For one thing to be born, another must die; that is how the stars are born, that light up our night sky. REBOOT // OxO // CLOSED

Kieran coughed after the punch to the throat, but didn't otherwise react. I've been injured worse, princess. A dirty move like that is nothing. He slipped around to her side and slammed the pommel of his sword into her already injured arm, his other arm coming up at the same time to deliver a fast punch to her stomach. He wouldn't have used his hands if she hadn't first. He also very much hoped he wasn't fired for this. If he was, he'd have to go back. Back to slavery.

She's unsteady on her feet. If I can unbalance her… He focused on unbalancing her, then. Sword flashing in the sunlight as he wielded it easily.

Pulling punches was one of Elara's least favorite things, but she was getting more used to it. She couldn't crush her Guards' windpipes, or shatter their fingers. That would defeat the purpose of having them, or so the King told her. Though, with Kieran, she was quickly finding that she didn't have to pull her punches the same way she had to with the others. If the hit even landed, he didn't seem too affected by it. Part of her was relieved.

And part of her was pissed. He was picking up on her unsteadiness, a result of refusing to go and get a sprain treated in the infirmary, and apparently it was taking it's toll. And he was using that to his advantage. Unfortunately, there wasn't much Elara could do to stop him, though that didn't mean she didn't try. Something about the way she fought was just slightly wild, like she was letting her memories and her upbringing cloud the knowledge that she couldn't be killed here. Dodge, parry, dodge, punch, dodge, dodge, recover-

Kieran gave a ferocious smile. She was getting tired, and she was unsteady. He would win this. She had been a challenge, he would admit that. Her smaller size made it a touch harder for him to block. But that was fine. He could deal with that. She was also very smart about her fighting. Very quick. A bit of a challenge. Which was good. He'd be able to tell her so. He hit out with his sword, still working to make her imbalance worse. If he made it worse, all it would take would be the right blow to the right spot, and she'd go down.

In her haste to dodge the blow, Elara moved just wrong, sending a spike of pain through her ankle. While she didn't cry out, it was startling enough to completely knock her off balance, especially when paired with Kieran's relentless attempts to send her to the ground. A string of surprised curses left her mouth, a mix of some strange language and the common tongue, the words cut off when the air left her suddenly as she hit the ground.

Gasps and muttering came from the gathered crowd, some a bit upset, and others startled, before it grew quiet. They were waiting, waiting to see how she would react. And the reaction they got wasn't one anyone had expected.

The Princess was laughing.

Kieran stepped back, sheathing his sword. "I did warn you." He said calmly, extending a hand to her to help her up, should she want it. "But you insisted." He looked down at her, and frowned slightly. "Why are you laughing?" He questioned, tipping his head to one side slightly. He didn't understand why she was laughing. What was so funny? Or was this a manifestation of anger, masquerading as amusement? His previous owners sometimes used to laugh when they beat him, so maybe this was similar.

"You have a shitty left defense." Was all Elara managed to get out, her laughter making it hard to speak. She ignored his hand, perfectly fine with laying in the dirt. Besides, with the way her ankle had felt, standing would hurt like hell. You lost. You fought, and you lost, but you don't have to worry about dying here. Maybe the laughter was relief. Maybe she was slightly pissed about losing, maybe it was a way to cover up the pain in her ankle, maybe she just really needed to find a way to get more sleep while here. Or maybe it was all of those. Either way, she was laughing, and now Roman was too, though it was at her, most definitely.

"He just kicked your ass, and that's what you have to say?" He teased, shaking his head. His bright violet eyes landed on Kieran, and he shot the man a thumbs up and a grin. "Nice job man. You've got a beer on me during down-time."

Kieran raised an eyebrow, dropping his hand. "That is what you're laughing about?" He asked, shaking his head slightly. He looked at Roman, orange eyes flickering. He frowned slightly. Was this a human thing? Beer during downtime? "Alright." He replied cautiously. "We'll see." He looked down at the princess, sprawled in the dirt. He hoped she wasn't too angry at him for winning. If she was…she could whip him. It was normal. He would submit, as he always did. -locked in a dark room. Where's the light where's the light I can't see- he took a deep breath, shaking off the memories.

Elara finally managed to get her laughter under control, still flushed as she rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her hands. If Kieran was paying attention, he might notice the way she avoided putting weight on her right ankle as she stood. Once standing, she dusted herself off, sheathing her mother's dagger and tugging a hand through her hair to move it out of her face. The movement drew attention to the blood on her arm, coming from the cut she'd endured just to punch him in the throat. "Some friend you are, Roman. Toss me my bag?"

While Roman stuck his tongue out at her and went to grab the duffel bag laying on the ground, Elara turned to Kieran. "I ain't seen fightin' that good since my Arena days." Fuck. That wasn't exactly something she'd meant to let slip, but there it was, out in the open. After her mother's disappearance, when she desperately needed some way to stay alive, she had turned to the underground gladiator ring known as the Arena, rising through the ranks out of sheer desperation. She'd fought everything from people to orcs to animals, miraculously not losing her life in any of the matches.

Kieran nodded. "That's because all the rest of your guards are human or similar, your highness." He replied. "Thari do not usually…leave where they are." Because if we do without permission, we are killed. He touched a finger to one of his horns for a moment, then dropped his hand back down to his side. He knew vaguely what the Arena was; they sometimes purchased the larger, strongest Thari to fight. Those selected never returned. He himself had narrowly escaped being chosen for the Arena. He watched Elara emotionlessly. His orange eyes were strangely flat, void of life, as if there wasn't really a person there, just an empty shell.

He had a point, and Elara already knew that. Hopefully, she never would have to see the same fighting she had. The Arena was a place to die, and she was never going back. Shaking her head slightly, she caught the duffel bag as Roman threw it, unzipping it and digging around for her bandages. Once again, she was going to avoid dealing with her ankle, because she had places to be. The lack of emotion in the Thari's eyes was slightly unsettling, and Elara looked down at her bag partly because of that, and partly because it almost felt like he knew things, just by looking at her. She didn't like that.

She dressed her wounds quickly, before pulling on her hoodie and jacket overtop it, slinging the bag onto her shoulder. "I wasn' nice t' ya. You should go'n get those injuries healed."

Kieran shook his head. "I have had worse. I will be fine." He replied, straightening his jacket. He could bandage up the one on his torso later. In reality…he didn't want any more people than necessary to see the whip and manacle scars that were on his body. He sighed softly, waiting for her. His job was to stay by her side, and he would. "You should get the cut in your arm checked, along with where I punched your side. I am worried i may have accidentally bruised your ribs." He said calmly, looking at her.

"'M fine." Elara said dismissively, waving a hand. "Ya didn' bruise anythin' important." She could feel the spot beginning to bruise, and knew she would definitely be sore, but she didn't care. Turning on her heel, she motioned to Roman and two of her personal Guards, who were all chatting with each other. "Ya should get t' know your coworkers. I got places t' be."

Kieran shook his head. "My job is to stay with you, not fraternize with my coworkers." He replied, following her calmly. "Please do not fight me on this; you will lose again." He was quiet after that. He adjusted his sleeves to keep the scars on his wrists, from manacles, hidden. He had been trained in speaking formally, and was using that training now, as he had been ever since he arrived at the palace.

"Wouldn' gettin' t' know the people yer workin' with me a good idea? Knowin' and trustin' the people 'round ya is always a good idea." Elara said, shoving her hands in her pockets after pulling her hood up over her head. Her posture hunched just a bit, though she still walked with a sort of confidence. "Wha's it gonna take t' get ya t' stay here an' let me go'n do my things?"

Kieran walked beside her. "Nothing. I will not leave your side. That is what I was purchased for, and that is what I will do." He said calmly, continuing to walk. Truthfully, her father hadn't exactly purchased him. He was renting him. After seven years, if Kieran had done a satisfactory job, the king would pay the money for him to be set free. If he didn't do a satisfactory job…he would be sent back to being a slave again.

That made Elara's steps falter, as she cast a sharp look at him. "Purchased?" How had she not connected those dots? He was a Thari, the only reason he would be anywhere near the palace was…was if he had been bought for a purpose. She spat something in the same language she had cursed in earlier, and looked about ready to murder someone.

Kieran nodded. "I am Thari. We are…a slave race. It's normal." He replied with a shrug. He looked away for a moment, then back at her. For a moment, some unnamed emotion flickered in his eyes, then was gone again. He watched her carefully. Had she not known he was a slave? Not guessed?

"It shouldn't be." Elara growled, scowling at the ground as she walked. Freedom was the most important thing to her, after her mother. The thought of something she needed as much as she needed air, being taken away from someone else, sparked the fiery anger showing on her face. "Wha's your deal. The one tha' brought ya here."

"I work for you for seven years, and if I do a satisfactory job, at the end of it, your father will pay the fee to free me. If I don't do a satisfactory job, I get sent back." He replied calmly. He shrugged. "Some of the Thari get deals like this. I'm one of the lucky ones that gets a decent job to work. Some…are not so lucky." He said, emotion coloring his voice for the first time. Just the slightest. A hint of anger that poked through for a second, then was gone.

"An' tha's why ya gotta stay with me." Elara stated, her eyes flickering up to him as she caught the emotion in his voice. So he wasn't completely dead. She wasn't sure what to do with that information, but filed it away as she kept her eyes on him, studying. After a moment, she huffed a sigh. "Fine. I'll shut up 'bout it, so ya can get it o'er with, if I last tha' long. Bu' listen. Ya gotta do as I say, when we ain' in the castle. T' keep both o' us safe. First thing is callin' me Elara." She held up a hand, cutting him off before he could speak. "I can deal with it inside the gates, bu' ou'side, I'm Elara. People're bound t' recognize me, bu' I'd like t' avoid the attention as much as possible, 'cause sometimes it ain' positive."

His eyes flickered, and he looked down for a moment. "I…don't think that's possible, your highness." He said, looking at her again. "If I don't address my…" Master? Owner? She is neither… "Superior by their title…" He shook his head. "Bad things happen." He finished simply. He wasn't sure he could explain what he meant. What would happen if he didn't.

“Then try not t’ call me anythin’.” Elara said, shaking her head as she looked forward once more. The gates swung open, and a minute later found them outside, Elara walking with purpose through the crowds of people shopping and running errands. “An’ if ya gotta, don’ shout the title. Though I’m tellin’ ya now, nobody’s touchin’ ya round here unless you say so.”

"I'm not talking about a beating." He replied. "And I shall try to do as you ask." He said, following her. He adjusted his sleeves again to cover the manacle scars on his wrists. The sleeves on this uniform were just a touch too short for him, though he wasn't going to complain about it.

She glanced back, her eyes flickering to his sleeves before returning ahead. “If ya need an adjustment, jus’ ask. The King likes his staff lookin’ classy, so they’ll change anythin’ ya need.” She said, brushing a well-off looking man as they passed him.

Kieran nodded. "I see. I shall keep that in mind, your highness." He said, following her. She was starting to grate on his nerves, though he didn't exactly have enough emotion to say he was annoyed.

Elara didn’t say anything more after that, pulling a coin purse that looked entirely too fancy to be hers from her pocket. She stopped, occasionally, to greet people who seemed happy to see her, pulling a few coins out of the purse to give to each vagrant and beggar she greeted.

She didn’t speak to Kieran again for a little over half an hour, the time spent chatting with people and children, and nicking the occasional purse or wallet from wealthy people she passed.

When she did speak, it was when they cut down an alley, as she was digging through her duffel bag. “You’re gonna either hafta stay ou’side, or wear a mask I’m here. Your pick.”

Kieran had remained silent until she spoke to him. "I'll come with you. But why do I have to wear a mask?" He asked, looking down at her with an eyebrow raised. His orange eyes were flat, emotionless. Almost like a doll's. His hair was still back in that loose bun, it's strange bicoloration in full view. A mask wouldn't do much to disguise him; he stuck out too much already, with his horns and his hair, unless he wore a hood.

“‘Cause I ain’t gettin’ ya sick.” Elara said simply, not elaborating on that as she pulled out a mask from her bag. Not a costume mask, but a sick mask, one made to cover the nose and mouth. One that would keep diseases from entering someone’s body through the air. She held it out to him as she came to a stop in front of a a door, attached to a rundown looking house that sat next to a few houses in similar shape, lining one side of the alley.

He took the mask. "Oh. I thought you meant a different sort of mask." He put it on when they arrived at the house, quiet. Who were they visiting, he wondered, that was so sick? He remembered how back home, if you got sick…you either recovered on your own, or you died. Medicine was for the owners, not the slaves. It wasn't worth it to waste medicine on slaves.

Elara just shook her head, turning to the door and knocking three times. The door was thrown open a moment later, revealing a large and burly man covered in tattoos, who grinned as soon as he spotted Elara.

“Ellie, sweetheart! Gods, we ain’t seen ya round in almost a week now, huh?” He continues to ramble, voice rough and booming, until he seemingly noticed Kieran. Immediately, his eyes narrowed, looking between the two. “Should I be worried, kid?”