Anti-Social Meta Knight

Inwardly, Sergei heaved a sigh of relief - the namedropping seemed to do the trick. Outwardly, he simply nodded and urged his horse onward, offering them a thank-you wave as he passed; hopefully they took it for what it meant. The rain, though, was starting to keep him from caring. <"Almost there,"> he coaxed Clopin, who didn't seem to share his urgency; the weather had dropped his trot to a dejected trudge, his head lowered somewhat as he lumbered towards the side road into the stables. If you want to be dry, you dope, you'll get a move on, Sergei had wanted to spit at the horse, but he scarce had the heart to do it. All Clopin needed was to dry off, and the temper tantrum would pass, he figured. When they reached the stables, Sergei dismounted expectantly; surely Weyland had some people manning the house proper, rather than just the gate. He glanced around for any sort of help before turning back to his mount. <"You think there's anyone around?"> he idly asked. Maybe this time Clopin would give him something beyond a snort... He didn't.

The guards were namedropping things he'd never heard before. No doubt one of them was the wrong answer; Sergei's options, then, were to play their game and risk being turned away (or worse), or to simply try to get around it. That was an obvious choice for him. In something of a respectful gesture, Sergei dismounted, to which his horse snorted - more rain would certainly hit him now - and turned to face his inquisitors. "A wagon carrying two women named Faatina and Veronika should have just come in," he explained, his disposition going military. "I'm with them. Had to make a detour. You can bring them here and they'll confirm it for you." He glanced up at the gloomy clouds, then back at them. "Meantime, I don't suppose you'll let me soak out here, will you?" They seemed like decent folk. Maybe this was just them halfheartedly testing him. Normally he'd appreciate that sort of use of authority, but when it was this wet outside it wasn't quite as entertaining.

And off we go! Wordlessly he acknowledged the two who addressed him before he left before departing from the group (his group, now, it seemed) to find his horse. The stables weren't far from where he was, and with Clopin's help he'd make his way to the Weyland estate rather quickly. Assuming the fool was willing to play along, of course. "I'll catch up," he called over his shoulder to them, picking his pace up somewhat - for the first time in a while, time was a factor. Had to make a good impression. The clouds above were darkening, by what he could see; that would bode ill for him if he were late. Knowing his wretched luck, the wagon would narrowly miss any rain that would come in, and he'd show up to the estate soaked to the bone. He hated the rain. He hated how cold it made cool days, how thick it made the air on warm days, and most importantly, he hated how mopey his horse got when wet. While Sergei sympathized with his mount on days like this, he wished Clopin would just get over himself. Reliable though he was, that horse was a diva... It wasn't long before he made it into the stables, and the gentle hiss of rainfall punctuated his arrival. Quickly he paid the stablekeeper and fetched his horse. There was a ritual here - brush the mane, call Clopin an idiot horse, climb on and ride out. It was no different today. Clopin snorted irritably as soon as the rain began to hit his long, equine face. <"I know, I know,"> he chided the beast affectionately in his native tongue. <"Let's get out of this soon, yeah? On!"> Fortunately, the road was clear enough that Clopin could obey that command, and his trot grew quickly into a rhythmic run. He had been directed to the north gate of Europa; hopefully that was all the direction it'd take. But was it? It was. It REALLY was. Sergei knew as soon as he saw the estate that if he had meandered north without any help, he'd know the place on sight. As extravagant as these grounds were, only a man of Weyland's stature could even see them maintained, and the knight knew of few other people with that amount of influence. None he could name, certainly. With any luck, though, he'd find someone he recognized as he rode in. With another command in Skotian, Sergei urged his mount to press on, and kept his eyes open for anyone he knew. The rain was driving them both a bit faster than usual; at this point they were both well beyond damp, and the prospect of changing that was all either of them needed. "Excuse me!" he called into the rain, looking for anyone at this point - anyone who could get him and Clopin under a roof. "Anyone there?" Maybe the servants were Skotian, he wondered? He didn't bother to wait and find out. <"Excuse me!"> he repeated in his old tongue. <"Did a wagon just come in?"> It may have occurred to him as he shouted Neviskotian phrases in Ursium that someone might take it the wrong way, but that would happen when it happened.

Weyland? And here I thought this would be a simple job... This was getting interesting. If he was going to meet Weyland, he had to be in peak condition for it. Maybe he'd make enough money that way to stop working for a while...the thought tempted Sergei. He was inside his own head just enough to nearly miss Veronika's question. Of course, that was just long enough for Gwyn to one-up him introducing himself. Fortunately, she wasn't quite as curt about what he did as Cyrus had been. He simply nodded and bowed slightly. "The pleasure is mine," he told Veronika politely. It occurred to him at that point that Gwyn had remembered both his position and his last name, which was more than a little surprising; when had he told her either of those? Maybe his memory was starting to fail him. "If we're going to meet Weyland himself, then I ought to do as the girl says. I'm slightly more useful with my horse in tow." He straightened up a bit, forcing his usual smirk to give way for a look of formality. "That done, I'm sure I can find the estate and catch up with you. All I need are some basic directions. I'll not hold you or your employer up," he explained.

They were charging through the crowd, apparently. That sort of showiness didn't really suit Sergei, but he played along anyway. Without a word (although with quite a few stern glances to any would-be obstruction), he simply brought up the rear, content to play the enforcer the crowds likely saw in him. It hadn't occurred to him that the two he was looking for were actually skilled, but when Gwyn made a show of her magic, he was reasonably surprised. Impressed, even. That sort of thing took skill and subtlety...actually, given who was casting, maybe just skill. And then she ran into another person. Sergei snorted, trying not to laugh - did she just do this all the time? Faatina was quick to defuse the situation, and introduced the second battered person as Katrina. When named, he simply nodded. - - - As they grew closer and closer to the wagon of which Faatina spoke, a wave of calm washed over Sergei; the only thing that had concerned him with regard to finding this wagon was where it was with respect to the stables, and it appeared that they were moving in that direction anyway. "If you don't mind," he ventured to Faatina, "I'd like to make a brief detour. I have a friend to collect. Is that acceptable?" He turned to his other three companions. "It's actually quite close, and I think some of you will find him more agreeable than you find me," he jabbed. The stables he had enlisted to care for his fool horse were close by - he could tell from the deteriorating quality of the buildings they passed and the curious sounds coming from the crowds.

They both seemed to be selling him short. He couldn't blame them - they felt threatened just for his being here, and sometimes people felt the need to bite back. Hell, sometimes he did too. It reminded him of more than a few times Clopin had felt threatened; one would think a horse's teeth were only good for splitting apples otherwise. "Trust me, girl, I won't be in anyone's way," he assured her, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He turned to his would-be recruiter. "The boy has the right of it, in spite of his tone. I'm a rider, like yourself. Have something of a history as a peacekeeper, and both my horse and myself are armored enough to show it." There was a certain pride in his voice; even he forgot he had some use in combat at times. "The short version is that we keep people away from the less...robust among our ranks." Knowing it was fanning flames, he glanced over at Gwyn as he said it. Then he shot a bemused glance at Cyrus. "And yes, the axe sees some use in hitting things. Not much else to do with it." Somehow he felt as though he'd be deflecting a lot of their insults, which was fine - deflecting blows was what he did most effectively anyway. "On that note, actually," he said quickly, "how quickly is this connection of yours leaving? I do need to collect my mount before then - he hates the crowds too."

Dear pesky plumbers... As soon as he had revealed himself, the hostility came out of both of them. Good - at least they weren't running. "Oh, put the claws away, both of you," he chided, his grin widening slightly. "Truth be told, the bumpkins panicked that you - " - he gestured to Cyrus - " - had kidnapped you - " - and to Gwyn - " - and wanted to be sure justice was done. You're lucky they sent me after you, because I know what a kidnapper looks like. And you, my young friend," - he leaned forward slightly in Cyrus's direction - "didn't kidnap anyone." He almost explained further, but figured there was little need for it; all he had to do was take them off edge. "Consider yourselves missing in action. I don't much care to go report anyway." The horsewoman's intervention was actually welcome to Sergei - someone had to defuse this, and he didn't seem terribly fit for the job. "Minor altercation," he replied almost automatically, his military instincts kicking in. "This girl was knocked into me due to some wretch in the crowd, and we were simply making sure everyone was alright." He made it a point to turn to the rider while he spoke, mostly out of courtesy, though he hoped it'd serve to take the edge off the other two. It wasn't long before the rider offered Cyrus and Gwyn a lead on some mercenary work, which piqued Sergei's interest - it seemed like a decent use of his time. "Mind if I follow you as well?" he ventured, still keeping his eyes off the other two. "Unless this connection of yours has little use for this many more people?" With barely a half-turn towards Gwyn, he raised a hand slightly. "I know what you're thinking, but as I said, you can both consider yourselves missing." There was no real reason for him to return to that place; maybe he'd end up there sometime in the future, and then he could explain what happened. But for now, he needed something to do.

Liam and Rosalind? They were reasonably convincing, all things considered. Sergei wondered briefly if they had to protect themselves like this before. Whatever the case, he had found them. Now all that was left was to figure out what to do with them. The villagers had dispatched him to look for Cyrus on the pretense that he had kidnapped Gwyn, but the knight needed only look at the girl to see that she was no prisoner. Rare was the prisoner that went along with her captor's lie to cover for him. So if he hadn't kidnapped her, then the only alternative was that they had left together. There was no real reason for him to take them back...then again, they had forced him to come this far from home. Perhaps a small scare was in order. "Charmed, er...Rosalind," he managed to stammer out, trying his best not to give away that he knew who she was. "And you're absolutely right. Forgive me, but a wayfaring knight often lets his manners grow rusty." He bowed slightly, half in politeness and half to conceal his smirk - he was doing rather well. "My name is Sergei Arbatov. No titles, please, though I've been known to answer to Sarge." He locked eyes with Cyrus as he finished his introduction. There was no firmness in his gaze; it was hard to keep this pretense up, fun though it was to try. "Rosalind, eh?" His smirk widened ever so slightly, betraying half a row of teeth. "She's a creative one, isn't she, Cyrus? I wouldn't have come up with a name that quickly." Hopefully they had figured out by now that he meant no harm, though he didn't expect them to just laugh his little trick off. At least the area was crowded enough that a fight wasn't a viable option...

"Good. Lucky it was me you hit. Most of these folks might just let you bleed, you know?" Gods, she looked garish. That sort of loud coloration in a person only shows up every so often, Sergei figured. She reminded him of... Wait a minute. Before he could think it over significantly, as if she were clairvoyant, the girl asked him if they knew each other. That had to be it - this was Gwyndolyn. He could have kicked himself for not immediately associating the pink hair with the kid he remembered, but now it didn't matter. Of course, now he had to stay here a while longer. "You know, now that you mention it..." Before he could drop her name, though, another familiar face presented itself to him. Green hair in a ponytail, scarf, and staring daggers at him was all the positive identification he needed. Cyrus. The boy was clever, that much Sergei knew; no doubt they recognized each other immediately. It seemed he was antsy to get Gwyndolyn away. Sergei really couldn't blame the boy, but until he at least got some answers, he knew he couldn't let that happen. "Just a minute," he ventured after Cyrus turned away from him. "I think your friend's right. You two do seem familiar." It was mean of him to play dumb; for all he knew, he was stringing them along. "If you don't mind, could I get your names? Just to be certain I've not gone mad. You understand." He made it a point to keep his arms folded, so as to avoid moving his hands towards his weapon; if he spooked them now, he'd be searching for another month at least.

Got Places to Go, Gotta FOLLOW MY RAINBOW (is there a cat in here?) Europa wasn't a city Sergei had ever been fond of. To start, he found it loud. Very loud. Maybe it was a symptom of his upbringing, or just not what he was used to, but it seemed that everyone was either aggressively peddling junk, squawking about the junk they had just bought, or generally being inconsiderate and moving like a wyvern was snapping at their arses. It was like this most times Sergei had come in contact with Ursians, he found - they were just fairly loud people. Focus, man. You're only here a day, and then you can grab Clopin and you're gone. It was the only thing keeping him from telling quite a few people off right now. A fat man tore from the crowd-blob and nearly barreled into the knight's shoulder. Being a big fellow himself, Sergei wasn't knocked off his feet by this, but it was enough to make him flinch. He snorted (it was something he had picked up from Clopin, and appeared more constructive than shouting at people), brushed off his armor, and kept weaving through the crowd. His business here was simple enough - ask about the two kids, see if anyone in town matches their description. Given how crowded Europa was, Sergei prayed - not to any god in particular, as he couldn't remember any by name - that the two were somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. Small-town. Where he could spot them and hear himself think at the same time. That would be the ideal scenario... Whump. A young girl slammed headfirst into his chestplate. The sound alone let Sergei know it was a nasty hit; anyone would be reeling or worse after that sort of spill. Sure enough, the girl was bleeding from the lip, and it seemed that her nose was worse for wear as well. "I beg your pardon!" she said quickly, trying to collect herself. She looked about as fed up as any reasonable person ought to be in this crowd. Sergei wasn't an honorable man, really. But that tore it. "Alright, alright! Clear out, you sods! Make room!" he barked without thinking, his voice carrying more aggression than he thought he felt. It was enough to create some space, though not much, and for a single, euphoric moment the din of the crowd's yapping settled a bit. Trying to contain his frustration with the circumstances, he addressed her, his arms folded in front of him - they were somewhat softer, in case she decided to charge again. "You alright? Your face didn't seem to agree with my armor there." Something about her seemed off. Maybe it was that blinding shade of pink...

And then there was an application! BAM. Name: Sergei Balazs Arbatov Nicknames: None that have stuck yet. Gender: Male Age: 32 Class: Cavalier Affinity: Water (or Ice, if you're retro) Weapon proficiency: Axe Weapon of Choice: His braveaxe, "Peace," which he has had since age 20 Inventory: Brave Axe, Plate Mail, Bull Rush Tome Raw Stats: Level:2/2 HP:9 STR:8 MAG:0 SKL:6 SPD:6 LUK:1 DEF:6 RES:3 Simplified Stats: HP:27 MT:8 HIT:7.5 AS:6 AVO:7 DEF:6(10) RES:3 Occupation: Formerly sergeant in Bosconovitch's army; currently freelance Appearance: Sergei is a man of somewhat imposing build, though his bad posture makes that somewhat hard to see immediately. His armor, steel platemail, looks somewhat piecemeal in places; the parts that are clearly platemail look to be worn and dirty. Beneath that, he wears a simple red tunic, and on occasion he wears a cloak over it. But he tries not to wear the cloak often - he hates that it gets caught on things. His hair is short, black, and appears to be pushed back over his scalp every morning out of habit; while this keeps his face clear, it also prominently displays the speckling of grey at the roots, an indicator of the ruthless onset of age. While this coloration might otherwise indicate stress, his surprisingly unwrinkled face indicates a certain calm to him. Brown eyes, drifting unpredictably from one subject to the next, complement this air of calm reasonably; his well-trimmed beard, sans mustache but complete with sideburns, seem almost out of place with the rest of him, potentially the last vestige he has of military discipline. When no one is looking, he scratches his beard rather vigorously Nature/Disposition: He's simple enough, as people go. Tries to mitigate conflicts where he finds them, and is somewhat willing to strong-arm people into making nice. Humble to a fault - any heroism he finds himself in, to him, is just doing his job. Has little patience for self-pitying types, and is somewhat tactless in trying to get them to change their mindsets. Though his heart is in the right place, Sergei is often more generous than he knows he ought to be, and he is the first to admit he is utterly terrible with money. He has an inexplicable habit of haggling in favor of the person selling to him, and though he was poor as a child, is wanton with any spare coins that come into his possession. He places more value on actual possessions, no matter how simple or cheap, than having coin in his pocket. Hometown: By birth, Groznygrad; he's lived most of his adult life in small villages in Ursium that would take him in. Connections: Very few, though some people from small towns in Ursium might recognize him as a transient guard... Backstory: tl;dr - A Skotian deserter-turned-magistrate who is on the move again out of habit. But read what I wrote 'cause I worked hard on it pls Point Spread: 743-500(stats)+20(selling default axe)-90(braveaxe)-70(platemail)-100(Bull Rush tome)=3 Mount Name: Clopin (pronounced CLO-pan) Mount Nickname: Clo, Boots, Idiot Horse, Oaf, Lovable Oaf, Smelly Oaf - but mostly Boots. Sergei likes calling him Boots. Mount Gender: STALLION, BABY! Mount Species: STALLION, BABY! Mount Age: 7 Mount Appearance: 16 hands high. Grey, spotted coat. Long, unkempt mane. Scar on the nose, just above the left nostril. (He didn't get it in combat - Clopin's done some stupid things.) Mount Personality: More skittish than the average horse. Seems to take offense to people staring at him, and hates loud noises. A bit too eager to eat apples and other fruit. Mount Relations: He probably has a few foals here and there. No telling what Clopin's been up to, man. Mount Backstory: This horse has seen some shit. On the floor of a barn (heyoh). Where he grew up and where he slept when he wasn't running and stuff. Now he carries a smelly human who feels fatter than he is because he wears a lot of metal. Which totally sucks. Mount Point Spread: 9001-9000 (being an awesome horse)=1 If I goofed something up, lemme know. This is version 1. BEEP BOOP ALL DONE

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