Brave Galaxy is set in a world loosely based on Hiro Mashima’s Fairy Tail and Eden’s Zero. It is a PG-13 or so rated space fantasy RP, and uses a combination of character statistics, which can be acquired via roleplaying and events, and creative freedom to help direct players’ characters. While there is a main storyline, which can be found in the events section, characters are free to interact with others and their environment however they see fit.
Explore the galaxy. Overcome the obstacles in your path. Shape the future of humanity.
The sound of books being hastily shoved back on the shelves they came from, filled the library's otherwise quiet atmosphere. Patrons cast concerned glances at Damien as he searched from book to book with a frenzied pace. Damien was oblivious to the scene he was creating. This library was merely stop number one for him in Belladonna, as he looked for any information on restorative and revival magic. The latter was the more important of the two, given the fact that he himself was brought back to life. It was also the harder to find information on, as it was a magic that wasn't typically common or well thought of. The dead were to stay that way. Clearly someone didn't get that memo, as here Damien was.
A heavy sigh escaped Damien's otherwise pursed lips. His searching was futile, and he was tired of the patrons staring at him. Perhaps it was time for a break. Also a drink.
As he left the library and walked down the steps to the sidewalk, Damien lit a cigarette and thought about his destination. He hadn't been here before. He hadn't really been anywhere before. After waking up off a table in some unknown facility with no memories other than his name and some vague flashbacks, Damien had wandered around trying adjust and piece himself together. He had been doing well to get as far as he currently had. He was told Belladonna was the place to go if you sought answers, and here Damien was.
"Closest bar?" Damien said to next person that passed him by. They jerked their thumb behind themselves and said "Round the corner. Look for blue sign. Jackson's." Damien thanked them for the information, and made his way in the designated direction. They day was quickly coming to an end, and Damien couldn't think of any other way to finish it, than to sit down and mull over his failed attempts at learning anything that would piece his mind back together
Damien approached the bar not long after being told where to find it. Jackson's was a small hole in the wall sort of place. It likely was a dive bar for this very reason. He was fine with that. They tended to have better atmospheres than larger establishments. He opened the door and was instantly greeted with the scent of cigarette smoke and booze. Perfect. The lighting was dim, so he couldn't make out the full layout immediately, until his eyes adjusted. A veil of smoke also obscured his sight further. He carefully made his way to a stool in front of the bartender, and saw that the bar top stretched across the back wall of the building. Plenty of seating, which was helpful, as each of those seats were filled. This place seemed to be quite popular.
"Rum on the rocks please. Whatever your best sipping rum is. Dark preferred." Damien's order was acknowledged with a nod. While waiting for his order, Damien scanned the area again, now that his eyes had adjusted to the low lighting. Aside from the seats at the long bar, the only other seating were booths that were sectioned off, giving patrons a bit of privacy and made it more cozy. Damien was amused by the booths, as his first thought was how they were likely used for shady meetings. A glass of rum and ice was sat in front of Damien, who in response thanked the bartender and took a deep sip. It was a fine spiced rum that went down nice and smooth. Damien nodded to himself in appreciation, and lit another cigarette. He could happily spend some time here.
Smoke, fire, the groaning of steel snapped under some unknown pressure. Her first true memories, brought to light. Chains, shackles, all burned away in the bright nothingness, steeped in something unknowable, untouchable.
Every night, it repeated. At least at that point in time she had a distraction, a momentary respite from the words, repeating over and over, a monotonous drone she had no idea how to interpret. The cargo ship was rundown, packages piled up on top of one another with little sane intent, although all were labelled with the destination of Belladonna in mind. And in one corner of the hold Camilla sat, huddled in the frayed blue poncho she had managed to acquire from an unfortunate thrift store, breath escaping her lips in a visible fashion. A thing to note, along with being illegal smuggling oneself onto a ship was also an extremely unpleasant experience. Not like she had much other choice, however, passage across space would have cut too much out of her limited funds, a meager amount of credits that had been scrounged, scavenged, bartered to their current total. Her right hand was wrapped into her left, a leather embrace that helped relatively little in her struggle against the void's calling. Yet a sudden shift in the hold, the careening of a sudden deceleration, told Camilla it was time to move. She only hoped the slimy pilot of the freighter hadn't decided to take an unfortunate detour.
One moment passed, then another, a few more rumbles of the atmospheric shift before finally the distinct sound of a vessel docking, after all while the galaxy was by far unfamiliar to her, she had already hopped a few unpaid rides before. Camilla had also had more than a few close calls even in those sparse experiences, and although force had never been necessary the lengths of steel pressed against her spine were present all the same. Another click, and she pulled herself to her feet, praying to something that it would be dark outside. And as the cargo door opened she was greeted with a glowing sunset, barely paying it mind as she slipped her hood over her tied blonde hair and quickly vacated the premises of the hangar. A bustling place, no one paid Camilla mind even as she shivered down the streets, gaze flickering between the industrial buildings and the centers of learning apparently characteristic of Belladonna. Well, word of mouth hadn't been wrong on that, at least. Before any information gathering could be taken care of, however, she needed to get out of the elements. A drink would help as well.
A dingy bar caught her eye, something by the name of Jackson's. That would be within her budget, wouldn't it? Camilla could only hope so as she pushed the door open, immediately greeted by the fumes of cigarettes and liquor, but more importantly warmth. It was a busy establishment for the time, probably was a local dive by the looks of it. That was good, she could perhaps get the lay of the land from some residents, or at least inquire on a place to stay, that was on her to-do list as well. She managed to find a seat at the counter next to a rather well dressed man, compared to herself and other patrons if nothing else. Not paying him mind, she rapped on the wood to get the barkeep's attention, and with a brief nod was acknowledged.
"Lager. Whatever you have on tap," Camilla spoke, a sigh escaping her lips. "And a sandwich or something as well, whatever's cheapest."
Halfway through the glass of rum, Damien was reminded how little he had eaten today. He could feel the effects of the alcohol much sooner than he was prepared for. His body really drove the point home when it growled in response to hearing a sandwich be ordered by the woman who sat beside him. He looked over at his neighbor, and nearly dropped his cigarette. She was dressed rather plainly, as if she was a traveler, so it wasn't her appearance that caught his attention. There was something about the woman that felt...familiar. Damien scratched his right forearm as he was lost in thought, which was something he found himself doing whenever he tried to remember anything about himself. He couldn't see her very well in the bar's lighting, but the woman's voice and posture was it took to shake Damien. He couldn't bring himself to say anything to her yet, as he did not want to come off as crazy. Telling a random woman in a bar that she seemed familiar, would likely be taken as a pick up line. He wasn't quite drunk enough for that.
"Food first, and then investigate this odd feeling I am getting from this woman." Damien though to himself, as he sighed. He waited for the bartender to come back towards him, so he could order, while also trying not to stare at the woman next to him. "May I also have a sandwich, like the one she ordered?" Damien asked, nodding his head at his neighbor. The sandwich looked decent enough and he was an indecisive person when it came to places he had never been before. At this point, Damien had finished his drink, and with things going the way they were, he would need another.
His sandwich arrived quickly, as well as another glass of rum that he had requested. The food was fantastic, although he could have eaten nearly anything and been happy given how hungry he was. While Damien ate, trouble began brewing in the bar. "That fancy dressed guy is a perfect target. That'll teach him for coming into a place like this." A snicker left the man's mouth before his magic began changing his form. When the spell completed, he was a perfect replication of Damien. Thanks to the smokey and dim atmosphere, the man was able to work mostly unknown by Damien himself. "Oh, excuse me sir." Fake Damien said, bumping into a burly man, causing him to drop his beer. In the commotion, the copycat was able to lift the man's wallet and watch from his person, undetected. Before the large man could retaliate, the fake Damien had slipped away, and moved to his next target. By the time he was done, the thief had stolen money and jewelry from five different patrons, before hiding in the corner and changing his form back to his original. "HEY, I KNOW YOU STOLE MY WALLET AND WATCH!" "AND MY MONEY TOO!" "YEA, AND MINE!"
Damien sat there with his mouth wide open, and sandwich nearly in his mouth. He gently put his food down, and addressed the angry patrons. "I have no idea what you are talking about." He truly didn't. Damien hadn't moved from his seat since arriving here, so how could he have done anything? "Yea, I am sure. I will just have to remind you by beating my possessions out of you." Damien sighed to himself. He really didn't want to fight anyone here. He had a long day, and now he had his mind racing due to the woman next to him. "That really isn't necessary. I haven't moved since arriving here. Feel free to ask the bartender. Perhaps you are mistaken." The large man stepped forward from the crowd and poked a finger into Damien's chest. "There is no mistaking this suit. No one else here is wearing anything else like it. Nice try." Damien's eyes narrowed. There wasn't going to be any talking his way out of this it seemed. "Unfortunate." Damien said, looking down at the finger being jammed into his chest. He couldn't really feel it, thanks to his suit's amazing defensive properties, but the angry man didn't know that. Nor did the angry man know what hit him, when Damien quickly jammed his palm underneath his jaw, sending him stumbling backward. Damien stood up and dusted himself off. "Let's get this over with I suppose." With rum running through his veins, and a day full of annoyance, Damien wasn't going to go easy on these people.
last edited Feb 5, 2020 19:16:43 GMT by sachiohanabe
Post by Reya Starlyght on Feb 8, 2020 21:55:01 GMT
Swiftly the barkeep set down a pint of beer, followed soon by a sandwich of some variety, its innards fried although Camilla had no idea its taste until she took a bite. Warmth, that was the first thing, really the only thing that came to her mind, some hint of poultry buried beneath it. The alcohol itself wasn't bad, although she had tasted better... when exactly Camilla had no idea. Dismissing the thought, her attention was soon instead focused on the man she had previously noted, or more specifically his voice. Where, where had she heard it before? It was unusual, her memories were a blank slate, after all, and she certainly hadn't encountered him in the few weeks of her current existence. Yet Camilla couldn't shake the recognition, a sensation in her gut that told her somewhere, sometime, she had known him. A name, that would be useful. None came to the forefront, though, and by the time she had mustered up the courage to ask another scene had begun to play out.
Him, a thief? How absurd, although then again she didn't know him, did she? Camilla was offended by the mere association, however, even though she had little reason to be. Three upset patrons had converged, and one in particular, whether brave or drunk she had no idea, had confronted the man. "Why exactly would somebody so well dressed be interested in pocket change?" Camilla didn't even register her words until they had already been spoken, immediately regretting it. But it was too late, no doubt, as a victim fumed over in her direction.
"In comparison to the shit you're wearing, I would wonder too." The other was quickly decked by the man in the suit, chaos descending upon the bar although she blinked all the same, confused as to why she was supposed to take offense.
"Isn't this a dive?" she asked. The only answer was the tug of something from her conversational partner's belt, the flash of steel as a knife was drawn. A weapon, over a wallet? He was either desperate for cash, which Camilla could certainly emphasize with, or she had stumbled into the bad part of town. Regardless, she was pressed against the edge of the bar top, the logical way out would be to clear it. No, her right hand instead reached for the holster secured under her poncho, drawing Krieger and aiming it directly at her assailant's face. He hesitated, however instead of pulling the trigger the pistol began to glow a dull orange, a sphere of flame produced from the barrel. Thus, in that pause, Camilla delivered a small fireball to his visage, singeing away at skin and hair alike. He recoiled back, and at that did she throw a kick to his abdomen, knocking him down. Grip steady on her firearm, she then surveyed the state of Jackson's, finding that it had dove into a bloody brawl.
What started with only a few angry patrons, had quickly erupted into an all out bar brawl. With a building full of drunk people, this was bound to happen sooner or later. There wasn't enough space to use his staff Oblivion, so he resorted to his exemplary martial arts skills. With his suit enhancing his strikes with its hardness, those who got hit by Damien, generally didn't get back up.
Damien was shocked to look over and see the woman that had sat next to him earlier, was fighting as well. She hadn't hit him yet, so he assumed that she wasn't one of the general rabble he was fighting. His mind became lost once again in trying to remember anything at all about this woman, as her familiarity was consuming his senses. It was because of that, that Damien received a clean hit to the cheek by someone wearing brass knuckles. The shock of the blow dazed him temporarily, knocking the thoughts of the mystery woman out of his head. He recovered quickly, with his mind back to focusing on the fight at hand. He could deal with the other issue later.
"That hurt." Damien grunted, spitting out blood from his busted lip. He wasn't going to let the man get another hit on him like that. Now he was serious. Damien rained down a flurry of blows upon the man who hit him, breaking him down bit by bit. A right hook. An uppercut. A left hook to the midsection. Ending with a full forced punch to the chest that sent the man sprawling. On his journey, the poor patron flew into a pile of broken furniture, and stayed there. Limp.
The next enemies wasted no time targeting Damien next. Due to the limited space, Damien had mostly resorted to a boxing style of fighting. It was perfect in this situation, and even let him take on the two new patrons attacking him without much trouble. Damien bobbed and weaved, tossing out powerful punches when the openings allowed, taking out his assailants without a scratch this time.
Damien had only fought four of the people in the bar, out of the two dozen or so that were still going. He figured half would take themselves out, so he didn't need to get his hands too dirty. He did however, want to have just a little more fun. Damien removed his suit jacket and folded it, sitting it down on the bar. He rolled his head, stretching his neck, and looked for his next fight. He didn't have to look for long, because as he scanned the area, a glass bottle came flying towards his face. Damien ducked the projectile and approached the one who threw it. The only issue with fighting in the bar, was as the fight went on, and bodies pilled, it became harder and harder to navigate the place. He carefully stepped over the unconscious folks, and greeted his new assailant with a leaping punch. The man crumpled from the force of the blow, and took a nap for the night. Damien wasted no momentum, and landed gracefully only to leap forward immediately, launching himself at the next person. He tackled a large man to the ground by the midsection, and elbowed the man until he stopped struggling. Damien suffered another blow to the face during it, but he ignored it and stood up, looking for who was next.
With blood flowing down his white dress shirt, due to its hydrophobic coating, and his hair disheveled from the fighting, Damien looked quite wild at this point.
Post by Reya Starlyght on Feb 14, 2020 2:00:21 GMT
Utilizing her firearm more as a way to dissuade incoming opponents rather than resorting to lethal force, Camilla wove her way through the establishment, attempting to keep an eye on the man that was the supposed perpetrator of some petty crime. Whatever initial dose of adrenaline that had coursed through her veins quickly wore off, however, as Camilla was confronted with the reality of her situation. A bar fight where she was waving around a pistol as if it were nothing. A battle that was pointless, could have been solved with a few words and soberness instead. Camilla had just managed to finish her sandwich in the time between her arrival and the outbreak, due mostly to her growling stomach, but her drink had been smashed to pieces by a stray fist. Credits wasted, she thought, sidestepping a kick that had managed to glance her left shoulder, much to her own surprise.
She couldn't exactly explain the sensation, didn't have the time to anyway. The same patron continued his assault, throwing punches the moment she had recoiled. One glanced the side of her jaw, and in retaliation the barrel of Krieger glowed once more, its flame alighting the man's hair and searing the wood behind him. Not waiting for a moment, just as he had done, Camilla then hit him back, sending him stumbling into another wrestle that had broke out. There was no sense of enjoyment for her, however, she wasn't drunk in the slightest and, more importantly, the gnawing familiarity of that man was what she wanted to explore, not new ways to break people's noses. With that in mind, Camilla began to follow his path of destruction in the room, dodging assailants who apparently wanted a piece of the woman who had a literal firearm. Maybe she had painted a target on herself, and with that she holstered her weapon, at least temporarily.
It was good timing on her part, for as soon as she did so Camilla caught a glance of the frantic barkeep, on the phone with what she could only assume was the police. A brief respite in the brawl was all she needed to weave her way to the man, attempting to tug on the sleeve of his shirt, then gesturing toward the employee. "We need to go," she said, with a degree of confidence she didn't know she could muster for a complete stranger. Her gaze found what looked to be an exit into the alley behind Jackson's, with two people duking it out right in front of it, completely oblivious to their surroundings. Shoving past one of them, the other managed a kick to the side of her ribs before she managed to dart out the door, into the crisp winter air.
In the restaurant she could hear the sounds of a new commotion, reds and blues bouncing off the walls from the front of the bar. That was faster than she had ever expected, was this perhaps a common occurrence? Regardless, there was no time to waste, hesitating only a few moments for the man to hopefully catch her trail if he were to follow, before finding her way deeper into the darkness of the city, at this point the sector's disrepair obvious to her eyes. Graffiti peppered the sides of buildings, with many residential areas boarded in and warehouses fallen into disrepair. Perhaps there would be somewhere to stay amidst it all, though that depended on how long her search would take.
With adrenaline still pumping, Damien looked left to right, trying to find his next target. He was a little banged up but no where near bad enough to stop him from continuing in this brawl. He personally wanted to get at least two more people knocked out before the fight ended. People being thrown across the bar and being asleep for the night, had another effect on the area. Damien could see much better. The smoke had cleared a little, and there weren't people blocking his view. It was because of this, Damien spotted a man crouched in the corner, laughing to himself with a wad of cash in his hand. "The instigator...." Damien growled, as he furrowed his brow. He took one heavy step towards the man before his sleeve was tugged on. Damien spun on the spot as fast as he could, right fist raised and ready to strike. His eyes met those of the woman who had sat next to him earlier. He slowly dropped his hand and stared at the woman. The rest of the world ceased to exist for that moment. The woman said something, but Damien didn't hear. He was lost in thought. Something about her caused strong feelings to swell up within him. He didn't know her, but his heart felt like it had found a part of it that it didn't know it lost. The young woman pointed at a man behind the bar, frantically talking into a phone. He understood immediately. With a swoop of his arm, Damien grabbed his suit jacket.
The two of them made their way to the door, fighting through the brawl blocking their way. Once they made it outside, the cold air snapped Damien back into his senses. Here was he was, running down the street to avoid trouble, along with the woman who was a mystery to him. Damien also remembered that he had found the man responsible for the fight, but couldn't do anything about it. This upset him greatly. Grunting to himself, Damien kept running behind the woman, deeper into the city and away from his revenge. The bright lights and wailing siren of the local law enforcement was getting louder. It was almost as if they were looking for people leaving the bar as well. They were going to have to avoid their search.
As the pair ran, Damien saw the perfect opportunity to stop their escape. Grabbing the woman's hand firmly, Damien veered right and headed into a dark alley. He chose this one specifically because there was also a large dumpster that could block the view from the street. He led the two of them behind and dumpster and crouched down, hiding behind its bulk. Damien waited breathlessly as the sirens and lights passed by their hiding spot. When he was absolutely sure the coast was clear, Damien stood up, still holding the woman's hand, pulling her up with him should she allow. He looked right into the woman's eyes. Even in the darkness and her plain clothes, he found her beautiful. From her blonde hair to her brown eyes, she caused Damien to hesitate before speaking. He had questions. This was obvious. How couldn't he? A woman walks into a bar and set his world on fire. This wasn't some love at first sight thing. This was more of a lost half sort of feeling. Letting go of the woman's hand, Damien composed himself and spoke. He asked the biggest question of all. "Who are you?"
last edited Feb 16, 2020 1:20:16 GMT by sachiohanabe
Post by Reya Starlyght on Feb 18, 2020 4:02:08 GMT
Whatever authorities that had come to settle the violent brawl had also decided to search the perimeter of the building for any potential patrons who had exited it, which was, in itself, a bit of a perplexing method. After all, some of the individuals within hadn't been there to stir up a fight, had they? Innocent civilians being detained only for trying to get out of a difficult situation didn't exactly seem just to her, but then again what did Camilla know about concepts of honor and justice? The words that were all her memory told her there was some connection, she knew what a knight was, after all, but whatever moral code once existed within her was an unknown, stripped from her being. That didn't matter, though, they were certainly guilty of whatever misdemeanor starting a bar fight was, which meant they were running. She was glad the man had followed, Camilla didn't know what she would have done had he not. Probably would have burst back into Jackson's, maybe, which didn't make any sense. None of it did, but at the same time something resonated within her, a sensation she couldn't just ignore.
Their pace continued for some time, sirens persisting. Were the police really that adamant on catching just two people, or was there something more to their search? It couldn't be the people from before, could it? No, they couldn't have found her, she was nobody of consequence. Besides, Belladonna was too far removed from Bosco, there was no way with all her starship hopping anyone could have tracked her person. They just had excellent law enforcement then, apparently, which would be a problem if she tried to occupy one of the abandoned warehouses around... that wasn't ideal. On the bright side, at least Camilla had been enlightened of the high security before she had made herself at home. Her trip would probably be short, then.
Distracted by plans of the near future, Camilla didn't even noticed that the man had grabbed her hand, not until she was tugged into the alley. A dumpster, yes, the perfect place to take cover from the sweeping lights that were rapidly approaching. Not even registering the scent, she dropped to one knee, spine pressed against the cold, concrete wall. The speeding vehicles soon passed into the night, and thus did they rise together, and for the first time Camilla managed to take in his features. They were... much more subtle than she had expected, given the man's combat prowess, but his eyes betrayed the rest of visage so perfectly in that aspect, an almost vibrant steel. He let go of her hand, but a part of her wanted to maintain her own grip, if only to latch onto the obscured reminiscence, so close to being grasped by her mind yet utterly lacking all the same. Whatever sort of confidence had possessed her earlier was gone, however, replaced by... she wasn't even quite sure what it was. Was it even wise to give her own name, when she had no idea what its own connotation was? Thus far she had survived on her moniker alone, or no title at all. Most people didn't question identities in the places she had frequented, after all the underworld was a rather secretive society. A moment passed, only then acknowledging that she still had not answered. "Cam. Uh, Camilla. Jäger," she staggered, uncertainty quite evident. "And you are?"
The name rang in his head. Something deep within his mind, hidden from even himself, had been touched. Damien mouthed the name silently, feeling the word on his lips. Though the woman had asked for his own name, Damien took time to respond. The brief silence between them felt like an eternity, as the pair stood in the cold dark alley. His eyes were locked on Camilla's, as his mind spiraled. Why did she cause such a reaction within him? So many feelings had came to him, although none were bad.
"My name...is Damien Belmont." He managed to return his attention long enough to respond to the woman's query. "It is one of the few things I actually remember..." Damien winced after saying those words. He had never told anyone about his loss of memory, nor was he much of a sharer. The words had come out on there own without him thinking. For the first time since hiding in the alley, Damien was able to tear his gaze away from Camilla. Now feeling anxious and a tad embarrassed, Damien's eyes drifted towards the dull orange glow of the nearest street light. With the adrenaline that once fueled him now depleted, and his mind returning to a working state, the cold began to set in. He now noticed his breath being visible as he chest pumped deep breathes due to his anxiety.
"It is cold out here and the patrol has passed. I think it is fine if we head back toward the bar. Perhaps a new establishment. I just wanted to avoid us being questioned, especially since I look like...well this." Damien gestured to his hair and the blood on his shirt. It was obvious he had something to do with the quarrel at Jackson's. It was only going to take one person reporting a man in a suit anyway, to have the law enforcement looking for him. "Our meal was interrupted. I suggest we try it again." Damien just wanted to get them out of the cold, and to a place where they could talk.
Damien jerked his thumb towards the street, gesturing for Camilla to join him. Part of him wanted to grab her hand again. He could still feel her hand in his, and the warmth from the contact. He sighed quietly to himself, and walked out of the alley, and headed in the direction of the bar. He could only hope it had settled down and they could pass by without trouble. Fighting was the last thing on the man's mind. Finding out more about this woman, and getting warm was all the mattered. "Hey, are you warm enough?" Damien asked sheepishly. "You can wear my jacket if you want. It traps warmth." Damien had forgotten about that suit's feature. He would much rather Camilla be comfortable than himself. The fact that he already felt this way about her caused another round of confusion. He had just met her, but he instinctively wanted to protect her. It wasn't chivalry, but rather a compulsory feeling. He was losing his mind more and more as these changes within him occurred.
With the sun's light completely gone, and the light of the stars being drowned out by the city and the street lights, the area took on a ruddy orange complexion against its mostly white exterior. A blank canvas that was painted the color of a setting sun. It wasn't a terrible sight to enjoy while the two walked. Damien looked over at Camilla and offered a slight smile. This was the real beginning of the night it seemed, for the two of them.
last edited Feb 19, 2020 0:58:46 GMT by sachiohanabe
Post by Reya Starlyght on Feb 20, 2020 1:07:43 GMT
She knew his name. Even before he spoke, Camilla knew what his response would be. How, she had no idea. It was as if a memory had suddenly clicked into place, another phrase established in her mind. It rang out, a resonance unknown to her, yet at the same time reminiscent of the void that filled her thoughts. "Ritter...." Camilla muttered, instinctual. About to question him further, the words were caught on her tongue, answered. "Yeah. Me too." Damien... clearly hadn't admitted that to anyone before. Then again, neither had she. There was no need, was there? She doubted anyone would hold even a morsel of sympathy, most would likely call her a charlatan, or perhaps even the less desirable insane.
A kindred spirit, though, and somebody, somehow, who she had once known. The cogs of her recognition were whirring, but there was nothing beyond that and the title. It didn't make a modicum of sense, but then again neither did her existence. It was all foreign territory, and while she crossed with trepidation there had been no clues to find. No, not until him. As Damien pointed out his disheveled appearance she consciously wiped some of the blood she hadn't realized was dripping from a split lip until that moment. However, having not dived into the fight as enthusiastically as him, that was more or less the extent of evidence on her, although a bruise would probably form in the coming hours. "I could use another drink and maybe a sandwich," Camilla answered, before focusing on his attire again. "But, uh, let's not go to a too fancy place...." She was still broke, after all, and she hated the thought of letting someone she had just met pay for a second, albeit needed, dinner.
Luckily, the search for aggressors seemed to have ended soon after the patrol had passed them by, sirens leading way to a silent, bitter cold. Camilla wasn't the only one to notice it, apparently, as Damien graciously offered his coat to her. As much as the warmth would be appreciated, a sports jacket wasn't exactly easy to fit over a poncho of any variety, much less the wool one she donned. At the same time though, refusing his offer would be rude, wouldn't it? "I... ah, that wou- wait," she stammered, cursing under her frosted breath. "I'll be fine. Maybe it can cover some of your blood." From her pocket she retrieved a paper clip out of all things, the metal soon set ablaze. It roared to the size of a small torch, casting light and, more importantly, heat onto both of them. While in most environments she would be hesitant to display such a sign of magic, the roads they now traversed had died down in their busy bustle, possibly as a result of the recent events. In the still sound, she decided to disclose the one thing that spoke to her, the one certainty between them other than their names.
"You... you were a knight. I don't know what that means."