The Story So Far

[Cookie Waterford]

Watching the approaching sharpness of the mountainous wall that surrounded the island of Carraig was foreboding and almost gloomy, especially as the plane drew closer and curled around the island to find the safe area to dip into as it descended. The whole area seemed to be blanketed in a thick, salty mist, overcast skies blotting ut the sun in a drab white sky that only allowed small beams of light to poke through and tease. Cookie rubbed at her temple as she adjusted her bags, slightly grumpy from jet lag and annoyed that she hadn't been allowed to use her recorder while the plane was flying. That recorder was old as shit with nothing digital in the slightest; HOW could it possibly be a threat to the damn plane in this day and age? Sighing, Cookie grumbled to herself as she made her way through the small airport. She had tried to content herself just taking notes on her first impressions as she flew in, trying to let herself be surprised, but those observations didn't help her mood any.

Carraig was a place whose vivid green landscapes hidden in the valleys guarded by steep cliffs was a honeymoon hotspot, but presently Cookie couldn't fathom why. The rocks ran into the ocean on almost all sides of the island, so there was only one area with a smooth enough beach for shipping and swimming, but it was so cold and dreary, who would want to? From what she'd read a lot of the time Carraig was rainy (which was what made those bright green fields.. that, and all the sheep poo) due to the clouds condensing from the mountains and raining into the valleys like filling a big green dish. Which also made the area coldish, despite being freaking south of Creta. For centuries Creta ahd fought with Carraig (which fought with the rest of the world) and Creta wanted the island for its own. But it was nearly impossible to get to by ship, risky to get there by plane, had very little living space, only grew root vegetables on its own, and was cold and wet most of the year. WHY the shit would Creta want this freaking island?!?!

But she was here for a week. The Highland Games were going on in Braemar, and that was one that the Royal Family would often attend to watch personally. It just didn't sound really extreme to her, though; what was edgy about big hairy guys in skirts throwing sheep, or whatever it was they did around here? Sure the royal family might get in on it too, but weren't they also just big hairy guys throwing royal sheep? Han had said that there was more to Carraig than an abundance of honenymoon tourist trips, and Cookie honestly hoped he was right since she hated turning in half-assed articles, especially since she'd built up a pretty solid reputation for going head-to-head with whatever fate tossed her way. But what could she possibly find in a week to say about a country that had more herded livestock than human population?

The taxi whisked the broody writer off and away to the Braemar Lodge, and to its credit, it was a gorgeous old building. Early Victorian build, solid stone walls, and the area it was in was pretty, even if it was damp. Han wanted her to be right where the action was, that was for sure, and the games would be over the weekend. Then why am I here for a week, Han? Not like you to pay me for longer than you think I'll need... Cookie was quiet as she was shown to her rented room of the small hotel; the lodge only had seven rooms, but the woman whose Cretan was very, very heavily accented by her native Creig had assured Cookie that her room was very comfortable. Hand had told her to cover the events of the game and find something that met her standards of awesome, but a whole week in Carraig meant this would be more of a field trip that she had to figure out as she went. Han hadn't booked anything for her or given her an itinerary. A large bed greeted Cookie, bouncing slightly as her bags were tossed onto the mattress. The room was brightly lit and decorated with very warm colours--probably to offset the dreariness of the countryside--and while not unappealing, the effect was more cozy than exciting. But, honeymoon getaway. Cozy was the goal.

Cookie sighed, laying back on the bed and letting herself unwind. Her recorder was immediately found to kickstart this process, the journalist starting to feel like not having it on her wrist was like missing her hand. The record button clicked down, Cookie switching her thoughts to Xingese just in case anyone overheard and didn't care for her commentary. "Well, it's you and me, buddy. Carraig is picturesque and offers a lot of hiking and history tours, but tomorrow we inestigate ancient games and spend the rest of the week trying to discoer the extreme side of a wet and sleepy nation of sheep." The stop button was clicked, Cookie too tired to even bother talking to herself. She knew how grouchy she felt, so that probably didn't sound good on tape and meant like hell she could be objective. It had been an obnoxiously long flight from Xing to Carraig, and though she was hungry, Cookie was more tired than anything and wanting the laggy headache and nausea to go away. Dinner would be bothered with later, and if she missed it? Eh. There was breakfast tomorrow, when it was needed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The morning mist was clearning quickly as the sun came up, the clouds actually parting enough to allow light to pour through. In the light, Cookie decided, Carraig's countryside was rather pretty. And after a bit more sleep than she'd counted on (points to the hotel, those beds were damn comfy} and a rather substantial breakfast, Cookie certainly felt a lot more cheery than she had been last night when she'd arrived. Cookie still didn't have a lot of hope for the weekend's events, but she'd find something interesting. Maybe she'd find some big brutish hulk of a man winning them all that she could peg for an interview.. maybe talk to the rest of the world about what athletic aspects made Carraig 20% cooler than everywhere else in the world. At least a few members of the royal family would be there too, but eh? Who wanted to interview stuffy rich people at a sports event? They'd probably just sit in a box that was heavily guarded, watch and do nothing.

Red tape marked the area where the actual competitions would be held and where it was safe for the the people watching to stand. Things were still being set up as Cookie wandered the grounds, a press pass hanging off her hip and recorder in her hand as she described into the little microphone everything going on. There was a large stack of long logs, piles of rocks, and a generally competitive, proud attitude in the ai-

"AH!!" Cookie let out a sharp yelp, nearly falling over as she jumped and crashed backward into someone, her natural instincts bristling up. Dogs. They had to bring their dogs. Fucking hounds of all things, too. Owners were having to hold tighter to their companions that barked, whined, strained and bayed at the reporter. She could hide what she was from humans just fine, but dogs -especially hunting hounds- they always knew the truth. They could smell the fox teasing them. Still looking a bit panicked, Cookie took a few deep breaths. "It's okay, Cookie... don't lose your cool. You're too awesome for that! Just hopefully they'll stay leashed while I work..." A strange girl in a strange world that was preparing for ancient games, and Cookie was already wondering if she'd manage the week and not be eaten. Oh joy.

[Brendon Etheridge]

There where a few things Brendon just hated about being a prince (Stuffy dinner party's and false smiles being two of the most prominent) but he would put up with them all plus more besides for some of the privileges he revived in return. Among those most esteemed privilege's where the rights to test all the country's new toys(The only time he ever played im the prince card), the travel, and box seats at the yearly Highland games. Not to say which of those where more important to him, but he would have gladly given up an all expanses paid holiday for just one day at the games...

"Our next competitor is Brendon Etheridge!!"

Ohh how he loved it!! The smell of the grass, the cheer of the crowed, the thrill of competition!! It was the one time of year that he wasn't treated any differently then any one else. On the field you won or lost based on your own merit, and had no one to blame for your own short comings but your self, there was something about that that really spoke to Brendon. These games gave him an outlet, but more then that they gave him something to look forward to each and every year. They also helped him measure him self, and his accomplishment's, and that meant more to him then almost anything else.

So he stood there in the center of the field, dressed in nothing but a kilt(Its a highland game, kilts are needed) and a white wife beater. He looked around and noted that all eyes where on him, like they where on every other competitor, judging, weighing the possible outcomes. How far would he throw? Would he take a ranking spot? He knew what questions where going threw the spectators heads at that vary moment, because for years of his life he had been one of them.

He glanced down at the log that was his enemy, the log that wanted him to fail, and he smiled at it, like he was greeting an old friend. Because it was in a way, this simple device had helped him in more ways then most people so when he walked up to it, he touched it like he would a long lost lover, tenderly, with affection."Here we are again..". Most people thought the caber toss was all about brute force, and in some ways that was true. But if you talked to any of the competitors you would learn that there is indeed some fineness to it, and some of the more intense(Read creepy) players said you had to make love to the log in order to fully understand it.

IT was time, he had taken in the entirety of the wooden poll with his eyes....And now it was time to handle it. HE carefully lifted it into position and with a heave and a hoe tossed it with all his might. Now he wasn't the biggest or strongest guy there, but he may well have been the most determined, sadly determination only counts for so much, and as he watched the log fly he knew he wasn't going to win on this day, but winning didn't matter, all he wanted was the satisfaction of knowing he had tried his best and if his best wasn't enough well, there was always next year, and the year after that. Eventually, he would take home the gold.

He walked from the field, covered in a slick sheen of sweat from his exertion. It had all been over quickly, bu no matter how in shape you where it was never good enough. Ahh well now that his part in the days events where over, it was time to kick back and relax and enjoy the days entertainment....."Now....where did my bear of a body guard go...."

[Roarke Moray]

Soooo... THIS was what the burly men of Carraig did for fun. The Highland Games. Roarke remembered his dad telling him about the events, promising to take him there one day. That had clearly never happened. Yet, that was where Roarke now found himself, although not in the manner he or his father had ever envisioned. His father was long gone, Roarke was a sexy beast (minus sexy, multiple the beast part by ten), and he was here not as a spectator but as a GUARD. Yup. He had managed to significantly impress Gavin and Fiachra in the wrestling ring, but now it seemed that a test of social-ability was in order. Or something. Roarke really had no idea. But Gavin had grudgingly asked that Roarke accompany his cousin, heir to the throne, to the Highland Games. And Roar wasn't going to say “FUCK THAT” to Kingly-King Gavin, now was he? Nope. That would just be rude. Duh.

What was rude was the fact that Roarke had misplaced Brendon. He wasn't sure that Gavin would mind. In the short time he'd been around he'd notice that the cousins didn't get along all the time. But maybe that's just royal families for yah? Whatever. Point was, Roarke had no idea where Brendon had disappeared. He had down the right thing, escorted Brendon here. The gasps and shouts of alarm had been interesting but Roarke was able to handle it. He had a cloak for just such occasions, outfitted in the color of the Creig military, with an emblem on it. It helped to denote him as a military dude, rather than just a random hulking beast. But it did not help people keep away from Brendon. Mr. Popularity, ugh! And then he had went and disappeared. Roarke attempted to casually amble through the crowds, using his superior height to spy out for Brendon.

And yet still nothing! DAMNIT. Then a voice rolled over the loudspeakers, announcing the next canidate to compete. OH SWEET. FOUND HIM! Roarke moved successfully to the area to the side of the competitors' area, in order to be standing a superior guard until Brendon was finished. As he moved past the spectators he felt a strange scent waft up into his nostrils. It was... doggish. He stared dumbly down at the dogs intermixed in the crowds. No... definitely NOT them. It was strange. Shrugging it off for the moment, he appeared by the competitors' area as Brendon emerged from the field. “Nice throw,...uh, sir! Lord? Prince?” Roarke shrugged his shoulders with a toothy grin. Formalities were never his strong suit.

[Cookie Waterford]

Well, Cookie had certainly been right about a few things from her initial guesses; there were a LOT of big hairy men in skirts, and most of the events seemed to be based on throwing stuff. She kinda wondered if they were invented way back when as pissing matches by a bunch of drunk and bored as shit Creig. But... this wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. For one, the coffee here was hella strong. No booze in it, but it tasted like it had been brewed with some hundred scoops and then run through the machine a second time to just let it steep in its uber-caffinated dark richness that Cookie was fairly certain would melt a plastic spoon. And while she still wasn't too sure about the rest of the week, she at least got the feeling she'd be awake for it if nothing else.

The crowds seemed to thicken as the competitors warmed up in the early morning light, the announcers calling for the starting even as the caber toss. Recorder in hand, the journalist made her way through the throng to the competitor's area, mingling and chatting. The record button came down, Cookie perking up as she watched the first of the burly men pick up a motherfucking TREE, hump it while running, and THROW it! "The Creig morning air is chilly and bit damp, and here at the competition grounds smells like a mix of coffee, salty mist, and aftershave. Oddly enough, it's a much nicer combination than it sounds. The coffee is amazing and would cure any college student's need to never sleep again for the rest of a semester, but the intense brew not the only feat of amazing strength to be seen here. In this first event men in kilts are participating in a caber toss, each taking turns to hurl hundred and seventy-five pound trees and scoring points for distances. The sport's origins are ancient and are said to derive from the need to throw trees across the rocky chasms in order to cross them. It's an impressive skill to have, but I'll bet you anything that these tossers in skirts will still moan and try to duck out of doing lawnwork."

The fact that competing men were called "tossers" amused the Cretan woman to no end; where she was from if a man was called a tosser it was generally an assurance he wasn't going to get a second (or even first) date. Another long sip of her coffee was taken, Cookie finding it more enjoyable as she went. Maybe between the coffee and the enthusiam of the people around her was why she was finally starting to enjoy the morning out. It was strange. From the few people she'd pegged down for a few interview-questions, most of the events were throwing and strength-based, but there were other competitions around the country throughout the year that tested other skills of strength and cunning leftover from the days of Carraig renting their mercenary armies to countries all over the world to win their wars. Skirts optional.

"Competing next in the cabter toss, his Highness, Prince Brendon Etheridge! Wait... Prince? Cookie's ears perked, her extreme senses tingling. She was told that the Royal family attended the games here, sure; she could even see a little spectator box for where they'd have the best view. But... participate? Like, fairly and NOT be expected to win just because they were the royal family? The fox couldn't help but grin. Now THAT was badass! Flashing her badge, Cookie pressed through the throng riiiiiiight up to where she could see a young man not much older than she was walk to the arena and move to the twenty-foot pole. Tousled red hair and a ncie face were complimented by a tall and slightly athletic build that wasn't burly at all. He definitely had that regal thing down, but at the same time, looked like he wasn't a total priss. The kilt actually didn't look bad on him, either. The button came down once more as Cookie moved herself to where she could watch as closely as possible.

"Adding to the interesting flavour and atmosphere that Carraig offers at the Games, members of the Royal family not only attend as spectators, but as participants! His Highness is in the ring now, lifting a telephone pole and running... The distace came short, but still, kudos to him. Even from this distance you can tell the Prince is in peak physical shape, and any celebrity that's willing to paricipate with their people at a pretty heavy-duty sport? That's pretty badass." The prince was coming this way... Maybe he'd share a few words. A quick chat with the Creig Prince about the Highland Games... That'd be a pretty decent article to give to Han! Ducking out of the crowd, Cookie shimmied around the people and dodged their dogs, following the path Brendon seemed to be going in, toward a HOLYMOTHEROFGOD!

Cookie's steps came to a sudden halt, instinct kicking in and telling her to stay back from a much, MUCH larger animal. The beast in the cloak was beyond massive, even stooped down lower as he was to greet the Prince. A myriad of scent came to her attention as the breeze shifted slightly, the strong musk of Roark carrying down and mingling to overpower the scent blowing from Brendon; even though dulled in her human form, strong scents were still pretty clear to her. Her heart raced, instinct still fighting against her as Cookie told her animal senses to shut it and let her do her job. A warm smile pushed up as Cookie cleared her throat politely, keeping a modest distance between herself, the Prince and his massive guard; last thing she wanted was to be seen as security risk and eaten. "Good morning! My name's Cookie Waterford, of Mag X Zine." Cookie reached a hand down and pulled up her press badge with the tiny photo of the Xingese magazine now being carried globally. "I write their travel articles and extreme sports pieces... Was wondering if I could get a few words from your Highness? That was, like, a pretty badass throw." Cerulean eyes moved from the giant walking carpet to the Prince, hoping for a yes and if nothing else, loving the closer look... and then went back to the guard. Maybe she was right about Creig men being big and hairy after all.

[Brendon Etheridge]

Yes...It was coming now, the burn, the burn that proved he was alive and well, it was odd how everything in ones life could come back to a sensation, a feeling. It seemed that everything Brendon did and had done was to feel the pain of accomplishment, to feel his body grow shaky, to have his muscles burn, to feel challenged, if he was honest with him self(Never something he was good at) he would have admitted that the only time he felt truly alive, truly happy was when he challenged, physically or mentally it didn't honestly matter to him, tossing a tree made him feel just as alive as solving a problem of a purely mental nature(Math and word problems being a secret indulgences of his). So as he walked away from the field of battle he was nearly aglow with what could only be described as joy.

“Nice throw,...uh, sir! Lord? Prince?” That voice snapped him from his inner musings and he looked around and almost imidiatly spotted the source of the voice, which wasn't saying much for his keen observational skills since the guy was a literal beast of a man. He walked over and smiled as he glanced up a the huge face."Heh it was nothing you couldn't have done in you sleep Roarke but thanks for the complement " He claped the man on the...err...what would have been the shoulder on some one smaller(So mid arm for Roarke)."And you can call me Brenif you like, right now, im off duty and you would be as well if i could manage it."

He laughed a little then and started to move towards the stands when he heard some one clear there throat behind him, he turned to look and for a brief second his heart seemed to jump into his throat. The woman standing before him (Holding a rather old looking recorder) was a beauty and the first thing that jumped to his mind was gorgeous which was swiftly fallowed by ohh shit a reporter. "Good morning! My name's Cookie Waterford, of Mag X Zine."" It was good to know that his instincts where accurate even when stunned by a pretty face, almost instinctivly he shifted his stance and plastered a not so goofy smile on his face, prince mood engage.

Sighs it seemed that even on his "vacation" he was doomed to be bugged about political and military affairs.... "I write their travel articles and extreme sports pieces... Was wondering if I could get a few words from your Highness? That was, like, a pretty badass throw." He blinked...Not once but twice....Travel and extreme sports? Well that was far removed from what he was used to hearing....Brendon for the first time in what felt like ages was actually surprised and he may have actually blushed some at her complement...His flustered state only lasted for a second or two before he managed to get him self back under control but once again he took a slightly more relaxed posture(Not as much as when she first arrived but still relaxed).

"Well i cant say it was the best throw of the day, but i think i did fairly well considering we have guys nearly as big as Roarke here competing, but im glad you enjoyed the show" His accent faint and pleasing to the ears, it actually made his words seem bouncy."As to your question...Ill have to decline for now, the games are still going on and i just couldn't bare to miss them....Unless youd care to join me in the royal box? Im sure i could answer a few questions while we watched.....Ohhh my names Brendon by the way miss Waterford."

He bowed a little then and gently took her hand and brushed his lips against it before straitening and looking Cookie in the eye."Its a pleasure to make your acquaintance" and oddly enough it was, this woman had...an aura, yes that was the word...

[Roarke Moray]

"Heh it was nothing you couldn't have done in you sleep, Roarke, but thanks for the compliment. And you can call me Bren, if you like. Right now, I'm off duty and you would be as well if I could manage it."

Roarke shrugged his shoulder as Brendon gave his arm a tap. Maybe it was of a friendly variety? Oh well. He considered giving him a response pat but decided against it, as he could probably knock him over. He also managed a chuckle. “Duty is duty, Brendon-Prince. You're always royalty, whether you want to be or not. Unless you become a masked superhero. So while you're still a prince, at least you're a kind of undercover.” Yeah... Roarke didn't really make much sense, did he? He definitely talked and walked to the beat of his own drum. Although he did enjoy creating strange names for his superiors. Kept them on their toes!

A silence had fallen between prince and guard and Roarke had NO idea what to do next. He shortly realized that he would have to make... GASP. SMALL TALK! Was that allowed? He seriously had no fucking idea. This could get ugly quick. Then a new voice caused Roarke's ears to perk up. A woman, about two feet shorter than him, was attempting to approach Brendon. STRANGER DANGER. As he listened, it clicked further. PAPARAZZI! He was ready to step forward and do the guardly thing, batting her to the side as a prince was CLEARLY not meant to be bothered.

But then Brendon agreed to talk to her. AND HE INVITED HER TO THE ROYAL BOX! AHHH!! Wasn't Roarke supposed to clear that sort of thing? Well... crap. This bodyguard thing was not playing out well at all. Brendon didn't seem to mind that though... so he would just have to convince Brendon to tell Gavin that he had done a GREAT job. And by great, he clearly made sure this woman was legit and stuff. Even though that clearly did not happen. Not at a-...

Roarke's nose twitched as the strange smell that had brushed past his nose before came back. It was a lot stronger now too. It still smelled doggish, but there was different scents intermixed. It smelled like, fear? Confusion? Something. But most definitely doggish. He continued to sniff as he noticed Brendon kissing Cookie's hand. Okay, what the fuck? According to all the TV Roarke had watched that meant that either: 1. Brendon was being chivalrous or B. BRENDON WAS TRYING TO GET IN HER PANTS! Well, that's weird. He would have to see how it played out. As he moved, sniffing as he did, he came to stand next to them as Brendon stepped back from said mysterious-hand-smooch. The smell was REALLY strong now. He bent down and ever so casually sniffed the top of Cookie's head. THERE IT WAS. “Um... I'm Roarke Moray, bodyguard-extraordinaire. Are you a dog person?” He glanced at Brendon shadily and then dropped his voice to a confidential whisper. “Because well,... you smell kind of weird. Like a dog. Except... not.” Roarke stepped back and straightened, a toothy grin crossing his face. So suave, Roarke. So suave! Yes, he knew it probably wasn't the nicest thing to say. But Roarke was an honest ma-... beast. And he could do his bodyguard thing, protecting Brendon from paparazzi. He would keep her nosey questions at bay with his hidden talent... OBNOXIOUSNESS.

[Cookie Waterford]

Though his face seemed to fall slightly for just a moment, Prince Brendon seemed to perk back up enough to look surprised at Cookie's profession. Yeah, that probably wasn't something someone like him got often, especially since she was totally against yellow journalism just to sell papers. Cookie was rather glad he perked back up though, rather than tell he massive guard to push her aside (and given his size, he looked like he could have flicked her into next Tuesday), or worse, eat her. That'd be a pretty lame end to an awesome career. "Well i cant say it was the best throw of the day, but i think i did fairly well considering we have guys nearly as big as Roarke here competing, but im glad you enjoyed the show" OhGodhisACCENT! There was a musical lilt to it as the words bounced along up and down, smooth and evenly paced. Sure she was hearing the accent everywhere from anyone who spoke Cretan (and boy was she glad Cretan was taught in the schools), but oh man was this guy's cute. The Prince seemed to start to relax again, friendly and Cookie not noticing that the giant mass of muscle and fur that was his guard was sniffing all around more and more. "As to your question...Ill have to decline for now, the games are still going on and i just couldn't bare to miss them....Unless youd care to join me in the royal box? Im sure i could answer a few questions while we watched.....Ohhh my names Brendon by the way miss Waterford."

It was now the reporter's turn to be surprised; a polite 'no' she had come expecting, and maybe a few words about training, skill and style she'd hoped for. A word to would-be visitors to Carraig afterward would have been a blessing. Really, Cookie had dealt with celebrities before, and she knew how difficult it could be to get their attention and be worth their time. But to be invited into the Royal Box to watch the games with the nation's Prince AND get to chat with him in there? Today was shaping up to fill it's needed quota for awesomeness. She smiled, elated at the invitation and reminding her brain that she still needed to be able to speak coherently lest he think he'd just invited some babbling idiot to sit with him. Hopefully her cheeks weren't flushing even though she knew they felt hot against the still-cool morning air. "Your Highness, I'm honoured. I'd love to join you." Even if they were getting a little pink, she could just blame it on the chill and not the absolute thrill of-

The Prince bowed slightly, lifting Cookie's hand and kissed it very gently. The Prince of a nation built on warriors who was insanely cute and had a sexy accent had invited her to sit with him and was kissing her hand. ...THERE WAS A GOD! Oh, Han was getting such a nice wine basket when Cookie got home. This made her trip, and her brain was feeling a little goopy at it; that wasn't really something anyone had ever done to her. Ever. Sure, she'd met some foreign dignitaries and it was common to kiss cheeks with them (lots of rural areas of Amestris were like that still), but the hand-kissing really took the cake. "Its a pleasure to make your acquaintance" There was something about a man using ancient chivalrous gestures and combining them with the power of actually looking a person in the eyes that shot a tiny chill down Cookie's neck. She knew she had a firm handshake and always looked people in the eye when she met with them to assert herself as equal to them, but the present combination was flattering and stunning, and--

DUDE! Was the big furry guy sniffing the top of her head?! Cookie blinked, awkwardness invading that happy fuzzy bubble of giddiness she'd been soaking up. He sniffed again! DUDE!! “Um... I'm Roarke Moray, bodyguard-extraordinaire. Are you a dog person?” Were she in her other form, Cookie's guardhairs would have been standing on end and her tail fluffed to a thousand times its size. On looks alone, Roarke was intimidating, but to another perosn who could smell things? Sure, he didn't have that angry-violent-Hulk Smash smell she'd caught on some people before (and avoided danger with it), but he did smell like a much larger animal than she was, pheromones clinging to fur and big sharp teeth right where Cookie could see them if she looked up that way. Best not to, though. Looking at big, sharp teth just had a habit of making one worry they'd chew on you for a bit. But fighting base instincts to run like hell right now was a tough fight, especially since she didn't want to really be outed in public. How this guy could stand it she had no clue but did applaud him for it. Roar's head dipped down, dropping some of his massive height and volume to whisper in her ear just loud enough for her. color=steelblue]“Because well,... you smell kind of weird. Like a dog. Except... not.”[/color]

Panic. Must. Not. PANIC. So the big beast with the big, pointy teech could smell that she wasn't human just like the hounds did. Cookie's stomach knotted a bit. Oh please don't say anything, Fuzzy. Work is just starting to get good... Trying to not let it show at all, Cookiebrushed it off, trying to make herself relax again as her confident smile returned. [color=steelblue]"Yeah, sorry. Lots of people brought their dogs to come watch and dogs kinda like me."[color] Cookie gave a nonchalant shrug, the tag on her collar jingling lightly as if to help her hope that her species wouldn't really be brought up in mixed company. Being able to hide and blend in was what gave Cookie an advantage to do her job and to survive life. "It's nice to meet you, Roarke. And I'll totally try not to take too much of the Prince's time." Her gaze moved back to Brendon, cerulean eyes shining over a small smile that was bordering on mischievous. She wouldn't take up any more time than was needed, but she was here for a week to find examples of what made Carraig extreme, badass and exciting; in the first hours of her working day she'd already found a few interesting notes for sure.

[Brendon Etheridge]

Today was shaping up to be..If he dared to think it...Fun. Well it had been what one might call "fun" already, throwing dead sheep, polls, metal weights and the like around. But a pretty woman always seemed to brighten his day, and if said pretty woman also had some sort of interest in him well...His fun tended to sky rocket at that point! Combine that with these games (And maybe a few drinks after) and the sky was the limit!! "Your Highness, I'm honoured. I'd love to join you." Was there a faint blush on her cheeks as she spoke? Ohh yes there was...He tried not to smile, but he was momentarily taken over by boyish exuberance and a small laugh escaped him and his smile grew a little larger still. It may have been the fact that he was slightly(Only slightly)tired from his throw, or it could have been that he had just managed to get an exotic beauty to agree to spend some time with him, though she was a reporter....So he wasn't sure if he had just scored a point, or been played by someone who knew the game better then he did himself. Ahh well he couldn't find fault with her for doing the job she was paid to do, and she was a reporter for an extreme sports and travel magazine now someone who spent there working day looking for new and exciting things couldn't be all bad could they? As he looked over the woman who was more then likely not paparazzi he had to admit to him self that he liked what he saw.

“Um... I'm Roarke Moray, bodyguard-extraordinaire. Are you a dog person?” Was Roar smelling his guest? If his words hadn't convinced him the way he leaned down and well...Sniffed her. He nearly slapped the guy on the shoulder(Upper arm) and told him whats what...But it seemed that Cookie could take care of her self even when faced with what one might call a "scary mother fucker". So when she tensed up all Bren could do was clap internally, more then a few people would have run from Roar if he even began to scrutinize them that closely. "Yeah, sorry. Lots of people brought their dogs to come watch and dogs kinda like me." She seemed to relax rather quickly after the initial shock, which yet again spoke volumes for the woman."Leave the poor woman alone Roar, im sure shes had enough stress as it is, with out you adding to it!" Thats when he clapped the big man on the arm and turned back to Cookie.

"It's nice to meet you, Roarke. And I'll totally try not to take too much of the Prince's time." Her eyes met his, and for a second or two it may have looked like they where trying to stare each other down, but the mutual smiles and relaxed postures kinda took away from that particular effect."Ohhh i dont think you'l have to worry about taking up my time, i make a point of doing nothing for at least a week after the games, Whats that Cretan saying....All work and no play makes jack a dull boy?" His smile widened as he spoke and his eyes nearly seemed to spark with excitement."I think id die if my company ever became dull...So i make sure to find time to play~~" He was being remarkably playful and his voice showed it, his lilting words almost sounding like a song as they bounced over the Cretan words.

"Well Roar, why dont you lead on? Ill be right behind you." He offered his arm to Cookie with a slight bow of the head(And with or with out her on his arm) and moved to fallow Roarke to the Royal box (which happened to be close by and centrally located). As he entered it (With cookie maybe on his arm) he couldn't help but feel a little under dressed for what one could only call regal surroundings, plush chairs and couches, fine wooden tables, and expertly wove wall hangings dotted the royal box and it clashed horrendously with Brens checkered kilt, and loose fitting shirt (Though he even managed to make those seem...Regal)."Well miss welcome to my not so humble home away from home." He takes a seat on one of the plusher chairs and leans his head back, letting his eyes drift closed for a second before looking back at Cookie."Would you care for a drink? Im beyond thirsty my self....Roar could you grab me a juice of some sort and what ever you and my new friend here want?" He looked out at the field then, his eyes fallowing the movement of the most current competitor as he got ready to make his toss."So, is this the part where you grill me for information in hopes of finding some some small tidbit of interesting information? Or when you use pleasant small talk to get me to lower my guard?" His looks back at Cookie his green orbs shining and that ever present challenging grin on his face."Ill be honest with you, i prefer the later, but if your a true master of the journalists art, im sure you can manage both at the same time~"

[Roarke Moray]

"Yeah, sorry. Lots of people brought their dogs to come watch and dogs kinda like me."

Roarke shrugged his shoulders. Fair enough answer, even though something still seemed off about her. But she appeared relatively unruffled by his actions and statement, so kudos to her! Ballsy Cookie, for the win! She had passed the test. What test, you ask? Why, the shady-person-test. Okay, yeah. She was still a little bit shady, since there was clearly something funny smelling about her. But for the time being, she was acceptable. Roarke managed to flinch when Brendon smacked him on the arm and admonished him for BEING A FUCKING BODYGUARD. WHAT THE EFFFF??? And he was being all flirty with the semi-shady Cookie too! UGH. Roarke managed to swallow down the childlike “Ew” and with a snort/growl in response to Brendon's request, led them to the royal box. It was easy enough. Big, hulking beast trying to clear the path meant... well, people got out of the way pretty quick.

Cookie and Brendon settled into the box and Roarke prepared to stand an easy guard just outside when... WHAT!?!? Bodyguard does NOT equal WAITRESS. Roarke kept down the growl, politely asking Cookie what she wanted. He then went off to the stands, coming back shortly with Brendon's juice and Cookie's drink. For free, of course. Brendon being royalty had its perks, he guessed. He did a bow of sorts and then exited the box. He stretched himself to his full height, flexing his arm and leg muscles. He then began to walk in a few small circles, crouching as he did so. He rested comfortably down, one front paw lying over the other. He rested his head on top of his paws and settled in to guard. He'd keep people from going into the box, but he'd be damned if he went in there again himself. Waitress, indeed! Hmph.

[EXIT THREAD]

[Roarke got annoyed and decided he didn't want to play anymore, haha! You two have fun chatting it up though! <3]

[Cookie Waterford]

Hm. So, Cookie was being allowed to sit with Uber-cute Prince and Tall, Dark, and Furry. She'd get to watch the Games from an exclusive seat, and get a few words from His Highness (and dear God, if she could get him to keep talking, he could read her the phonebook). Not a bad day at all. Even if the interview wasn't super hot, the seats and company alone made the whole affair a bit more extreme than just asking the competitors, but it was still pretty hard to ignore that huge motherfuckers were hurling trees and dead sheep just for shits and grins. Cookie really had no complaints at this present moment, even if Chewbacca made her a bit antsy; that animal instinct was a bitch. Like Spidey Senses of the furred kind. They were pretty damn useful in a pinch and over the years Cookie had gotten good at using her chimeric abilities as an aide to her reporting, but damn did they make things like this uncomfortable.

But thankfully, for now, the gigantic guard seemed to be backing off, letting Cookie breath out the tiniest sigh in relief. "Leave the poor woman alone Roar, im sure shes had enough stress as it is, with out you adding to it!" Phew, Royal Pardon. Oh, wouldn't this be a fun thing to tell Han when she got home. She shot Roar a warm smile, even though he still seemed to look at her as though he wasn't sure, and... his guess wasn't far from the truth. Fox and dog were cousins, at least, but the musky smell was something that Cookie figured would always be an issue with dogs, other animals, and apparently the off-chance of meeting other chimera in that they'd be able to smell her out of a crowd.

As the Prince turned his attention back tot he reporter, for a moment their gazes met and held, quietly sizing each other up in a way that was anything but aggressive or battling for dominance. It was actually rather fun. "Ohhh i dont think you'l have to worry about taking up my time, i make a point of doing nothing for at least a week after the games, Whats that Cretan saying....All work and no play makes jack a dull boy?" GOD. YES. PLEASE, KEEP TALKING. That lilt. Could that lilt be any cuter? Cookie was generally much more composed than this, she knew, but there were very few instances where the person she was interviewing and chilling with were cute, charming and had a cute accent. Really, it was rather distracting, in an awesome sort of way. "I think I'd die if my company ever became dull...So i make sure to find time to play~~" And- and- ...NO, he didn't mean it THAT way, Cookie. Focus! You're here to wo--- DAMMIT, dude, don't give me that smile!

Cookie couldn't help but beam, quelling a tiny squeal as Brendon offered his arm to walk with her to the Royal Box. She'd never been big on fairy tales when she was a kid, but seriously, this guy took the cake. Her little vulpine heart was racing, Cookie now far more awake, alert, and perky about the early hour than she had been before, her day now at least 20% cooler. As Cookie walked into the box with Brendon and looked around, she couldn't help but let out a low whistle. The posh seats, the ornate decorations, the very nice furniture... It was like the most awesome living room i a fancy box and plopped out onto the turf to watch the Games from the best vantage-point possible. Cookie grinned, looking around once more. "Dude... Most swankified seats, your Highness." Though she was thinking out loud more than talking to the Prince, as she sat down in a seat next to Brendon's the genuine excitement never seemed to dim from her face.

"Would you care for a drink? Im beyond thirsty my self....Roar could you grab me a juice of some sort and what ever you and my new friend here want?" A drink? Yeah, that'd be good; it was early still and she was kinda thirsty and Roar looked more than a bit peeved at the moment. She shifted with slight unease, quietly chiming out a request just for some juice as well with a rather sincere please and thank you tacked on. Roarke was something of a curiosity, she'd admit, and if Cookie weren't in public right now she'd love to chat with him more to see what he was like, and, what he was. He was like her, she knew that much, and that in and of itself was a rarity. Her eyes trailed behind the beast as he went off to get drinks and then scanned the field and crowd, part of her still a bit overwhelmed with enthusiasm. No matter what, some part of Cookie would always be in love with the world and would always be enchanted by the sense of discovery. "So, is this the part where you grill me for information in hopes of finding some some small tidbit of interesting information? Or when you use pleasant small talk to get me to lower my guard?"

Cookie's gaze moved back from the field to Brendon as she let out a small laugh, genuinely amused. He'd played with the press before; came with being a royal public official in one of the world's remaining monarchies. "Ill be honest with you, I prefer the latter, but if you're a true master of the journalists art, I'm sure you can manage both at the same time~" ...And THERE was that grin. That challenging one. Cookie knew that look from people; Han liked to give it to her when he handed her tough assignments that she didn't feel up for. Brendon was baiting her, but Cookie knew bait and knew how to bait right back.

"I could, but where's the fun in that?" Her lips moved to a coy grin, making sure she met his eyes for at least a moment before looking back to the field. Warm, confident, and equally playful, Cookie's look said one thing very clearly. "Given the opportunity, you'll find I'm quite skilled at multitasking." Take that as you will.

Challenge accepted.

{EXIT THREAD}

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