trashy

[fuckishgard]

[ To think he'd been captured. The man now knowned as Rose Bandit - one of the few who refused to give up the path of heresy with their leader dead, and with Nidhogg fell as well. Because he had nothing else. Ishgard had ripped away his purpose once again. And so, perhaps he had gotten a little cocky, selling what he called potions of power in the open, in the city itself. But it was dragons' blood, and it was clearly seen when one of the children had taken it close by.

And now he had been captured. People kept trying to question him, but he refused to talk. As their backs were turned, however, he couldn't help but tremble a little. If his hands were not tied, he would be placing hands to his rose-tinted ears, scales having grown on them from the blood he kept using. But other then that, his face still mirrored that of Lord Francel - well, it would if it were younger. The noble who had vanished so long ago...

Feh. To think of himself as a noble was to give up what he did. He remained still, looking at the ground, still listening to footsteps echoing. ]