The Slave Trade Tavern

[Jaime Keating]

"Get back, boy, before I beat you within an inch of your life!"

"Look here! This shifter is quick and strong and perfect for - !"

"The bidding will start at 65 gold pieces!"

The voices were meshed together, difficult to understand, but he had heard them all before several times. Every time he and Briar had taken a trip to the City, they'd have to pass by the slave trade. And every time a lump had formed in his throat because he didn't believe slavery was right. The same lump was settling in the back of his throat, and Jaime's eyes stung as he saw how the slaves were treated - beaten and sold like cattle. He desperately wanted to help them. But the boy didn't have enough money to buy up every slave he ever laid eyes on, and he certainly couldn't afford to be captured because he was trying to free them.
Not now.
He was part of the Song of Heroes now, so he had to be careful.

Jaime had almost become a slave once. In the City, small children needed to stay with adults or they would be snatched off the streets, especially in the slave trade areas. One day the throng had gotten particularly bad and Jaime had been separated from his older sister, Briar. He had wandered aimlessly, calling out his sister's name. Finally, a strange man had grabbed his arm and told him he knew where Briar was. Jaime followed him. Back then, there was no such thing as a stranger in the boy's eyes - everyone was a friend and everyone could be trusted. It was just pure luck that Briar saw him, being dragged away from one of the slave traders, and that she had reached him. He remembered the beat down clearly because he remembered being so amazed as Briar's strength. She then picked him up and trotted away as quickly as possible.

He shook his head at the memory, his dark cloak threatening to fall away from his face. The boy wasn't well-known in the Song yet, so there weren't any wanted posted for Finch up, but it was always better safe than sorry.
Cloti taught him that.
Feeling sick to his stomach all of a sudden, the boy hurried to a nearby tavern, slowly picking up speed until he was practically running when he reached the door. Jaime burst in, making more of a commotion than he meant to and gaining attention because of that. His lips parted into an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that," he called, and the patrons went back to what they were doing.

Sitting at the bar, he ordered a water. Maybe that would settle his stomach. Carefully, he rested his arms on the counter and his head on his arms, keeping his cloak covering his light blonde hair. Why had he suddenly felt so queasy? The boy honestly didn't know. Maybe the way the slaves were being treated? Jaime sighed, lifting his head when the bartender returned with his water. He lifted it to his lips, taking gentle sips to calm his twisting knot of a stomach.

[Nigel of Haighven]

"Listen up and listen well, all y'bastards!"

A powerful voice shook the tavern. Ah, well, it was time to earn some money. Nigel trotted obediently up to the usual platform that was reserved for himself as he heard his master's voice. The band on his left wrist was the tell-tale sign of a slave, though when one caught sight of him, it was hard to believe that the ever-smiling, dark haired boy was a slave. Nothing about him except for that band would give him away; he was even in his performing attire, a neat suit, not such an expensive affair, but enough for one to notice that he was of some importance--especially for a slave.

"Here we have, in my possession, the best musician that you can find, so cherish the chance you can, hear him play free, before you lose your sorry ears!"

Nigel was only half listening to his master as he adjusted the position of the chair. From beneath his black curtain, he caught sight of the various tough-looking beings slowly diverting their attention towards him. It wasn't like Dagan would actually let him be sold off; he was the chief money-maker that he possessed. He knew that a hefty price was on him. As master went and boasted even more, he struck a chord or two, smiling as the guitar was tuned perfectly. Now if he could just finally get this over and done with.

"Shut up, bastard and let us hear the damned boy!"
Someone in the crowd yelled this. A corner of Nigel's lip twitched as he watched the ever-present antics and fights and at long last, he caught the dark brown eyes of Dagan that signaled for him to begin.

As if his fingers had been itching to do this, he plucked away at the guitar, fingers moving swiftly and expertly. Slowly, the chatter died away as the song progressed like a hare streaking off after captivity. He opened his mouth and words poured out automatically, a melody that sang of triumph and victory. It hushed the crowd. Soon they would go through the same procedure again, slave traders bargaining and arguing with Dagan for them to buy him over, Dagan refusing and the usual spectacle. Such was life.

[Jaime Keating]

His stomach was starting to settle down, but now it was grumbling like he was hungry, which Jaime figured was probably the true reason his stomach had protested so loudly and angrily earlier. Not that seeing all the slaves helped. The boy smiled at the bartender, paid for his water, and stood to leave the tavern and continue his city travels. His reason for being there was simple - discreetly tear down as many wanted posted as he could find. But as he stood...

"Listen up and listen well, all y'bastards!"

Like every other patron, Jaime's eyes immediately snapped to the man speaking. He looked rich and powerful. But movement near the man caught the boy's attention. A boy not much younger than himself had situated himself on a platform (a stage, maybe?) and was continually smiling. The two were probably partners or something, traveling from tavern to tavern to gain money.

"Here we have, in my possession, the best musician that you can find, so cherish the chance you can, hear him play free, before you lose your sorry ears!"

...
What?
The boy was a slave?
Jaime could hardly believe it. He seemed so cheerful, almost happy even, to be a slave. But one look at his wrist told him that what the man had said was true. It was just difficult to believe. Every slave he had seen seemed miserable, sad, angry, lonely, but never cheerful. So why was this boy different?

A thought struck him.
Perhaps the boy was like him?

Jaime was ridiculously positive, finding good points in almost anything. Others could be exactly the same - perhaps that is why the boy was cheerful. He didn't have long to think about it, however; the boy soon began to play, then to sing, and all Jaime found he could do was sink back into his bar stool and listen. He was really good at what he did, obviously. When it ended, the sorcerer just sat there for a moment, a smile on his face, before he decided that he wanted to speak with the boy. Without hesitation, he hopped off the bar stool, weaseled through the crowds of people, and strode to the slave, smiling brightly at him. "You're really, really good. Where did you learn to play and sing like that?" he asked, genuinely curious about his skill. Jaime couldn't remember ever hearing anyone quite that good.

[Nigel of Haighven]

Once this number was over, Nigel sat back, leaning on the backrest as master Dagan went on yelling and screaming. It was now that a whole bunch of men were swarming around the blond haired man, roaring and demanding the price for him. According to master and many of the slaves, he was a talented musician, though he would think that there was always someone better than he himself. It could very well have been true; there were many people out there in the world, many that he hadn't met, a whole world of possibilities, daemons, fae, shifter, other humans.

"You're really, really good. Where did you learn to play and sing like that?"
A voice brought him back from space. The musical, analytical part of him told Nigel that the boy couldn't have been older than he was, older even, perhaps. A moment later, he turned to see who had spoken and was rather surprised.

As he had thought, the boy could not have been much older than himself, but what did surprise him was that he actually came up to him and talked to him. Not many people were like that, neither did they treat him as a familiar of theirs. This made the boy rather pleased and after a moment of doubt, his smile returned again. "Thank you," He acknowledged the praise. The way he was dressed didn't seem that he was rich enough, neither did he sem old enough to, well, earn master Dagan's respect. Nigel made a mental note to watch out for him just in case he would take offense to the young man's conversing with him. "But... well, how would I put this, forgive me, sir..." He excused himself as he paused to think.
Where had he gotten his talent from? Well, he didn't know. All he did know was that he'd had it ever since he could remember. Perhaps it was something that his parents had passed down to him or a unique talent of his own. He struck a string of the guitar softly in experiment, he just could play.

After a moment or two, he made his reply. "I don't really know, I've just always been able to play, always been playing." He admitted sheepishly. "My apologies, I can not enlighten you further." Even though he was looking at those warm brown eyes that seemed unable to hurt any creature, Nigel still felt a need to me formal--just in case.

[Jaime Keating]

He could heard the shouts and demands nearby, people offering to buy the boy off the blonde man's hands. In the back of his head, he wanted to snap at them, tell them that the musician had the right to be free just like anyone else, that nothing deserved to be held captive. Nothing, even animals. That's why Jaime had always said that, if Tuft ever decided he wanted to leave, the boy would let him - even a small animal had the right to be free. But even if he snapped on them, it wouldn't do anything except get himself or the boy in trouble (and, while Jaime didn't mind getting himself into trouble, he wouldn't want someone else to take a fall because of him). So he did what he had to do.

He ignored it.

"But... well, how would I put this, forgive me, sir..."
Sir? Had the boy called him sir?
Jaime blinked in confusion, then smiled playfully, laughter in his eyes. But he waited for him to respond before he commented about it. So the musician didn't know where his skill came from? He sounded like a bard, then - people who were ridiculously good with instruments and charisma without even trying. But, man, the kid was really formal. It actually made Jaime kind of sad; had he been taught to be so formal all the time by his master?

"Don't worry about it. It's fine if you can't remember. And, hey, you don't have to be so formal with me!" Jaime hesitated then, cast a look in the direction of the boy's master, then added in a softer voice, "Unless you're doing so because he's so close?" It would make sense, he supposed. Most slaves were afraid of their master.
He disliked that word.
Master.
Bleh.

The blonde's smile returned, and he tilted his head slightly. "By the way, I'm Finch. You are?"

[Nigel of Haighven]

"Don't worry about it. It's fine if you can't remember. And, hey, you don't have to be so formal with me!"
Nigel relaxed, as if a punishment had just been relieved of him. He tossed his dark hair out of his eyes, allowing the crystal green to observe the boy with almost unconcealed interest. He definitely wasn't a slave and therefore shouldn't be treated like one, but if he did actually wish, well, a whole new separate category would be created for him.
"Alright, I won't." He promised.

"Unless you're doing so because he's so close?"
Nigel took one look at Dagan before bursting into a round of giggles. The man was so intent on his trading, showing off and bargaining that he really couldn't care less what Nigel himself was doing... unless he was trying to run off. He didn't think that he would run off; it wasn't like he had a bad life anyways. Dagan treated him well and as for those who weren't... he cheered them up. It was always better to see someone smile than frown; it was what he told himself. "No, not really. It's just the way I've been living since, well, since I've been living." He replied sheepishly, not having much of a way to put the message across. He was born into slavery and while his past life had been much harder, he had forgotten most of it.

Reaching behind his chair, he located the guitar case, a wood case coated with velvet to ensure that the instrument would not be damaged. Today he only had his guitar with him and was only here for one number. Dagan wouldn't expect him to be playing more so it was all the better to be keeping the instrument where it belonged.

"By the way, I'm Finch. You are?"
Nigel looked up from where he fastened the last catch together. "Nigel." He answered. "Nigel of Haighven." He had nothing to lose by giving out his full name. He was just an ordinary slave after all.

[Jaime Keating]

Pleased with Nigel's promise that he would be so formal, Jaime grinned happily at him. He was certainly an interesting slave. The boy seemed to find him equally interesting, if the way he was looking at him was any indication; Nigel seemed just as interested in Jaime as Jaime was in Nigel.
Well, it made sense.
From what he could tell so far, they were alike. Alike, but completely different at the same time. Jaime was free; Nigel was not. But they both seemed to have the same type of personality, if first impressions were anything to go by.

"No, not really. It's just the way I've been living since, well, since I've been living."
Jaime frowned. Did that mean Nigel was born into slavery? Or just that he'd always been taught to be polite and formal like that? It could go either way, and the boy didn't want to accidently offend him by asking. So he stored it in the back of his mind to ask at a later date, if he still was around Nigel.
He hoped so.

Curiously, Jaime watched the boy retrieve the guitar case, interested in the shape and the materials it was made of. He had never really been around instruments. Briar had never been able to afford them, and Jaime had never had the skill it required to play an instrument. He halfway wanted to ask Nigel if he could see the guitar, but he didn't want to accidently break it and the boy had already put it up.

Brown eyes flicked to Nigel's master, still haggling with the customers. "He's really interested in those people, isn't he?" the boy asked without thinking about it. His eyes flicked back to the slave, tilting his head. "Does he do this a lot?"

[Nigel of Haighven]

Nigel caught Jaime's eyes as they roamed towards the guitar. Now that it was safe in its case, he didn't want to take it out any more--just in case. It wasn't that he thought Jaime would damage the instrument, but it was an instinct, just in case something really did happen. Sometimes the bunch with master Dagan would get a little rowdy and it would often get to a loud brawl that often left things wrecked. He personally did not approve of this, but he could not do much about it, being a slave.

"He's really interested in those people, isn't he?"
He looked over to where Dagan was still among the crowd as they jostled, shouting out various prices as they fought to have Nigel in their possession. If they did so, it would probably mean that he would be sold at an even higher price than what he was sold for--such was business.
"Does he do this a lot?"
Nigel nodded. It was like this every single time. "Yes, every time I play, he will go through this whole process." He wished it could be a little less rough, but there was nothing to do.

"Shut it! I'm leaving, bastards!"
The smile faded from Nigel's face as he heard the sentence. Dagan was already turning around and Jaime... well, he could very well take him as a slave. "Move!" He hissed to Jaime as he shoved the boy away, returning hurriedly to a calm sitting position, smile plastered on his face as he met Dagan's eyes.
"Let's go, Nigel."
Dagan's gruff voice commanded as he ignored the shouts and protests. "Alright," Grabbing the guitar case, Nigel hopped off the platform gracefully. He looked to see if Jaime was alright, shooting him an apologetic glance; it was for his own good. He was also pretty sure that Jaime would not like to be a slave. Their time was short, but maybe they would meet again... later today or perhaps tomorrow.

[Lazarus]

“Wait, just a moment, sir.” A calm, strong voice rose out of the crowd, and many turned to view the person who had managed to elevate his words higher than all of their noisy complaints. A cloaked figure of a man was making his way through the crowd like some otherworldly Moses, an unknown aura of some sort pushing those around him to the side as he made his way towards the platform on which Dagan was perched. He stopped directly underneath the man’s gruff figure, turning his darkened, concealed face upwards to him, light only managing to show his almost frustratingly mysterious smile and the barest hint of his nose and a long scar adorning his cheek. As soon as he’d halted, the neck of his cloak began to rustle, and a doll slowly crawled from the depths of his clothing, before pulling itself up to sit his shoulder, surveying the area with contemplating button-eyes. Before he said any more, the anonymous man lifted one hand, placing it with a fatherly care on top of Jaime’s head. “I will only take a second more of your time – our deal will be short and sweet.”

The man’s cloaked head swiveled to survey Nigel silently for a second. “…How much did you pay for such a talented child?” he asked, his smile widening. “A lot, I’m guessing. Or maybe you were just fortunate to have him delivered straight into your service? Anyway, whatever you bought him for – or however much you are wishing for him – why don’t you double that price? That’s how much I’ll pay for him. Or how about triple? I’ll pay that much, too!” Two bags of coins were suddenly held within the grasp of his one free hand, and even the doll had pulled a small bag out from the confines of her dress and was holding it on her lap. He laughed cheerfully while the crowd suddenly burst into murmurs of suspicion. Who was this man who’d so suddenly appeared in their midst? Why was he hiding his face? How did he have so much money… and was there even more on him? Unbelievable rumors were already arising within fractions of a second, some of them even more elaborate and illogical than the truth. But it was apparent that the man wasn’t going to make it out of the tavern without some sort of confrontation… and it was also apparent that he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his doll companion was even smiling.

“So, sir,” the King of Thieves asked, smile almost mocking now, “what do you say? Do you accept my price? Or do you have something else you wish to add? I wished to take only a few seconds for a transaction, but maybe you’ll make this even harder than it is.” All eyes were on the King and Dagan now, waiting for a response.

[Jaime Keating]

Jaime frowned again. So this guy did this all the time? It was probably nerve-racking, never knowing when you were going to be sold off to someone else. And was Nigel's master bragging about Nigel? If he did this all the time, but never sold the boy, then it seemed like bragging to him.
That angered Jaime almost as much as Nigel being a slave in the first place.
Who gave him the right?

"Move!"

Suddenly, he was being shoved to the side, off the platform. The boy stumbled, catching himself just barely on a chair but throwing the chair down in the process, and scrambed back to his feet. The unexpected occurrence had thrown his dark cloak down over his head, exposing the unruly blonde spikes - which were definitely spiking every which way. Jaime wasn't wearing his hat, which generally gave his hair at least a semblance of being orderly, and so without it his medium-to-long length hair just did whatever it felt like doing. Brown eyes flicked up, wondering why Nigel had shoved him, to the boy's apologetic eyes - a moment later he noticed Dagan.
Ah. Okay then.

Wait... they were leaving?
A hint of panic filled his eyes. How could he help? The boy moved forward, ignoring his safety like he so often did, and opened his mouth to speak to Nigel's master. And then a hand plopped on top of his head, which acted like a counterbalance, closing the blonde's mouth. He looked up at the stranger, confusion blossoming on his face. Jaime couldn't do much except listen to the transaction.

This strange man was going to buy Nigel and there was nothing he could do about. Who knew what he would do to him? Jaime flicked his gaze between the stranger, Dagan, and finally landed on Nigel, giving him his own apologetic look for not being able to help him. Not now, at least. If he had to, he would buy his time. He had taken a liking to the slave, despite barely knowing him, and he wanted to ensure his freedom.

[Nigel of Haighven]

Maybe he had exerted too much force when he shoved Finch, for he saw the boy careen into a chair, exposing his long, wild blond hair. He'd usually apologize, but then Dagan would punish them both, so the best he could do was pretend that he didn't care about Finch... until he saw the boy actually approach Dagan. The calm look faded from his face into horror. That was a death sentence that Finch was trying to get himself. The worst part about it was that he could do nothing, absolutely nothing. He stood there miserably as Dagan's lip curled as he caught sight of the boy.

“Wait, just a moment, sir.”
Nigel's head turned attentively as the louder voice summoned attention from his general direction. He was obviously summoning Dagan as well, but this new stranger was shrouded in mystery and seemed to enjoy it too. His progress was unhindered, like a magnet repelling others of the like pole. His attention was immediately stolen away from Jaime and completely focused on the fascinating stranger.

Suddenly, something appeared from the neck of his cloak. Nigel smiled in delight as he saw that it was a doll; a doll wearing a pink dress and looking as mysterious as the cloaked man himself. Nigel wondered how the doll was able to move; some magic perhaps.

“I will only take a second more of your time – our deal will be short and sweet.”
Dagan's looked at the man. He longed to rip off the hood that protected this creature's arrogant face. "Name your terms." He replied gruffly.
To his surprise, the cloaked man's eyes wandered onto Nigel, who stared back curiously, attention divided between him and the doll.
“…How much did you pay for such a talented child?”
That was the catch phrase. He knew that this man wanted him. For what he didn't know, but from what he could gather, he seemed like a nice person. “A lot, I’m guessing. Or maybe you were just fortunate to have him delivered straight into your service? Anyway, whatever you bought him for – or however much you are wishing for him – why don’t you double that price? That’s how much I’ll pay for him. Or how about triple? I’ll pay that much, too!”
Nigel's eyes widened. This man seemed intent on buying him. Perhaps this would be the time that he would be freed from Dagan. His sight drifted towards the tall, blond man. He was eyeing the cloaked man with interest. "Start price is 750 gold pieces." He told the man. It was 50 gold pieces more than the last offer, but seeing the three bags of gold, he was set on getting them all - perhaps even more.

Nigel peeked around Dagan to Finch, who really seemed distressed. He definitely didn't know this strange man. He looked sad to see Nigel being sold off. He immediately felt bad for causing the boy worry. "Cough it up." Dagan beckoned towards all three bags of gold. "All of it and the boy is yours." He looked between Dagan, the mysterious man and Finch, completely astound. His guitar case was still in his hand as he regarded them all. Was he really worth that much? Twice 750 gold pieces? All he could do was play... and sing.

[Lazarus]

Lazarus’s smile only widened at Dagan’s greed, and the crowd’s anticipation and surprise. Oh, if only this was the type of circumstance where he could pull some awe-inspiring trick, knocking that greedy gaze off the man’s face… And knock the idea that human beings’ lives just like his own could be sold for such low prices as actual currency. He knew exactly the feeling of being passed from hand to hand so swiftly and so easily – and, as a child, he’d detested it more than anything else. Nowadays, he could confine that childish, bitter resentment much more easily than before; many different forms of maltreatment and lessons of self-control had managed to teach him that. But it couldn’t be confined enough to prevent him from itching horribly to play some self-centered mischief on the man… though now was not the time.

“…As you wish, sir,” Lazarus obeyed instead, bowing elaborately yet lowly in order to hide his smile, which was almost trembling in restricted amusement and disgust. “Your price is cheap, considering the trade in which you immerse yourself. But it bothers me not if I am able to save a few hundred coins in the process.” He stood at full height again, now completely in control of himself after throwing out a few softened insults. He threw another glance to Nigel, before turning to face the detestable man once again. “I shall receive the guitar, too, yes? I believe it has no use to you any longer, now that you do not have a player for it. Besides, I believe the boy is quite fond of it, and it will save me from having to buy another for him to play myself. But I’ll throw in a bit of extra change, to soothe any disagreements you may have.”

He lifted his hand from Jaime’s scruffy, feathery hair for a fraction of a moment to retrieve another tiny bag from the confines of his coat, and take Lacey’s bag of gold to throw all the bags up onto the platform at Dagan’s feet. “There you are,” Lazarus said with his final smile to the older man. “I am glad to have dealt with you today, sir. I shall be taking my leave with my… purchases… now.” He glanced up to Nigel once again, the light finally managing to reach within the confines of his thick cloak, and reveal his twinkling eyes and scarred face to the young boy. “Nigel, isn’t it? Come here, take my hand. Bring your guitar and its case. We’ll be leaving now.” He then looked down, finally meeting the eyes of the boy his hand had been laying on for a good while now. “You too, Jaime. Come with me. Trust me, I will not harm you, you take my word for it. And my word is worth more than you may think, even considering the circumstances.” He offered both his hands to the boys, urging them to take them and hurry along.

[Jaime Keating]

"Start price is 750 gold pieces."

Holy - how could anyone afford that!? Jaime glanced at Nigel, deciding that his talent must be considered very, very special around here for that price. Or perhaps Dagan was just greedy? His question was answered when the man stated that only those three bags, which definitely held more than 750 gold pieces in them, would let him part with the black-haired boy. A faint scowl, an expression that was almost terrifying coming from such an innocent looking kid, crossed his lips and was directed in Nigel's master's general direction.
Greedy bastard.

He listened quietly, with increasing horror, as the stranger made the deal, bowing low as if Dagan was his better - which Jaime did doubt, considering the way this man had entered the tavern and the mysterious, almost dangerous aura that emitted from him. The blonde didn't feel too uncomfortable being around him, however.
Why not?
He was buying Nigel, buying a slave like he'd done it before.
Jaime shouldn't feel even close to comfortable around him.

Brown eyes blinked as the strange man looked down at him, and Jaime was pretty sure that the confusion was still on his face. That confusion only increased at the man's words.
“You too, Jaime. Come with me. Trust me, I will not harm you, you take my word for it. And my word is worth more than you may think, even considering the circumstances.”

How did this man know his name?
Just who was he?
For a few moments, the boy just stared up at the stranger, flicking his gaze to the outstretched hand that had been offered to him. But, finally, the blonde placed his hand in the strange man's, trusting him. He had made a promise, hadn't he? Which meant that he was good and could be trusted. Jaime had always been ridiculously trusting, though, probably to a fault. His gaze turned to Nigel, and the boy smiled at him pleasantly.[/size]

[Nigel of Haighven]

“Your price is cheap, considering the trade in which you immerse yourself. But it bothers me not if I am able to save a few hundred coins in the process.”
Dagan's lip curled at this, threatening to snap outright and haul him a few times over; perhaps even confiscate that enchanted doll on his shoulder. However, he did have the dignity to bow and that was what stopped him from blowing up.
“I shall receive the guitar, too, yes? I believe it has no use to you any longer, now that you do not have a player for it. Besides, I believe the boy is quite fond of it, and it will save me from having to buy another for him to play myself. But I’ll throw in a bit of extra change, to soothe any disagreements you may have.”
His eyes widened greedily at the prospect. Extra change? Perfect, all the more profitable for him. He was willing to part with the boy; this much money was as much as Nigel had earned him in two years. He could let the boy go.
A jingling as four bags were tossed by his feet. He scooped them up greedily with a cackle, sweeping out of the room as the others eyed him with distaste and contempt. Today certainly was a successful trading day.

Nigel looked at Finch, watching his expression contort. He hadn't done anything to insult him... had he? The blond boy's expression got darker and darker as the two older men spoke. Finally, Dagan stalked away, almost dancing in glee. He blinked, unsettled.
“Nigel, isn’t it? Come here, take my hand. Bring your guitar and its case. We’ll be leaving now.”
The man caught his attention. He bowed, an old habit. "Yes sir!" He leaped off the platform gracefully and took the man's hand, feeling rather awkward. It was the first time someone had ever asked him to take their hand; it was usually him who comforted the smaller ones this way. He looked up, seeing a long scar that ran down one side of the man's cheek and lively, dark eyes. Ah, he did not seem like he would be anything close to a bad master. Letting his eyes wander, he caught sight of the doll and smiled. He would have to ask about it later if the man was hospitable enough.
Diverting his gaze to Finch, he was relieved; the boy was no longer frowning. However, he had noted the man - his master - call him "Jaime". Did he have two names or something? "Where do we go now?" He asked.

[Lazarus]

"Yes sir! Where do we go now?"
Lazarus smiled genuinely, and let out a small yet short laugh at Nigel. What an obedient child… unlike he had been. Even the boy Jaime had slightly suspiciously taken his hand; a sweet, trusting boy despite perhaps a bit more than a little naïve. “Well, boys,” he said with a glance upwards at the muttering crowd around them, who were staring at them with a mixture of suspicion, greed, and distaste, “I suppose that we can’t walk out through the front door anymore, can we…?” He began to pull the pair forward towards the door despite his words, not even looking back at the small group of people tailing them cautiously. He knew they were there, however… he knew perfectly. “Lacey… did you set up the distraction as I asked?” he questioned as they strolled along, their pursuers getting closer.

“Yes, master,” the small doll said with a nod, the first time she’d talked since their entrance. “I did it all as you asked me to.”

“Well, we can only hope that it will go off as I’d ho—“ Lazarus’s sentence was abruptly cut off by a loud yell, and two men at the tavern suddenly rose to their feet before shoving each other backwards. “You took my money, bastard!” “I did no such thing—““Don’t act like you didn’t! I found it right in your back pocket—““Now we go!” Lazarus said with something almost like excitement. He pulled both boys abruptly to the side behind the bar, before pushing them through a small door leading off to the kitchen. None of the cooks made any move as Lazarus pushed the two boys hastily through the kitchen area, finally exiting the room through a door in the back. It led out into a small alleyway in the back of the building, which he continued to tug the pair down, glancing behind them every few steps. They emerged into one of the main streets after a few seconds, and Lazarus hurried them down the street for a few more minutes before finally slowing. And, once they’d stopped, Lazarus burst out laughing. “Exciting, huh?” he asked the two with a smile and a squeeze of their hands. “But that’s not what I led you two out of there for… however, I’m going to lead us a bit farther on before I tell you why I did what I did.” He offered them another small smile of reassurance.

[Jaime Keating]

Wait, why were they heading toward the front door if they couldn't leave that way?
Jaime glance around at the restless crowd that seemed far too intrigued by the trio. They wouldn't start anything, would they? Another look around made him realize that, yes, they would indeed like to start something - an arguement, a fight, he didn't know. So how were they going to get out of here?

"Yes, master. I did it all as you asked me to."

The new voice startled him, and Jaime looked up at the stranger, his eyes locking on to the strange little doll. Okay, so it could not only walk around but speak as well? That was almost creepy, but adorable at the same time. The corners of his lips turned up slightly at the little creature, though he was curious as to what kind of 'distraction' the little doll had set up.
He soon found out.
Not that he had a chance to investigate further as the strange man began to push and pull him away. Jaime simply followed, though his confusion grew with every step.

When they finally stopped, brown eyes lifted to the stranger. Despite the long, sudden run, he wasn't out of breath or even tired - the benefits of being a white sorcerer. Jaime never tired, not through physical exertion as least. He could probably run for hours and feel just fine afterwards. "Okay, but where are we going?" the blonde asked, the first time he had actually spoken to the stranger.

[Nigel of Haighven]

He looked up, puzzled as the man laughed. He didn't do anything bad, did he? However, it looked as if he wasn't going to be punish, so he could only assume that it was just some gesture of amusement at something unknown to him. He didn't know very much about the world anyways.
“I suppose that we can’t walk out through the front door anymore, can we…?”
Following the man's gaze, Nigel looked towards the front door, it certainly didn't look good. "No sir," Nigel agreed amiably. Before he knew it, the man seemed to pull them in that direction. He was going to complain before his master spoke yet again.
“Lacey… did you set up the distraction as I asked?”
Upon the unfamiliar name, he looked up in question. The doll was moving once again.
“Yes, master, I did it all as you asked me to.”
The doll talked. Her name was Lacey. A pleased smile crossed his features, it was certainly an amusing little thing, talking, moving and carrying the same mysterious aura as his master. Technically she was his master too, but before he had time to further think this out, the snarls of angry men filled the air. He felt a slight pressure and immediately obeyed; blinking in surprise as him and Finch (or Jaime, now really, which was it?) were led behind the bar, through the kitchen and outside.

He looked around him; there wasn't much to see around here, especially being in an alley. Nevertheless, the world seemed to have a different tint now that he wasn't with Dagan. Strange. “Exciting, huh? But that’s not what I led you two out of there for… however, I’m going to lead us a bit farther on before I tell you why I did what I did.”
A little further? Was he worried that people would come after him? This statement was immediately met by a question from Finch. He didn't seem to trust his master. Nigel himself was propelled on by the simple faith, the fact that he could trust and leave decisions to his master. Honestly, it seemed simpler this way. He knew that there were those that would argue. This was just the only way he had lived. He didn't know much more. "Alright." He gave his unnecessary consent. His guitar was still with him in one piece, but nevertheless, Nigel frowned. He didn't have his violin with him, and knowing Dagan, he wouldn't part with the violin very easily; he'd want more the second time.

[Lazarus]

“Okay, but where are we going?”

Lazarus looked down to the young blonde, meeting his questioning voice and gaze with his own for a fraction of a second. “Well… I suppose the safest place we could go would be nearer to the City of Thieves…” he said thoughtfully, partially to himself. He didn’t bother to specify on why this would be the safest place for them, possibly shocking the children more – after all, the City of Thieves was renowned for being the dwelling-place of most of the criminals of the city. At this time, however, maybe they were already thinking of him as a criminal. “But it’s a bit too far from here for my liking. We’ll just keep walking towards it, and I’ll tell you some things while we’re walking. Perhaps we’ll even finish our conversation before we get there.”

He took a few more steps in silence, before glancing down to Jaime again. “You’re a member of the Song of Heroes,” he said matter-of-factly. “Jaime Keating, of the Song of Heroes… You know Clotilda.” He offered a small smile. “Before you become suspicious of me again – for I saw the look you were giving me earlier, and even now, and can read it easily – know that I’m somewhat of a… friend to Clotilda. If you describe me to her, then she will be sure to recognize me. In fact, you can probably just mention Lacey here to her now, and she’ll assure that she knows me.” He pointed a forefinger to the doll perched on his shoulder, who was watching Jaime with her knowing button eyes, yet not saying a sentence more than what she’d said to her master before. “I won’t tell your secret. And I know you’re probably not worried by Nigel here spreading your newfound secret, but rest assured – from now on, Nigel, you are unable to speak any word of Jaime’s ‘job’ as a Hero to anyone that I do not designate you to speak of it to. You are allowed to speak of it, as of currently, to only Jaime and myself.”

Lazarus placed his hand on Nigel’s head this time, and ruffled his hair lightly. “Rest assured, Nigel,” he told him with a friendly smile, “that is perhaps one of the only orders that I shall ever give you. You will find me a fairly tolerable master, as I know what slavery is like firsthand.” He then turned his attention back to Jaime. “Before I speak any more, though – do you have any questions for me? You’re bound to be wondering who I am, at least, by this time. And Nigel, you are free to inquire and speak as you please yourself. Just keep your voices low – though I have ways of keeping words from traveling, I don’t wish to trouble myself unnecessarily with such trifle things at a time like this.”