The Second.... Thingy

[quu]

Welcome, outlanders, to the throne room of (presently unconscious) King Alxis of Glazingstoke. The lilac-colored eyes of the sorcerous Prince Joffrey fix with unnerving penetration upon the party of outlanders as he clasps his beloved father to his breast. Limned he is by the last of his flames; their low ebb purples the face of the slumbering king. The echoes of deep magic swirl in the room and color the sunlight that streams through the windows.

"Explain yourselves." He commands. It is the tone of someone who is used to being obeyed immediately.

Behind him, about him, a few guards are coming around from their poisonous nap. Groggy blinking; clumsy, sleep-swollen hands fumbling to check upturned helmets, or grasp weapons, or smooth ruffled feathers. A muffled "wut happnd" slurs from someone's numb lips. Two piles of black ash smoulder silently upon the dais.

(Free-for-all response)

Comments

[nicecollarbones]

Half a beat to consider his situation: The antechamber is a trap, and he recalls how quick the purple man's flames were; fighting will only slow him down and incriminate him beyond redemption. No, the answer is either to stay or to run.

So far, nothing good has come out of staying.

The King's demand is scarcely voiced when he sets into motion. The King's quarters have a door; they must also have windows. If he can make it there, he might have a chance.

[quu]

Dashing into the hallway exposes Hei to some very wide-awake guards who are wondering what the big hurry is. The nicer ones wonder if this outlander is late for a council; the nastier ones start reaching for their weapons.

For the moment, the path forward is clear. But this might not last.

From behind comes the rolling thunder of the king's shouts...

[nicecollarbones]

He doesn't hesitate; immediately, his eyes widen in fear. Without stopping, he throws his arms up in a panicked gesture.

"H-help! They are attacking in there!"

There is no time to judge whether the guards fall for it or not; he's already trying to move past them, farther. As long as there's a path, as long as he can find an opening, a window, a roof, something--

And if he can't, he still has the wire, coiled and ready at his waist.

[quu]

"Attacking???" Squeals one of the guards. "In the throne room? But two of the Black Hand already went in there!"

Eyes as wide as Hei's, incapable of disbelief in the potential event of drama, they both rush past him to enter the throne room and defend their king and honor and so forth.

Of course, there's only a minute or two before they are apprised of the facts. The hallway before Hei is clear. There are no doors in this section. There are windows to the left and a stairway visible far ahead.

[nicecollarbones]

The staircase: too far, and a straight hallway makes his back into an uncomfortably easy target. The windows, then, and since this hallway is unfortunately bare, this will probably hurt.

He braces himself -- takes a split second to work his tote around in front of his arms and head to protect them from the glass -- and then attempts to throw himself out the window.

[quu]

If the guards in the hallway were suspicious of someone running in from the throne room, the ones in the courtyard garden are REALLY INTERESTED in the guy leaping from the window.

Hei lands in front of a door and the two guards stationed in front of that door. As a warm spring breeze blows through the peonies, four guards start running toward him from other entrances into the palace. The guys to the far north haven't seen him yet.

A single figure clad all in black is leaning against a wall somewhere to his right, amidst all the boxwood shrubs and burgeoning chrysanthemums.

[nicecollarbones]

Unfortunate.

The thought of surrender flashes briefly in his mind -- but it seems pointless, at this point. Nevertheless, he gives a (quiet) shriek, looking appropriately panicked for the brief moment it takes him to scramble onto his feet.

And take off towards the right. If he can only get onto that roof, he can maybe, just maybe, make it out onto the other side, the one where the guards might have a harder time spotting him in the crowd.

His fingers grip the wire.