[ AW ] Heart’s a Fickle Beast (patrol)

The bustling cadence unique to the grounds of Castle Stuart swells; the sound of elation and excitement echoing off the trees to reach him. Ordered to patrol the grounds as the King’s Ball was still under way, the lonely wolf finds himself seemingly unnoticed; not carrying himself as one would in the Army, though his physique certainly tries to give him away. He is here to watch for the lonely folk, the vulnerable, the rowdy, the ones who would take advantage. Perhaps that is why he finds himself keeping to the shadows; keen eyes fixed on a figure here or there that might seem out of place. Ahead of him, a parent scoops their weary pup up and away from some street performers; the muffled protest from the young one quickly turning into a yawn. Casually, he props his shoulder against a sturdy tree, a soft smile sneaking its way into the corners of his lips. He'd never attended any parties or balls when he was young. His time spent as a lad had been a mix of learning about the violence of wolves and how to fix those it touched. He knew a long day, though, when he saw one, and he knows for a fact that the bairn would be asleep before they reached their den for the night. The brief thought of his childhood is enough to tuck that smile away; all gentleness vanishing beneath the sturdy walls of grief which situated themselves upon his expression like ice. The thrill of the party is palpable, the music leaking into the evening air to bathe him in the illusion of a better life. There’s pining and gallantry in the streets of Castle Stuart, but Kjartan knows a complex veneer when he sees one. This place...it would promise glory and give you the grave. As if royalty could buy me contentment. If the drunken staggering of a few of those leaving were anything to attest to, power and fame and luxury only got them warm bellies and soft heads. It would make them easy targets for the Thieves and comely prostitutes, or even the enemies of the crown, if they weren't careful. Feeling his lips droop in a vague scowl, he supposes that it's his job, this evening, to be careful. The General had made it sound as if the King were worried; not that he'd say so. Kjartan imagines that their patriarch doesn't dally much with his opinions unless it is to warn them. Pushing off the tree, he wades into the shadows of the night, keeping a patrol about five lengths behind the drunken nobility up ahead; his gaze drifting from corner to shadow and back again in a neat, but calm, swivel. He walks them to the edge of the castle grounds and watches them drift off into the night until they are one with the darkness of the surrounding mainland. He studies the lay of the land, breathing in the crisp, winter night before letting his breath out; the warmth of it a stark cloud beneath his chin. A light breeze snags it away, tugging at the errant strands of fur along his face and neck. For just a brief second, Kjartan looks off towards Lowlands where his old den was surely in need of replenishing supplies for his neighbors. Cough, fever, hunger pangs... Winter brought with it all kinds of concerns, and for the young medic it drudged up the guilt of Myra's death. Just a few more days... Then, this blasted ball would be over and he might have some time off. Dragging in a breath, the medic pivots and begins to head back, same routine as before, though his mind was filled with the preoccupations his old home still left behind in its wake. Kjartan is patrolling the castle grounds while the ball goes on. ""

oof - open to anyone. sorry for the rough starter<3

Flustered and antsy with equal parts fury and shame, Pythus now wandered the outer walls of the castle, the sun-kissed tones of his bright pelt now squandered by the shadows that clung to the ancient stone. As he made distance between himself and the unwelcoming guards, he paused here and there to try and flatten the hairs that had been ruffled out of place by their disgraceful and rather aggressive touch. Once upon a time, those guards would haven’t dared lay one of their meaty paws on him, but now, he was treated worse than some of the vagrants who wandered the streets.

Obscenities were strung half-heartedly under his breath between furious licks, and finally, once satisfied that he had sorted his fur malfunction, his attention broadened and he was able to spot a flicker of movement in the shadows ahead. If it weren’t for the bright green flashes of canine optics, he might never have been able to identify his company as another wolf, for his hide blended almost seamlessly with the stone and shadow.

Perhaps this was one of those vagrants Pythus had thought of. With his luck, however, it could very well be another guard.

”Let me guess…” Pythus droned, his voice leeched of its usual enthusiasm but not without its cynical undertone. “You’d just love to kick me out too, wouldn’t you?”


OOC: sorry this is a bit rough. It’s a tired morning!