Back-Alley Business | Kiigan

Thank Fleuve'ir for the Ivory Jewel! A bouncer being bounced from tavern to tavern didn't pay well at all, and he was still paying yet another tavern back for the damages a certain pink-haired annoyance helped rack up but didn't stick around to reimburse. It was a stroke of luck that he found the opening at the higher-paying establishment, but it still wasn't quite paying enough. Kiigan was getting desperate to pay off his debt, especially with that cranky owner sending Adventurer's Guild peons to harass him and take his last vigs. It'd be nice to be able to buy himself enough food to fill his stomach...

The blue-haired man would have nearly jumped at any opportunity to make more coin, so it was a no-brainer when the boss offered him a pay raise simply to be his personal guard and gopher it seemed. Kiigan was great at fighting and smart enough to follow instructions, so he had that going for him. Even as they arrived early in the morning and he received his marching orders, Wes got nothing more than a "Yes, boss," before Kiigan disappeared into the port city to waste time.

It was funny how persuasive money could be. At home on Ilyanor, currency meant almost nothing. Nature was king and food was grown and harvested personally, for the most part, and all it cost was a prayer of thanks. Clothing was cheap but basic since showing off was rare for his race. He'd quickly learned its importance outside of the Gaiyan haven, but had yet to get enough to not live in panic. Otherwise, Kiigan wasn't particularly compliant with authority figures, and even less inclined to do menial things asked of him. The power of Vyldergold!

Being poor as he was, he didn't have too much fun roaming around the bustling and chaotic Lyndon Port. He'd twisted three pickpocket arms, been whisked into fashion stores only to be booted back out when they discovered he couldn't buy anything for his impressive frame, and peered longingly into some questionable drinking establishments chocked full of half-naked girls. One good thing was his belly was full. Kiigan had learned the art of dining on cafe samples on every street, so his stomach was at least satisfied though he was bored out of his skull.

Irritably thinking that he was being pranked, the rebellious angel was just about to pick a fight with some loud drunk guy when he heard a very quiet "Ey you, over 'ere" from under the docks.

She was positively ghastly. This poor woman, or at least he thought it was a woman, was hunched over and dragged her longer leg behind her as she slothed into the flickering lamplight. Scraggles of gray hair jutted out every which way, tied in a useless bun at the nape of her neck. Despite the dark, musty cloak, a tan suit was pulled around her lumpy frame with the jacket one deep breath from ending its poor buttons' lives. He half expected one of the buttons to pop off at him like a flintlock's bullet. Bugged eyes popped out at him from under spiderleg lashes, and her overlined lips parted to reveal a humongous snaggletooth that he simply could not stop staring at. "You're who I'm supposed to meet?" he asked incredulously, crimson hues still locked on that tooth.

She made some sort of noise at him, possibly a word that he didn't register as she shoved a brown leather suitcase into his hands. His eyes had finally moved from the snaggletooth to the large mole with thick black hairs poking out like pins in a cushion, and he was marveling over her mere existence when she basically crab-walked away in a shocking display of speed, disappearing into the shadows of the dock as if she'd never been there at all. The boss had some very weird associates.

While the angel wasn't known for his obedience, he held to his promise that he wouldn't open the suitcase. Of course, he was exceptionally curious about whatever Hairymole McSnaggletooth could have that Wes would want, but money. He didn't want to risk his payday. Hurrying to the rotten smelling rendezvous point among the sheets and curtains, he pushed some fabric out of the way until the man with the weird little smoke sticks came into view. "Took forever, but here it is," he said with a light scowl, towering over the redhead as he held out the package.

[wc: 746 || total: 1146]

Kiigan exhaled. There was something about being accused of something he didn't do before he got paid that had him holding his breath as if he was afraid this little man would turn into a viper and fang his ankle or something. He also wasn't really one to correct people when they thought the worst of him, though. He preferred for the truth to make itself known, as if was indisputable when the other person came to the conclusion on their own. No one ever believes the guy who screams "I DIDN'T DO IT!"

As he was nudged and some color wandered back into his face, he did let out a short, single-grunt laugh of sorts, though it didn't reach his lips. They were still pressed into a slight frown, but that was normal. He wasn't the smiley type unless something really good or really bad was happening. In a way, the reduction in the downward curve of his frown was his form of half-attempting to heed Wes's words.

At least if today was the last day of his life, he wouldn't have to worry about paying off that club owner anymore. Friggin' miser.

Wes's beckon pulled him along behind him, following his boss dutifully until he knew what he was expected to do next. There was a brief adrenaline spike when the ginger reached under his coat and the dagger came into view. It looked like he was going for the weapon, and for just a second Kiigan thought Wes's first joke might have been the truth and his claim that the accusation was the joke was the actual joke. Before he could make any defensive reaction, though, the hand slipped into a pocket instead and pulled out a weird box.

The weird box was offered, and out of pure curiosity, Kiigan reached forward to take one. "Thanks," he muttered, crimson eyes bright with interest. Oh, they were the strange paper smoke sticks that Wes had between his lips to make all that odd-smelling smoke. The idea of smoking in this world wasn't entirely foreign-- there were plenty of things to burn and inhale growing in Ilyanor-- but he'd never seen anything quite like these. After lifting it to his nose for a sniff, he held it back out to lit.

"I do have a question, actually," he said as he followed, mind mostly on the smoke stick but capable of multiple trains of thought. "Who was that... woman?" he asked, gruff voice laced with uncertainty and his mind haunted by her fugly face.

[wc: 425 || total: 1938]

Kiigan didn't really care about the case much. He probably should have, but the blue-haired man's brain seemed to be wired a bit differently than most. That and that woman was just so gross that nothing else mattered. "I've never seen anything like her," he offered, the comment off-handed since most of his attention was still on the stick that he'd now managed to light with his finger when Wes wasn't looking. "Even though I think she only had one tooth, I thought she might gnaw my arm off, so I can see it..." Now that he thought about it, she looked like he imagined most witches to look like...

After that comment, Kiigan rose the cigarette to his lips and imitated his boss by inhaling. For a second, every bit of swagger and general defensive grouchiness disappeared and he started to violently hack and cough as if he would die on the spot. "ACK- coff thanks-- Boss--"

Despite the tears in his eyes that he forbade from falling with sheer force of will, Kiigan came out of his coughing fit with a determined glare. Others might have tossed the caustic thing away, but not the angel man. The smoke stick would not defeat him! Especially when this small man walking ahead of him did so with such ease. It was a challenge now, so he'd continue to smoke it and stifle his coughs.

Despite his battle with the cigarette, Kiigan was nothing if not alert. At some point his hand slipped into his pocket and emerged with brass knuckles, though he made no movements to indicate it was aware they were being followed. He seemed rather relaxed except for the deeper frown forming just thinking about his debt. "I owe this club owner a bunch of vigs. This infuriating woman and I accidentally trashed the place, but then she made the owner forget all about her and left me with all the damages. It's a stupid mess," Kiigan explained, feeling a vein throb at his temple.

[wc: 337 || total: 2681]

Calling the bullcrap that Daphne had done a lover's quarrel pulsed another vein on his forehead. The mere thought of touching her in any other way other than to strangle her made his skin crawl, but he said nothing to correct it. Explaining that the whole thing was actually the two competing to win over another girl's attention just... was too many words and pointless. And stupid. He took another inhale of the stick and coughed out smoke and frustration.

Kiigan's angry downturn of his lips lessened in severity as Wes turned to walk backward in front of him. Though he wasn't one to return smiles, that didn't mean he didn't appreciate them when he saw them. Wes had a nice one. It looked good on his delicate face. He wasn't very good at reading people, but he got the vibe that it was almost so pure that it seemed devious. It'd have been nice to look at it a little longer, but no, it seemed his brass knuckles would be coming in handy sooner than later.

A strange gleam entered his eyes as the thugs made their move. One had  Wes before Kii could even bark out a warning, and as soon as they had the boss the other two clapped hands on his shoulders like they were old buddies. He jerked a shoulder just to test their grip, which was quite hard, but if they thought they were going to drag him off and keep him busy with a beating, they had another thing coming. Going by his crimson eyes that met Wes's pretty blue ones, Kii seemed almost excited. He loved a good fight. It helped him get all his emotions out and offered him the clarity to work through complicated things. The memo didn't reach his lips, though, which had curled into a more irritated scowl.

"Don't worry, boss," Kiigan said, though what he was going to do filled him with dread. He really hated being put in this type of situation, and while in less deadly scenarios he would go out of his way to avoid certain actions-- even if it made everything more difficult-- he also knew when it was time to set aside his personal issues with his race. "I won't let you get stabbed again," he added. Yes, he'd gotten it earlier, he'd just been too focused on the hag to really respond to that part. He was strange like that.

In a flourish of fabric, light, and feathers, Kii released the seals on his shoulder blades and out unfurled the fluffiest white angel wings, which tore off his shirt in the process. They were about as tall as he was, so their sudden appearance not only knocked off the hands on his shoulders but as he immediately flapped them, the force knocked both thugs off their feet.

While those two fumbled around to get up, the angel flapped his wings again to give himself a speedy boost at the man Wes had just given a nasty smoke stick burn. Since he had momentarily released the gingersnap, the rocket that was Kiigan could slam his brass-knuckled fists into his face, expertly aimed to miss Wes, though his body or wings might have bumped him from proximity. As the man went flying back in a bloody mess, Kiigan was pretty sure he felt something crunch under his fist but didn't pay it much mind.

Stepping back, he resealed his wings out of sight, since it was actually pretty cramped in the alley otherwise and their purpose had been accomplished. He turned on the two who had managed to get back up, flames licking up his arms from his fingertips. While he loved to fight, he knew when to be serious and not drag things out. When he started using his fire, that was a good indication that he wasn't playing.

The ensuing fight was obviously unfair, being two on one, but the well-dressed thugs fought valiantly for longer than Kiigan had thought they would once their third member went down gushing blood from his face. They weren't anything to sneeze at either, but Kiigan had come out on top of fights bigger and badder than this one. Bruised, bloodied, and burned, the two in now destroyed suits were slumped against the wall with the garbage by the time the angel was done.

In the end, Kii'd taken some licks. A nice bruise was forming on his left cheekbone, and his nose and lip were bleeding. There was a deep cut on his right arm from one of the knives unwisely produced in the beginning, but neither seemed keen to keep hold of them once the fire started flying. However, despite the damage, Kiigan seemed more alive and energetic than he was before. He barely registered the pain as adrenaline pumped through his veins. Turning to Wes, there was a ghost of a smile lurking on his lips, probably from the one he'd briefly flashed during the beating.

"Do you wanna ask them any questions? This one's still kinda awake...I think," he said, kicking the dress shoe of one of the men, to which the downed foe answered with a groan.

[wc: 867 || total: 3980]

<

"I don't like people knowin'," the angel candidly answered, eyes widened slightly in surprise over the way the smaller man grabbed, lowered, and then cleaned his bloody face with his hands. It was a strangely intimate action, wiping away someone else's blood, and the gingersnap's hands were dainty especially compared to the angel's size. His 'halo' emerged despite himself, bathing predominantly his head in a soft, golden glow. The thrill of the fight had almost brought it out, but coupled with Wes's tender actions, it just tipped it over the edge of what he was able to suppress. Tenderness was not something ever afforded to the rebellious angel.

Though he had no choice but to cop to it because of his wings alone, he still dreaded revealing what he was, yet knew how hard a secret it was to keep. His skin literally shimmered in direct sunlight and as much as he tried to keep his emotions in check, the annoying glowing. He could try to hide all these things through various means (magic seals, jackets, bandanas, hats), but anyone who was around long enough would eventually catch on. It didn't seem like the inquisitive man was fond of secrets.

"I'm not really a good example of a Gaiyan," Kiigan conceded, his tone turning a bit bitter as his typical scowl returned. That statement alone barely scratched the surface of all the contradictions he had with his race and his beliefs. It was then he glanced away from Wes's face, following the azure gaze to his dripping arm. Reaching over, he clamped his hand over the wound until he could find something to wrap it with. He didn't seem too bothered by it other than a small wince. "I'm good at fightin' so I stick to what I know and like. Plus, I'm a big fan of making quick decisions and having a mind of my own, so it was best that I see what else is out there beyond Ilyanor for a guy like me."

AKA, he agitated the serene waters of his homeland with his contrarian ways.

The angel wasn't sure if that would satisfy the fedora-crowned boss he returned his gaze to, but it was all he had to say. Maybe one day he'd explain a little more, but only if asked. He wasn't the type to just chat away about himself and his personal issues, since most didn't care to hear it, but he also wasn't a secretive man when he actually spoke. The only thing he tried to bury was the one already freshly unearthed.

[wc: 430 || total: 5000]

Taking the shreds of the rather nice coat, visible relief eased Kiigan's features into warm neutrality, though the angles of his blue brows suggested that he would have been smiling if that was something his lips were capable of commonly doing. He had little reason to trust that Wes would keep the secret, yet he trusted the smaller man anyway. "Thanks," he said, a simple word for both the fabric and the vow of silence, but he continued to softly glow from positive emotions even as he turned his attention from the cute man with sealed lips to wrapping up his arm. Tying the shreds around the wound, he used his teeth and the fingers of his free hand to tighten a knot. Though it still didn't seem to bother him much, the size of the puddle accumulating under him was a good indicator that staunching the blood flow was in his best interest.

"...Sorry about your coat," he said after a moment, realizing what had truly just happened. His blood was quickly soaking the ruined cloth. Being a Gaiyan, he wasn't really that fussed with material things, though he did like Otherworlder clothes. While he might feel a twinge of sadness over a jacket he liked being lost or damaged, he knew the other races assigned even more worth to such things. The angel was also a little worried about another little aspect. How much did he owe Wes for it? Nothing outside Ilyanor was free. "I'll pay you back," he said earnestly, feeling like he'd said that to humans a lot lately. He also didn't actually have any vigs to give him, but maybe he could get an extension until he could get paid...

With a smidge of stress tugging his brows down, he wondered if he still got the job in light of the ruined jacket and all the blood he spilled. He wasn't sure what the criteria were for success, or really what the purpose was of what they were doing, to begin with. He might be decisive and independent, but he didn't ask many questions. He'd ask one now, though. "What's next, boss?" he asked, pressing into the makeshift bandage to try and stop the bleeding. He had to be strong to get this better job, right?

[wc: 382 || total: 5808]

Oddly enough, despite the split second and confident decision he'd made to bash the guy's face in, the angel looked a bit uncomfortable once they paused by the thug. Kiigan couldn't hear much of what Wes said beyond not owing him for the coat, which was a relief he didn't get to enjoy. Teeth gently kneaded the inside flesh of his frowning bottom lip, and he glanced at his defeated foe for only a split second before his crimson hues briefly met Wes's quizzical stare and continued on to look anywhere but the body.

He didn't want to know the man's fate. As far as he knew, he'd never killed anyone (only threatened), but he also didn't stick around to really make sure. While the brawler was no stranger to violence, he was still a Gaiyan. That wasn't to say that Gaiyans never killed, but when they did, they were to have a very good reason, and he wasn't sure he had that. Protecting the boss, yeah, but one could protect without murdering. He didn't have the stomach for it yet, but he was putting up quite the tough front. He muttered something under his breath, a small prayer to guide the man's soul to the river of life, just in case... though surely it wasn't needed. Just knocked out with some broken bones. His guts could stop twisting now, thanks.

Back to being either unresponsive or offering only nodding acknowledgments, Kiigan was up to his own devices as he followed behind Wes. The makeshift bandage was only half doing its job since the fabric was fine and not specially made for moisture absorption. Pressing it was slowing the bleeding, but he was still leaving a trail. The angel wasn't in any danger, but as they reached the door and Wes explained the real situation-- he'd actually accepted that they were going dancing earlier so he felt a little dumb-- Kiigan jerked his head up to blink in surprise. "Uh, no, boss," he disagreed, eyes bright in... concern? Sure, initially he just wanted to get paid, but if this Poker Guy (what was poker??) would send enforcers that strong to take Wes out before a simple game, it was much more hazardous inside than it was in the alley on the way. Home turf advantage. Way more people.

Untying the shreds of coat, Kiigan rushed like a child about to be left behind at home during a day of fun. All he could think of was stopping the bleeding and cleaning up. Flames flickered over his suddenly glowing palm and he jammed it over the stab wound, cauterizing it closed and thus stopping the bleeding. Did it hurt? Absolutely. He pressed his lips and stifled a groan, but in the end, he hid his pain fairly well. He then re-tied some cleaner coat pieces over the ugly mark. That was one problem solved.

Presumably, the other problem was his lack of clothing. There was a fix. Calling on his Angelic Armaments, threads of light and fire rapidly crawled across his body and dressed him in skin-tight royal blue under armor accented in silver. He left off the armor at the shoulders to seem less aggressive. It was definitely in the average Vyldermirean style, but that's why he wasn't fond of it. He preferred the relaxed and casual Rivengate fashions over the stuffy old local clothes, let alone angelic armor, but it was what it was.

"Is this better? I think I really should go inside with you," Kiigan insisted. "Maybe all this," he gestured at his face, "will make them second guess messing with you?"

[wc: 605 || total: 6902]

Ah, he'd upset the small man. The fact that part of it was from him disagreeing went over his towering blueberry head, but it was clear enough that the actions he took to get ready to go inside seemed to be the other part. The balled fist aimed into the corner of his chest thudded hollowly, and he responded with an "Ow" more out of reflex and acknowledgment than actual pain. "I coulda, but it hurts and the burn can get infected. I just have to cut it back open later, so I try to avoid it," Kiigan explained with a slight tilt of his head. Normally, if they weren't going into another dangerous situation so soon, he would've let the blood flow keep it clean and then clot on its own. He was a big guy. It took a long time for him to bleed enough to matter.

Though some of the intricacies of the situation were beyond his comprehension, the last part he understood. The light of macho understanding flashed in his eyes. He'd accidentally insulted Wes's ego and questioned his strength! As someone who had a decent ego and prided himself on his fighting skill, someone insisting on protecting him would probably rub him the wrong way, too. Kiigan wasn't the best at working with others anyway.

"Oh, I wasn't saying you couldn't, boss," the angel insisted, though he still felt he wasn't wrong even if he had thought it. Wes was a petite man with only daggers to defend himself as far as he knew, which he had assumed was the reason he hired Kiigan to come along. "But if you didn't need me to help fight off all of this poker guy's thugs, why did you bring a bodyguard?" Kiigan had been under the impression it was his abilities as a bouncer that had caught Wes's attention to offer more money to do the same for the casino and thus be brought along as what the Gaiyan assumed was a bodyguard. Why would someone so strong need someone like Kiigan on this particular night? Seemed too specific to be just a test.

"What if there are twenty guys in there with knives? Or worse, pistols?" he asked next, frowning deeply at the thought, especially at 'pistols' since he wasn't fond of the human weapon. Point was, it was unknown and dangerous, clearly Wes knew that.

One thing Wes might learn about his angel companion was that he was a bit stubborn and he wasn't afraid to question things, especially authority. He was still getting used to the human concept of authority, and even getting used to it didn't guarantee he'd give himself over to it. Even if he was told to wait outside, without a proper reason to do so-- like making sure no more bad guys entered in through the back-- he'd end up following Wes inside anyway.

[wc: 484 || total: 7866]

Kiigan ended up here often He rubbed people wrong a lot, even though he was often in the dark on what he'd done to cause it. He blinked down at the testy red-head, his expression fully showing his displeasure and vague confusion, but his mouth didn't open again. Essentially, since he kept saying the wrong things, he clammed up. This was why he didn't talk much. The angel returned to nodding at Wes's confessions, blindly accepting them. He was right. He could take care of himself, his employee should just do what he was supposed to do. No need to angel it up, though even someone like Kiigan fell into the trap in his sub-species every now and then. Caring too much or being too helpful only brought trouble and complications. He was no hero. That was his parents' and brother's jobs.

He was just a hired fist.

The last assumption, though. That this was all still about vigs. His eyes tightened and his jaw flexed a clench, but he remained silent. Now he felt stupid for showing some sincerity, but he didn't contest it. This was how Kiigan was. If Wes wanted to believe he was only offering to put his safety on the line for someone because of payment, who was he to try and change his mind? Actually, that type of thinking helped him avoid being presumed to be a heroic type. And actions spoke louder than words, so if that's what his actions were saying, then no amount of blathering would make him look anything other than pathetic. Still, it didn't mean that it felt nice. He just wanted to do a good job for someone who was helping him out. What was it about him that always gave off the worst impression? Sometimes the world outside of Ilyanor was no different than the judgemental people back home.

Wes moved to the door and opened it, waiting expectantly, so Kiigan went ahead and walked through it to take the lead as any good bodyguard should.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. It was much darker than he anticipated, and the music was loud. There were glowing crystals in every color hanging everywhere, while brighter lights beamed through some to shine brilliant hues on decor and people alike. The floor to the left, beyond the bar in the middle, was pulsing with bodies seemingly entranced by the band at the back of the room. The music they played was strange to his ears, with the stand-up bass and large drum vibrating the air with a beat that nearly drowned out the vocals and other more melodic instruments. To the right was a calmer space, though it was sectioned off just beyond the bar by walls and thick curtains over doorways to give privacy. While he had no idea what the game of poker looked like, he was sure it needed the slightly quieter, more private rooms rather than the thronging crowd. Up a staircase that was also on the right, there was a balcony that crowned the whole room, offering more rooms and just general open space and seating for those who needed a break from the dancing below.

Since walking in hadn't resulted in a surprise attack, Kiigan quickly moved out of the way so his boss could take the lead again. He didn't know where to go or what to do, and he sure as heck wasn't making any more assumptions or offers. If his slightly more frosty demeanor and the frequency of cigarette puffs were any indications, he was nursing his temper but was at least exhibiting self-control.

[wc: 607 || total: 8932 || 2000/2000 Apprentice freeform. 5000/5000 Initiate freeform || new total: 1932]

It was a good thing that Wes intervened with the club owner when he did. Even in the best of spirits, he didn't respond well to being mocked or intimidated by overinflated buffoons, so his hackles were raising along with his fists when his boss diffused the bomb. A short sigh snorted from his nose as the angry kettle released a bit of the pressure, turning his glare from 'Reg' to the pulsating crowd of people instead.

When Wes prompted him to follow, the pair headed into the crowd. Kiigan stayed close, not wanting to lose the shorter man in the waves of people. Being taller than most of them, he could easily navigate. The ginger's glances back when unnoticed, since the bodyguard was more focused on making sure those that got too close and bumped them around were harmless club guests and not anything more sinister. He might be a bit miffed, but he still had a job to do and would stay focused on that. Maintaining impartiality was critical to a mercenary, and while he could do that most of the time, it was also the reason he was no longer an official mercenary. He may be quiet most of the time, but he had a hard time controlling his temper. He was doing better these days, though.

Up the stairs it was much less crowded, though it was hardly quieter until the balcony was left behind. Wes moved to a door and opened it once more, and yet again Kiigan entered first and had a quick look around. Empty except for a large round table haloed with chairs, some spare chairs against the walls covered in drapery, and the musty smell of said draperies that needed a good beating to rid them of years of dust and stale ale.

As the door closed behind and muffled the thumping live music below, the bluette turned to face Wes with his arms crossed. "Just because I'm quiet doesn't mean I'm not listening," Kiigan prompted, voice a bit tight but otherwise calm as he hoped to draw out whatever it was his prospective boss had dancing behind his lips prior to the meeting starting. He assumed it wasn't just more instructions, since Wes didn't seem the type to be holding those back for no reason. All of the irritable staring had to have a reason beyond pragmatism.

[wc: 397 ||  total: 2901]

His mouth might stay in a perpetual scowl and his words might be few, but the rest of him could be rather expressive. Even as he tried to seem like he was equally indifferent and unbothered, the covering up made his discomfort even more evident. Sanguine eyes peered around the room with deliberate slowness, and honestly, the room wasn't that interesting to earn such an examination.

Perhaps the silence that followed was a bit too long, but sometimes it took Kiigan a bit to formulate responses that were personal in nature. "You said what you were thinking given the information you have," he fielded, surprisingly indirect but truthful. Kiigan, of course, knew the assumption had been wrong and that's why he was miffed, but he was emotionally intelligent enough to know that it was also a logical conclusion, if not slightly jaded. He very much didn't want to correct Wes, but the way he'd asked made it hard to avoid without clamming up and making him mad. "I don't correct people when they make wrong assumptions about me," the bluette continued, fingers itching the corners of his cauterized flesh. "Either I'll prove it wrong or it won't matter anyway, y'know?"

It was much deeper than that, but it wasn't something he'd monologue about. Monologuing wasn't in someone like Kiigan, who often did his best to fly just under the radar. Neither was over-explaining unless he just couldn't get the words right. "If you decide to hire me, you'll find out if I'm just about the vigs or not."

That should do it, right? He didn't want to come right out and say that sometimes his angel nature got in the way and he really did take some actions for people even if they didn't line his pocket. Kiigan had his own sense of right and wrong, so if he felt it was right to protect someone, he'd do it. Sometimes he wished he could just be driven by money and do whatever. He'd have certainly paid off his debt by now.

[wc: 341 || total: 3564]

"Off kilter is the least of what I've been called while my face is sufferin'," Kiigan responded, a smidge of humor crinkling the corners of his Wes-casted eyes though it didn't seem to reach his mouth. Of course, Wes was right. Everything about the fedoraed man screamed worldly, even if he hadn't already watched damage being inflicted to his nice (hm, so he thought it was nice, huh?) face no more than a half hour ago. "I just find that people outside of Ilyanor put very little value on words when they aren't about them. Sayin' things about yourself is worthless, truth or lies, good or bad. They gotta see. And words do nothin' to guard gettin' punched in the face, though they're great for startin' the brawls."

Though the angel had been away from Ilyanor a little while now, there were still a lot of things about the non-Gaiyan world he didn't know. It was a deficiency he was made painfully aware of on the daily, a foe he battled every day to overcome. One thing he did know was most people were easy enough to offend by words, but trying to undo the offence with words didn't have the same weight. It was weird, but then again, Kiigan had never been good at conveying things aloud. Not even at home.

Oblivious to his prospective boss' disgruntled look at his wound, which he'd now picked at until it started to lightly bleed, once more his eyes gazed around the room. This time he was looking for more tactical information than things to keep from looking at the smaller red-head. One exit, which was the way they'd come in. He moved around and moved a few of the musty, crusty curtains around to see if any secret exits lay behind them. No such luck. Only one exit, which could be a two edged sword. It was good for escaping and blocking pursuers, but only if they got to it first. If it was blocked, they were as good as trapped.

Shifting gears back to the mission at hand, he concluded his exploration of the room and returned his fiery hues to the oceanic ones seated comfortably at the table. Kiigan wasn't one to really ask questions, but he wanted to be more sure of his role in this before whoever was coming came through the door. "What should I be expectin' to happen during this..." he trailed, tilting his head a bit in sudden confusion. He'd forgotten the word for what Wes said he'd be meeting the guy up here for. "...Boker? ...Joker?"

Neither of those sounded right, and it made him earnestly scowl.

[wc: 444 || total: 4392]