Code Legal? What Code Legal? Oh... That Code Legal [Open]

ieran had learned early in life the consequences of being caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, though he'd usually paid for it in skipped meals, beatings, or extra work somewhere or another. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on one's perspective, it wasn't as though the lithe creature was a stranger to arrests, either. He'd spent some time, especially in that awkward time between childhood and adulthood, behind bars for a night, a week, a month or two. He'd told himself he'd gotten older. Wiser. Better at avoiding the City Watch while dealing with a particularly difficult bounty or looking out for his street-living friends.

Tonight was different, he supposed. Maybe he was off his game. Maybe the stealthy half-drow who knew most of Waterdeep like the backs of his hands just wasn't as focused as usual, distracted by the unraveling of plans he thought had been well-laid.

Whatever the case, it had been a while since he'd been caught so off guard by the City Watch patrols he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time while making his way home. There'd been a bustle in the little crossroads, a few drunk unsavories harassing a couple of young kids begging for coins or food. The inebriated bastards had thought to move beyond words and Kieran had taken it upon himself to make sure they backed down and buggered off. Somewhere in the middle of the unarmed conflict that may or may not have turned to blows, a loud voice had ordered them all to stop. As much as he'd worked so hard to memorize in the Dock Ward, he'd let his kindness get in the way of practicality yet again.

There'd been some arguing, sure, because he was eager to get back on the move and he'd surely not done anything wrong, defending some innocents who'd been in danger.

Right?

Wrong.

Dragged along with the rest of the booze-smelling belligerents, Kieran found himself lumped in with the lot of them like the piece of street trash he'd been assumed to be most of his life. Annoyed, a little bruised, and quite resistant, the Magister had decided it would be best for the half-drow to sleep off his violent tendencies in custody, fining him for taking justice into his own (more than capable, thank you) hands, and having him dragged into a cell for the gods only knew how long. Kieran knew how these things went. A day could mean four.

He'd been here more than once, after all.

"I'll be wantin' my things back on th' way out, y' know—don't conveniently lose my shit this time. At least not my blade. I like that one." He grumbled, his smaller, lithe frame easily manhandled by the officer escorting him. Violet eyes glanced in the cells he passed, noting at least one other person incarcerated by the hint of bright feathers and the scent of some outdoors bonfire lingering in his nostrils as he was shoved past and into the neighboring collection of bars.

A few muttered curses from dark lips, were drowned out by the slamming and locking of the door, the well-trained guard offering Kieran a sour look of conceit in his authority before he turned on his heel and left the half-drow not quite alone with his simmering thoughts.

He sighed, calloused fingers reaching up to trace over a bruised jaw and curl into disheveled white locks, digging knuckles into his scalp and staring dejectedly at nothing in particular. Taking the time to untie his hair, letting the mess of it brush his shoulders before gathering it back up into a fresh topknot, he rocked on his heels and felt the dull ache of a decent beating in his ribs and a sharp soreness in his knuckles, aware that he was definitely better off than the drunks who'd made the mistake of attempting to take advantage of hungry kids on his watch.

They'd not been brought in yet, which was evidence that he'd given them what for before his arrest.

Like some listless animal, Kieran sighed and finally turned his attention to the other body in the other cell, offering a nod of recognition while he took in the sight of her with wings and tattoos and clawed feet,

"Patrols are feelin' a bit tight-assed tonight, eh? Must be the moons." He chuckled, stretching with a hiss before slowly folding himself into a seated position, slipping off his shoes so that the soles of his feet could touch and placing his palms on his knees as if he was considering this a perfect time to meditate instead of just making himself comfortable for gods only knew how long.

wouldn't be surprised." Kieran snorted, turning to face the woman in the other cell by leaning back on one hand, curling calloused fingers into chilled stone. The feathered creature's accent was thick like sea foam and gritty like brine but not in a displeasing way so much as a curious one. Not a local. More like a traveler. The half-drow smirked, violet gaze traveling over her wings again without any particular intention of staring so much as lack of anywhere else to rest his attention, realizing that her feathers reflected the dim glow of torchlight in a way that reminded him more of magical foxfire than some mundane aid to flight.

"I don't think th' intention here's for comfort, nah." He retorted easily, only to laugh and shake his head at her implications, "Me? Not grand 'nough, apparently. I should've been th' one drinkin', maybe tryin' t' take someone home instead, but, ehhhh, I've got t' be nice an' stand up for a couple of beggin' children, harassed b' angry drunks. Th' City Watch didn't particularly appreciate my way 'f handlin' things—"

He tilted his chin in the direction of the drunkards that had been brought in, smirk becoming a wicked grin as he implied he'd gotten into a fight with them just by the expression on his well-carved, bruised face,

"—only 'cause I actually do a better job most times takin' care 'f th' lil' people who matter in th' Dock Ward than th' lot 'f 'em." Kieran growled his judgment, aware that most of the patrols cared little for urchins and street children and more for merchants and nobles, after all. He'd been a street kid once. Maybe he still was, "Oh well. Not th' first time I've spent a night 'r two here. An' yourself?"

He was almost coy, tilting his head back at her as she leaned against the bars and he could study her features, lingering over the lilt of her smile,

"You're not a stranger t' sleepin' behind bars, neither, by th' looks 'f things." The half-drow leaned back on both palms but kept his legs folded, staring upward for a moment at the moldy ceiling before he turned his attention back on the woman and her shimmering feathers, "I'm Kieran, at your limited service down in this place, 'f course."

he half-drow smirked at the feathered woman's idea of fun, a chuckle turning into a groan as he stretched before rolling back onto his feet like some graceful feline, too restless to stay seated after all. She counted out her visits behind bars and Kieran stepped closer to their shared wall,

"M' last encounter with whiskey ended pleasantly enough—not gonna lie—but I'll do m' best not t' pine while in here. Y'know, for your sake more 'n mine."

Shrugging almost self-deprecatingly at her compliment, he mocked a scoff, "There's n' one else t' look after most 'f 'em, an' I grew up on th' streets. I learned how t' fend for m'self, but not everyone can. Someone's gotta—stalkin' a noble, y' say? Well. Nah, I don't see 'em takin' kindly t' that at all."

He paused as if attempting to place the name, having grown up in Waterdeep and familiar with far more things than he really needed to be. Names, faces, streets, alleys, passageways in the sewers. There were plenty of unusual things Kieran knew, and while the name might have been distantly familiar, he had no idea what the family's connections were and if they were at all really worth angering in the way Citrine was describing.

When she mentioned the attack of a friend and the fine, the half-drow scowled, far too aware that such minor punishment was common for those who had power and influence.

"Repeat offenders don't get much 'f a break, but I guess we've both got experience there." He offered a mischievous grin, unconcerned about the various levels of interpretation such words could have, "Stalkin' th' noble an' his house isn't gonna get y' much but thrown back in here every time y' get caught. What is 't you're plannin' t' do for th' sake 'f your friend?"

He didn't question vengeance. He didn't question striking back at the upper class. He didn't flinch or speak around the subject because he certainly didn't find the law binding on the subject of that kind of respect of authority. Everyone should be subject to the same consequences, in his opinion, regardless of their title or their influential reach or even how much coin was in their coffers.

ieran grinned right back at the winged woman's predatory expression that could only be described as both coy and feral at the same time, his violet gaze following the motion of her arms and then her fingers into her feathered crest, the crown of her head a curious mixture of hair like his own and baubles and actual feathers. Listening to her so-called plan, the Waterdhavian native couldn't help but press his tongue against the ring through his lip, toying with it in thought. While he didn't question her motives, her admission that she wanted the noble lord to move out of the city when coupled with her proposed methods set the ideas crawling in the shadowy recesses of his mind.

She pulled a piece of bone from her avian mane and the half-drow's eyes widened in amicable surprise, inhaling through his teeth and giving her a respectable nod in admiration. He turned to lean a bare shoulder against the bars that separated them, the tattoos that decorated the entire left side of his dusky, charcoal-colored skin disappearing into the short sleeve of his shirt and extending down the entire length of his lithely-muscled arm to end near his wrist, all geometric shapes and organic abstractions. Had one been able to see the entire landscape of his compact body, the same designs ran down the entire left side, over his ribs and hip, all the way to his left ankle, but he was far too dressed to put on such a display at the moment.

For now.

Or something.

"What are you, some kinda winged ghost?"

He chuckled, reaching for the diminutive but cleverly disguised flask and allowing his fingers to brush her own, emboldened more by the strange location more than anything else, so far outside of his normalcy that it wasn't as though anything could possibly be stranger,

"I'll tell you—" He paused for a mouthful, swallowing with a hiss before passing it back, grinning his thanks in the half-light. This close, he breathed deeply the curious scents of the feathered woman; it was as if something was burning when it couldn't possibly have been, "—th' Waterdhavian nobility's been here for centuries b'fore y' were born an' they're gonna be here for centuries after you're buried. If y' think jus' fuckin' with their shit's gonna get that Sir Frederisken t' go anywhere other than t' more powerful friends, well, y' ain't from 'round here, are you?"

Kieran winked slyly, fully leaning against the bars now with a tilt of his head, pressing a temple against the moist, cool metal and licking his lips as if he'd left a drop on there,

"I've lived here m' whole life, mostly on th' streets an' around th' riff raff, but I've worked for th' rich folks b'fore. What y' need t' be doin' is turnin' his friends against him. Findin' ways t' shame him publicly. Really, really digginn' up th' dirt, y' know? That's how y' get that asshole t' move th' fuck outta th' city, but you're never gonna get rid 'f him entirely, not his family, not his connections. Jus' y' may be able t' keep him outta your friend's business if y' can find th' right juicy tidbit t' pin him with."

He leaned his head back, letting his gaze stray from Citrine's interesting form to stare at the somewhat disconcerting darkness of the ceiling,

"I might have a few contacts around, 'specially in Mistshore, that could help find dirt like that, but there's no obligation from me. Y' do what y' see 's best."