[ Riza is terribly effective, and Kida is pleased with her choice of second. She's glad for the timely arrival; her acting skill would have quailed beneath the bubbling of her adrenaline, but she's left standing, fruit falling to the carpet.
Kida barely has to lift a finger, in fact, though her body beneath the starched shirt is coiled, ready to spring, but she settles for catching the men as they fall instead. She doesn't let them hit the ground--the objective is to preserve the quiet.
As the two men lay knocked out, she kneels, pulling out a length of rope to tie their arms, gently tearing at her apron to muffle them. Their egos will be more bruised than their bodies. ]
They probably see few visitors, so deep in the castle.
[ She imagines her father's door-guards: vigilant, stalwart, bored stiff. It was a rotating shift. ]
Stay at my side.
[ It's the last thing she says before she rises, fluid like water, and brushes out the wrinkles of her tunic, checks her collar. She looks plain, but her bearing conveys her nature.
The king's door is predictably unlocked. In her pocket she holds the other tool Loki provided: a piece of paper with a locking inscription. It'll keep invasives out, until they're done.
They slip inside, footsteps muffled by plush carpeting. It occurs to her she's never been in a proper royal chamber, before: hers and her father's were only cold stone. ]
no subject
Kida barely has to lift a finger, in fact, though her body beneath the starched shirt is coiled, ready to spring, but she settles for catching the men as they fall instead. She doesn't let them hit the ground--the objective is to preserve the quiet.
As the two men lay knocked out, she kneels, pulling out a length of rope to tie their arms, gently tearing at her apron to muffle them. Their egos will be more bruised than their bodies. ]
They probably see few visitors, so deep in the castle.
[ She imagines her father's door-guards: vigilant, stalwart, bored stiff. It was a rotating shift. ]
Stay at my side.
[ It's the last thing she says before she rises, fluid like water, and brushes out the wrinkles of her tunic, checks her collar. She looks plain, but her bearing conveys her nature.
The king's door is predictably unlocked. In her pocket she holds the other tool Loki provided: a piece of paper with a locking inscription. It'll keep invasives out, until they're done.
They slip inside, footsteps muffled by plush carpeting. It occurs to her she's never been in a proper royal chamber, before: hers and her father's were only cold stone. ]