "I second that," one man said and set down his hand of cards whilst another tossed a coin to the pot. Hyacinthe watched for a moment before reaching behind himself to tug at the fine white cambric of his shirt. It had fitted loose on him until the moment sweat had made the fabric cling to his flesh. Although, Hyacinthe's trousers did fit like a glove and his boots were high to his knees with the cuffs tucked within. His baldric, though, was slung across his body and the scabbard hung low at his hip albeit twisted enough to allow comfort whilst sitting.

Hyacinthe's hair was somewhat of a mess, though, and damp with sweat. There were a myriad of braids and his tresses were tucked behind his ears; one gleaming with a silver stud and blue gem. The other men looked different when compared to him; after all, they were normal Camelot stock whilst Hyacinthe was...well, Hyacinthe was himself.

"I have someone coming soon for the tossing out back," Hyacinthe stated suddenly. The men looked up with clear surprise. "Who would that be?" Jonas asked with a quirk of his brow. "Ah, don't worry, you'll meet him. Talented lad, I'd tell ya." Hyacinthe told them despite not knowing for certain. It would certainly be a learning experience for them both. "There's still the tourney today, no?" Hyacinthe asked afterward and Jonas slowly nodded.

"Out back, yes," Jonas told him simply and smiled.

"Aren't participating yourself?" He asked thereafter.

"Ah, no. It would be too easy that way," Hyacinthe said and smiled.

He was only teasing though.

[Alais Olivia Strider]

Late. Late. Late.

Alais found herself bounding throughout the slums within that moment. Somehow the girl had managed to stir late this morning. Perhaps it was because she’d stood up so late last night and mulling over the prior day’s happenings. It was a strange sort of series of events that could leave anyone feeling unsettled.

Though, perhaps not everyone. Alais was a special sort of soldier; a woman amongst men, though she was doing her best to keep that a secret, well, at least somewhat. The girl had never directly told anyone of such a secret, though occasionally the young woman found herself slipping; speaking in a more feminine tone, even behaving all the more feminine. From toying with her hair, to the simple way she behaved during her “off” time, to simply refusing to stir with the sun.

So, upon waking this morn, Alais found herself dressing without any semblance of a shower, and running to catch up with her lessons. Which she arrived to late, as expected, and as a result of such, she’d been forced into clean-up, after the fact. Man’s work that Alais herself - with her weak arms - could barely handle.

So it seemed to be a stacking of things which had brought her to this point. From finally closing her eyes a little too late, to arriving at practice much the same, and then finally being a slight too weak to do proper clean up, though she doubted that Hyacinthe would notice she was running late, and if he did, would he truly make a showing of it? Alais certainly hoped not, after all, it was his fault that she had to navigate the slums - a place which could be considered confusing by even those most familiar with it. And Alais? Well, she’d visited a time or two, though by no means was she suited to arrive without a hitch.

“Pardon, excuse me,” Alais huffed out almost frantically, lifting herself upon tip toes as she squeazed between one local and another, sucking stomach in, as her hands fly to her breasts - the soft mounds already bound up and compressed uncomfortably. While uncomfortable, it was certainly becoming easy to ignore, and even moreso as she began to lose weight, from both exercise and under eating alike.

It went without saying that by the time the young girl arrived, sweat was blooming upon her brow and creeping along the small of her back, forcing that too-large shirt to cling to her delicate frame, “Gods,” the girl pants, fumbling to a halt just before the heavy door which lead inwards and to the innards of The Cockerel. Truth be told, Alais was none too sure of what to expect on the inside of that bar. Hyacinthe hadn’t told her… well, anything at all! Not even the slightest hint at what the two would be doing, and how a bar would possibly enhance any sort of skill she may have.

Perhaps he simply wished to get her good and loose and have his way with her. Though to be fair, he could just as easily blackmail her and get a similar result.

So with another moment’s hesitation the girl draws a steadying breath inwards in some attempts to calm herself before lifting an arm upwards to wipe the sweat from her brow. It was now or never, she supposed, and soon enough, found herself forcing that heavy door inwards. The girl squints against the apparent darkness within, whilst seeking out Hyacinthe simultaneously.

Though the tavern was crowded, he’d stood out to her, more for the simple fact that he was the only one she knew within, than anything else. So with another steadying breath inwards the girl meanders over, once more wriggling between the patrons. She felt almost awkward then, the odd man out amongst Hyacinthe and folk whom were no doubt at least acquainted with him. The girl furrows her brows and clears her throat to make her presence apparent.

Once more Alais found herself wondering why she was within this place, what could it possibly offer her? She hoped to find out, and soon, she could already feel irritation bubbling beneath her flesh - perhaps it was the heat, or perhaps it was the simple fact that she’d already been thoroughly overworked.

“What am I doing here?” she asks him then, simply cutting to the chase, without even a hint of grace, or care for offending him.

[Hyacinthe mab Necthana]

The sudden word from Alais, or rather Alex, made everyone look up from the table and look upon the soft faced boy. Jonas stared as the other men did, and then suddenly, each man looked to Hyacinthe and burst to laughing. Whether or not Alais thought she had been asked here for some laughter was not the case and far from the truth. Hyacinthe, though, looked from her and to the others who stifled their laughter behind their hands, but their eyes belied them.

"Alex," Hyacinthe began suddenly and gestured to the men. "Jonas, Mormont, Duncan and Fitz," Hyacinthe stated each man's name and each man looked up to signify themselves. "Everyone," Hyacinthe started, "Alex." He added and looked over his shoulder to her.

"You're late," Hyacinthe added.

"So," Jonas began from across the table. "Alex was the one you were talking about earlier...?" He dared to ask of Hyacinthe. His eyes were full of amusement. "Yes," Hyacinthe admitted and smiled. "Just you see his talent." He assured them and had begun to clamber from his table whilst simultaneously taking a deep gulp of wine. The one named Duncan, though, howled with laughter.

"Are you certain of that?! He looks so soft, Hyacinthe!" He exclaimed.

"Just you wait and see," Hyacinthe said and set his hand upon her back. He steered her away from the table then and called over his shoulder to the others. "Thanks for the drink, boys. I'll meet you out back when you're ready." Then, with that, Hyacinthe continued to step away and once they were out of earshot, Hyacinthe had begun to speak to her within a pitched tone. They words only meant for her.

"Don't let me down, Alex. If you do I'll be very disappointed," he admitted.

Yet, what Hyacinthe mean by that...? He hadn't warned Alais about much of anything. In fact, he hadn't even told her he'd meet others or what they would do. She could have only hazard an assumption but even that would leave one questioning the possibilities. Although the moment they stepped beyond the threshold of the back door, Alais would know what she had been taken to, and that was an open air space between the tall, stout backs of a number of stone buildings.

It was large and wide, and underfoot was hard earth other than the cobble stones that marked the streets of the slums. There were a number of shirtless men standing around underneath the sun too. Their flesh was dark and abused by the sun to say the very least, and they squinted whilst they tossed their blades forth within the wide open space from a distance. The targets, though, were large albeit only for practice. The true targets were much smaller and meant for an excellent marksmen; one that would undoubtedly settle Alais under pressure.

Hyacinthe led her out there and underneath a pavilion that was set up against one wall. There were benches, too, that led upward to allow for multiple men and women to watch and set their wages. Yet, Hyacinthe didn't lead her there. Instead, Hyacinthe led her further underneath the pavilion with one hand on her shoulder until they ended up at the corner where a man had been barking for others to sign up. Hyacinthe gestured for Alais to step forth.

"Set your signature," he said and seemed rather nonchalant.

[Alais Olivia Strider]

Alais was generally displeased with her current situation. Last she recalled of Hyacinthe he’d come off as pompous and irritating, at best, with his better-than-thou attitude, and simply the way he spoke to Alais; about her horse, about the way he perceived her training to be going. About, well, everything. It was that atop everything else which had happened today which irritated Alais.

Perhaps he would redeem himself. Hough she was none too sure. Men hardly ever did, after all, despite how badly she wanted for it.

Though more then likely she would have to earn some hint of his faith within her.

Though to be fair, Alais felt as though she’d more than earned such. Albeit he hadn’t exactly been there for all the practices and training session where she’d wanted naught more than to drop out. To become a bar maid along side her mother once more. The girl fondly recalled the loud demands for another ale, and the unwanted slap of a palm upon her backside. All those things were far more welcomed than what she’d been subjected to within these past few months, “Perhaps next time you may schedule a meeting closer to the castle,” Alais practically demands of the young man.

Still, the girl seemed quick to brush it off, and continue onwards, only to take yet another insult. Her brows knit and her mouth purses. She felt the pluck of irritation within the back of her mind once more. Ah, men, despite the amount of time she’d spent around the young men within the army she supposed she’d never quite grow use to their antics, and way of being, nor the way they chose to speak. Her mouth contorts into a scowl, and all the while she’s left wondering. Whether she should let her stubborn pride take hold, and say something back to this young man who fancied himself funny.

“Mm,” she allows herself, only for her lips to firm into a thin line once more. It was probably for the best that the young girl didn’t say anything, after all, she was pretty good at getting herself into trouble, though she wasn’t so sure that she was capable of getting herself out of trouble. Perhaps as a woman with a quick flash of flesh, though as a supposed man? Well, things were far less forgivable then.

Soon enough the girl was being drawn away, and it was probably for the best, given Alais wasn’t exactly known for her patience, nor were men known for their good decisions.

Whtever was happening here, it seemed Hyacinthe was expecting a lot of her. Though the question was, could she truly deliver? Would he revoke his offered if she failed to perform? Would he stop training her as a whole and rat her out to whomever would listen? Well, Alais wasn’t exactly inclined to find out. Though his words still didn’t exactly give purpose to her being here.

Finally the girl was commanded her signature, and, well, she supposed she had no choice but to listen, and she found herself bowing forth to scribble her first initial, and surname upon the bit of parchment. Heaven knew what she’d just signed her life away to. Perhaps now Hyacinthe would feel inclined to allow her that bit of information, and as the small girl drops the pen back downwards, her gaze trained upon Hyacinthe’s own, “Mayhap now you can tell me why I’m here?” she asks of the young man then, her brows arching upwards as she rights herself once more.

Her arms fold before her thin chest, and soon enough the small girl sidles away from the tabletop which that sign up sheet laid upon, “Did you just sell me off to some brothel?” Alais asks of the young man, seeming all too sincere within that moment, though she was sure that he hadn’t.

Or at least she hoped that he hadn’t.

[Hyacinthe mab Necthana]

Hyacinthe hadn't even replied to her first words when they had sauntered out there. In fact, Hyacinthe was too busy assuring that she set her scrawl onto the document, and when she had, he grinned like a fool. Especially more so when she asked him why she was...well, there.

"Isn't it obvious?" He asked of her and lifted one brow. He took a deep breath. "Fresh air. Fresh faces...well, not so fresh faces, but new people to you, I'm certain. That, and the possibility of making some coin if you win." He said in such a nonchalant way that one had to question whether or not he was serious about the whole situation.

Then she asked him another question.

It was more ridiculous then the last and Hyacinthe gave her an incredulous look. "No! God, no. Not that you aren't comely enough for the task, but no, I didn't sell you off to a brothel. You entered a competition, and one that I have some coin riding on," he told her. Although that's not to say Hyacinthe was an avid gambler. He didn't do such things often, but sometimes soldiers simply didn't make enough pay to make ends meet...that, and there was excitement from it too.

Hyacinthe set his hand flat on her shoulder as he steered her forward to face the open area. There were lanes set for the competitors that were marked for where they were supposed to stand. Yet, the targets weren't the norm that one would expect at a soldier's practice yard which tended to be one round circle or even a faux body. Instead, the targets were miniature and were hung up from poles that extended from the rooftops of the surrounding buildings, and each one at different heights and distances at that. They also swung when the wind hit just right.

"You said you were good," he said suddenly. "I'm hoping that translates to damn fine." With that, Hyacinthe's hand patted her shoulder and fell away as he took a sip from his cup. He hissed with satisfaction as he looked around the competition that was milling about and weighing the tools they were allowed for the competition which were small, balanced knives, assuring that everyone was on even ground. That reminded Hyacinthe that she needed to pick up her own pack for the competition.

"Just think of it as your first lesson," he said. "It's not like we can go about pricking people with knives now, can we? This will be the closest you could get to some pressure," he said and steered her away from the sight of the area meant for the competition and to another corner of the shaded area. It was there, where a line of men were gathering and given burlap sacks filled with a dozen throwing knives. They waited their turn before he pushed Alais forth to accept her sack. With that, he led her aside to pace the open space; after all, they had a few moments before the competition started and they called her name.

"You think you can handle it?" He asked.

[Alais Olivia Strider]

“Hm,” Alais murmurs then and there. Sure, she’d heard the young man, and his promise that he hadn’t sold her to a brothel. But, well, Alais wasn’t quite sure what to say after that point, he hadn’t been amused by it, as she was half certain he would have been, and truth be told, Alais wasn’t exactly the most clever of girls. So needless to say, she’d been a slight proud at that display of humor, and when he hadn’t taken to it, she simply found her brows furrowing all over again.

She scoffs nonetheless and gives a shake to her pretty head, eagerly dismissing such before she began questioning just why she agreed to meet up with him in the first place. She supposed that you can’t win them all, though Alais was hesitant to admit defeat, even if it was only within her mind. Maybe he simply lacked a sense of humor, or maybe it simply hadn’t been as funny as Alais had initially thought it. Either way, the girl seemed quick to simply brush such a thing off and forget about it all.

The girl lifts a single shoulder upwards, doing such physically more than anything else, before soon enough his hand was settling upon the thin rise of such. And soon enough he was ushering her onwards, and speaking of what exactly he expected of her. And truth be told, it sort of worried Alais. There was a high chance that she’d wind up simply falling flat upon her face. And while these men were not trained soldiers - or so she assumed - there’s no doubt within her mind that this was not their first go round. They knew the weight of these knives, and every sort of twist which could be thrown their way. Alais, though, while she was in the process of being trained by the prince’s army, was still rough around the edges and comparably green.

“I did say I was good,” Alais breathes out then, though they weren’t so much words of reassurance as they were more an argument of sorts. Sure, Alais was good, but she hadn’t said she was competition worthy, or anywhere near such. Her brows furrow, though she doesn’t allow herself another moment to linger, nor does she argue the point.

It’s not as though any good would come of it.

Soon enough, though, Alais’ arms were being filled with her own wrap of weighted knives. How many were there? How much coin had Hyacinthe placed in her name? How many others were competing? Many questions flooded her mind within that moment, as Alais stepped from that booth, her hands busied with peeling open that cheap sack.

“This is a very unconventional lesson,” Alais murmurs, half speaking to herself within that moment. Her nose wrinkles before once more she finds her gaze tearing away to look upon his features. She offers a smile then and there, though its fleeting at best. Her shoulders lift upwards then, and her mouth purses, “We shall see, I suppose,” the girl mutters, tucking the bundle of knives beneath her arm once more.

“Why here?” she asks suddenly. In some ways, she supposed it made sense, though on the other hand, it was ridiculously unconventional, and suddenly Alais began wondering whether or not he’d ever done this before, or if he was simply going off some ridiculous gut instinct.

[Hyacinthe mab Necthana]

"It's a lesson," Hyacinthe stated. "You do realize that once you're commanded on the field you can't tell your superior "well, this is a very unconvential plan," right?" Hyacinthe asked Alais and lifted his brow. "You have no choice much like youl have none on the field. You simply do and you do as damn well as you can," he added. Although that's not to say there wasn't an ulterior motive to this. Yes, Hyacinthe had some coin on her to make if she were to win, but there were a number of lessons to be learned, and one of them was the fact that she can't do whatever she wanted to at any time. That one day there will others who choose when she'd be able to stop, eat, sleep and piss, and all sorts of things like that. That one could command her to march for days on end with no stopping and she'd have to because she's a grunt.

Hyacinthe, though, lived his own life as a scout but had once been a grunt as well.

The grunt work was the harder of the two. There were times where the coffers did not allow for horses for the soldiers, and the trained horsemen often became footsoldiers, and they had to march on end for days. They had to dig in, too, and dig out holes for privy use and tend to fire; looking for firewood and thensome. Often they went on with no sleep between constant marching and patroling around their camps. Nonetheless, to become accustomed to this life, and to be certain one could survive the endurance test it brought on and in the nearly common cases that men often became stranded, Hyacinthe had to assure she could learn such tools that she needed.

"Well, I like it here," he said. "I have friends here, and then there's the tournament. So, why not? You learn something new and make some money while you're at it. It doesn't hurt anybody, and if you're good, maybe we could come back and make some more." He said. Maybe we[/i could come back, he had said. Which meant that he'd undoubtedly take a cut from her purse when she won; after all, he did find her the tourney, and without him, she wouldn't be here.

"I've done this before," he said suddenly. "So, don't worry, alright? Nothing bad will happen. The sooner you start to trust me, the easier things will be for you," he said and turned to face her. He set a hand to her shoulder and smiled. "It's not that bad, really. Although sometimes the men become cross, that's apart of the game too. They can't raise a hand without be disqualfied," he added and grinned. It undoubtedly meant that Hyacinthe had coaxed men into that before.

It was a strategy.

He gestured her off to a practice target. It was one that was tied a bale of hay.

"Test the weight. You only have a bit of time before you're called," he told her.

[Alais Olivia Strider]

“I recognize that,” Alais muttered in reply. Her brows furrow for a short lived moment, and her jaw sets to the slightest of scowls, “Though this is unlike any other sort of training which I’ve received,” Alais was still skeptical to say the least of things. She was uncertain that this would have an impact on her, let alone the notion that she may learn something from this strange meeting.

Some how the girl pushes the thought to the back of her mind, and says nothing more concerning his out-of-the-box techniques. Her mouth purses and for a moment, Alais allows for a spread of silence to pass between the two, her gaze settled upon the handful of knives amongst the bundling they were once wrapped within. Easilly enough she came to the conclusion that everyone held the same knives within their hands, in some attempts to even the odds. Or so she assumes, and she supposed that was as close as they could get to evening the odds.

Save for the fact that this was Alais’ first time, and she imagined the others had gone through the rigors a time or two before hand.

“How often are the tournaments?” Alais asks of him suddenly, her head lolling upwards so she may catch his features once more. Easily enough Alais pours the weighted knives from their wrappings, and into her opened palm, bracing such against her stomach, lest the blades go tumbling from within her small palms. With that the girl flicks the portion of fabric over her shoulder, and hikes her shirt if only somewhat, offering the slightest curve of her hip, alongside the line of her belt where the small girl seems eager to stuff the small weapons, as it was more than obvious she was unable to hold them all.

Alais keeps one of the blades from within her belt line, though, only to flip it within her palm easily enough, testing both balance and weight. It’s obvious she’s handled a number of foreign knives - only having recently come upon a set of her own; there are marks on her hands to prove such, scars and barely healed cuts alike, settled across her palms and the ridges of her knuckles.

Truth be told, Alais was worried over making a fool of herself. What did he expect of her? She’d said she was decent, though compared to everyone else? Perhaps she wasn’t worth her weight.

Her mouth purses, and Alais offers her back to him, turning to face the target which had been set up for practice, “Have you?” she asks of him, then, “Trained someone before me? Or competed in the tournament?” the two were very different things, to say the least of things. Wary was a good word to describe how Alais felt within that moment.

Still, trust him or not, Alais gives one of those knives a quick toss toward that stationary hay bale. The blade sinks deep within one of the colored rings painted upon the bale, though not a bullseye, it was certainly better than nothing, perhaps with another throw she’s show some semblance of improvement. So with that thought in mind, Alais draws another blade from within her belt so she may take aim a second time.

[Hyacinthe mab Necthana]

"Often enough. They aren't exactly sanctioned by the royal family, you know, and the award is put together by the competitors by way of entry fees," he said, which meant that he had undoubtedly paid her way earlier prior to her scrawl. That and it meant that he had high hopes that she would win the purse to not only regain his spent coin but to earn all of it altogether albeit the earnings would be cut between them. Nonetheless, it was something that would have to undoubtedly be discussed.

Hyacinthe lolled his head to look down upon the curve of her hip. The knowledge that was a woman, and a comely one at that, made Hyacinthe smile; even looking amused, too. He watched her for a short while, running his tongue along his lower lip and lifting his gaze to search her face only to fall to her tools of the trade; her hands.

They were slight and slender, with thin fingers. They looked soft to the touch and smaller than a proper man's, but Hyacinthe would daresay no one truly noticed. Then the fact that there were faint traces of old scars along her palms and knuckles. Despite their size, and looking soft in certain angles, they were certainly a pair of man's hands at a glance, and the way she used them...well, any concerns Hyacinthe had were suddenly gone.

She turns her back to him and faces the target, Hyacinthe's eyes likewise settling on it.

"I competed once," he said, pointedly avoiding the first question of hers of whether or not he had trained someone. The truth was, was that Hyacinthe hadn't...well, he had...somewhat. It was hard to explain to say the very least and a long story at that, one that was entirely his and no one else's to know. He was quietly as he watched her toss the first blade. It caught and Hyacinthe nodded, despite feeling somewhat disappointed that the blow wasn't directly centered...ah, well, mayhap she simply needed to warm up!

He waited and watched quietly...until the moment her name was called.

The tourny was beginning!

There was applause and cheers, men barking, too. They were already settling wagers aside of themselves, and Hyacinthe propelled her toward the range where she was expected. "I'll be standing...well, sitting...over there, alright? Do me proud and don't make a fool of me, please," he said, smiling at her pinching her cheek. With that, Hyacinthe sauntered off as the first men stepped forth to score.

[Alais Olivia Strider]

It seemed all that Alais had needed was a small amount of practice with those throwing knives of hers, as soon enough she was left to throwing with precision that could leave any number of men jealous, well, at least if they’d known she was a woman. Even then, she’s still fairly certain that she could best most of anyone participating within this tournament.

Still, there was always the pressure factor. She’d never competed publicly competed before this point and time. Would they even be watching her? She’s certain that any number of the observers were there with friends, and family members. And no doubt they would be keeping their eyes upon their own acquaintances rather than upon herself. Then again, they may be curious as to who the hell this new kid thought she was. Panic seizes within her chest, and the girl finds her mouth pursing as she tugs those knives from within the target she’d previously tossed them at.

“Hyacinthe,” Alais finds herself hissing with a furrow to her brows, “You know what I meant,” she argues with him then and there. She knew that he must have participated within this tournament at least once. After all, what skilled soldier could resist the jingle of that purse that was waiting at the end of the competition. Though the question as to whether or not he’d actually trained someone before this point was something different in it’s entirety. It was certainly a valid question within Alais’ mind, and she was justifiably irritated when he avoids a proper answer. Truth be told, it was offputting, and Alais didn’t feel nearly as inclined to go along with his senseless plans as she had been the other evening.

Still, the coin would be nice.

Her arms fold before her thin chest, and her gaze settles upon Hyacinthe with another of those deep set scowls, that was until the announcement was being made and she was being shooed off, and into line with the rest of the competitors. She scowls. Alais wasn’t so sure she wanted to be a part of this anymore, though it was a little late to back out now.

The girl attempts to push those thoughts towards the back of her mind, and simply focus upon those dangling targets before her. Soon enough, though the signal was being given, and all else around her were sending their own knives flying, and Miss Strider did much the same, her fingertips seemed quick to gather the blades away from her hips, and likewise quick to send them toward those loose targets. That was, up until she ran out.

Alais was uncertain whether or not she’d done well, and truth be told, she was nervous to look for herself. Still, she manages to peek a single eye open.

She was relieved to say the least of things; despite the pressure, a number of her own blades had caught target, and despite the pressure she’d done well, at least in her mind. Though what she felt didn’t so much matter as how well she’d done in comparison to the rest of the competitors.