Milan couldn’t help but grin as he walked beside his horse. He was finally coming into a town after having been traveling the open plains for so long. The forest just outside the city gates was dense, but not to the point where the sunlight couldn’t break through the tree top canopy to light up the well worn dirt path with a golden-glow and shadow jigsaw puzzle. This was one of the few 'calm' forests in the area. Free of Logdwellers, Sprites, Spirits and other unsavory beings. It was safe, and inviting. It was beautiful, with the stiff, warm breeze pushing the leaves into a hearty rhythmic rustle all around him. Clouds floating loftily but quick in the blue skies just a little higher. The sun was well into the sky, marking mid-day, and the cinnamon haired nomad couldn’t be in a better mood.

His white shirt was crisp, freshly washed the night before. It’s pure color stood stark against his olive brown skin, sun-kissed and dark. The shirt was left loose, opened all the way down to where it had been tucked snugly into his black, form fitting breeches. Around his waist was an intricately knotted sued belt, beads and baubles hanging from it. Just another symbol of his place in the world. The horse beside him was just as much a gypsy as he, in appearance and attitude. “Come, Yulri… The city waits, as does the music.” Milan said to his mount, leaning in to pat the appaloosa’s braided main, gaining her attention back from the flowers it had attempted to snack on.

The gates were in sight, finally, Milans aqua eyes laughing for him as they approached. The dirt road slowly became cobblestone, his thick leather boots sounding his steps as the stones became more frequent beneath his feet. They were echoed a half step letter by the metal shoes on his mare’s own feet. “Finally, Yulri. It’s long due that we come to civilization.” He said, taking the horses reigns in hand finally, leading her through the archway that deposited them right into the castle town. It was the Summer Festival they had come for. Milan couldn’t resist the celebrations, the music, the people… Perhaps he would even run into some of his many friends. That would be pleasant.

It wasn’t hard to navigate through the bustling market place. The tunnel like alleys lined by vendors and salesman all led to one spot. The city center. The whole city was set in a circular form, the outer ring being markets, the inner buildings were all homes. The very center was the fountain, the clock-tower, and the Imperial Street, leading up to the Castle, the grand building that looked over the town. The Gypsy took himself and his horse to the Fountain Square, there he knew the performers would be settled. That’s where the festivities were, and where Milan would belong. Cities had no place for gypsies, save during festivals.

Hitching Yulri right up to the fountain, Milan pulled his case from her back, setting it on the ground and opening it up. From it, he withdrew a pristine, cherry oak violin, and bow. Placing a kiss to the sleek, polished wood of his faithful companion, he quickly made sure it was in tune before tucking it under his chin, and diving right into a lively tune, hopping up to stand on the fountains ledge. Without hesitation, he began to sing out, his loud, hearty, deep bass voice ringing through the fountain square, lively, and alluring.

The town was bustling with its usual festive air. Sedentary shops and stands were closed while traveling tradesmen and women set up their own small shops in the square, hoping to take advantage of the crowd pooling around the fountain for the festival. People flocked to the various bards, fools, and performers to gleefully watch their performances and occasionally hand out tips for a good show...

As was customary in larger cities, wherever a large amount of people were known to pass by and gather, destitute beggars tended to flood those places. It was no different during the Summer Festival. All along the busy thoroughfares leading to the square and even huddled around the fountain were ratty-clothed men, women, and children, hands cupped out and rattling voices begging for spare change and food from the more fortunate people around them. Most of these beggars were regarded with scorn from the passing townspeople--after all, it was festival-time...why should they have to worry about other people whilst celebrating for themselves? Some passerby offered small bits of money to some of the younger children. The adults, for the most part, were ignored.

Today, however, one of these poor souls in particular was earning himself a bit of attention. The wrong kind of attention...mostly comments on his looks from small groups of giddy, giggling girls. He was crouched near the fountain so he could take small sips from the water pooling at the bottom of the fountain--he seemed desperate for a drink. He was a young man, possibly in his very late teens or early twenties. He had a long shock of ebony hair; it reached all the way down to the middle of his back...much longer than the usual male's hair. He was also incredibly good-looking and didn't appear worn down from years of poverty.

No...in fact, he was dressed rather decently. His clothes showed only slight signs of wear and tear, like he'd been forced to spend a couple of nights huddled up in the streets during a rainstorm. The clothes themselves were simple but well-made...they were not ratty hand-me-downs, but rather expensive-looking. He had piercings...two in his left ear, one in his right ear, and two studs in his bottom lip. Professional piercings, not amateur ones. Piercings were not cheap...and they were rare.

He would quietly beg for money from some passerby, but other than that he kept to himself. He didn't cry or try to gain pity from the citizens with stories about dying children or spouses. The only things he seemed to be paying attention to were the various bards playing music around him--his eyes would light up a bit when he glanced their way.

Milan had his own piercings, though his rivaled on being a bit more foreign than that of the attractive beggar on the street. A delicately twisted sliver of bone ran through his left ear. This had been a gift to him, from a tribe of natives he'd befriended in a far off land. The bone he wore was an honor for him, being from the skeleton of the previous leader of that tribe. It meant to those people that Milan had the grace and protection of the Gods to look after him. And he wore it with pride. If he had any others, though, they were hidden beneath his well-worn clothes.

The large man was nimble. That much was plain to see to anyone who watched his performance. Too and fro, he was dancing from the ledge of the fountain, and down across the cobblestones in time with the jaunty tune he played.His opened violin case, that sat stationary near by, an offering plate for the masses, filled quickly, and by the time he'd played a handful of songs, he'd made enough to get him through a month, comfortably. Taking a break from his playing, the giant of a man swept into a graceful bow, taking the hand of a nearby young woman, brushing a kiss over her knuckles, leaving her a giggling, blushing mess. With his other hand, he took the hand of a nearby young man, and gave him the same treatment, earning more laughs when the boy stammered and tugged away with a stumble.

Straightening himself, Milan smiled across the crowd. "Enjoy the festival!" Came a gentle bellow from his powerful lungs, urging the crowd to disperse.

Patting Yulri and stroking her mane smooth while the people filtered away, he complimented her for being so calm in the crowd, giving her a sugarcube for reward, before taking up his music case, scooping the troves of coins out. He deposited a great many into his coin purse, but kept a handful of pence in his large grip, heading just a small distance away, around the fountain.

His sharp blue eyes had caught sight of a beggar. And normally he was merciful to those who panhandled for their supper. Not many were kind to them, if they were not children. This man though, he was different from the kinds of beggars he'd seen in his life. And he'd seen more than his fair share. Even in different languages, they all begged for the same thing. Money. He could never quite understand why some people deemed Gypsy as no more than glorified beggars. He worked for the money that people gave him. He performed, and gave them the gift of song. Sitting down on the ledge just a mere foot from this odd beggar, Milan looked on him curiously.

He was attractive. And he was silent. That's what made him different. There was no pitiful 'begging' coming from those metal studded lips. His eyes had a sad glint to them, in all their emerald glory, but to Milan, he saw a plea for help, rather than coin. But still...

"Do you sing, boy?" He asked, certain that this man was younger than him. While Milan looked no older than 23 at the most, it was thanks to the handed down mystic blood that his youth was preserved. His father had always boasted to him how they came from the Giants. And Milan didn't doubt it. At 6'10 in height, he was the shortest male in his family yet, save for his younger half brother, who teetered just 5 inches under him, at the age of 15. "You would make a great deal of money with a face like that, if you could sing. Much more than the paltry sum I'm sure you've received by silently sitting here." With that, he reached over, taking one of the mans hands in his own, pressing the coins into the others palm.

"I am Milan. You interest me. A young man like you should not be on the streets."

The bizarre beggar paid no attention to the Gypsy when he started to approach. He'd learned after his time in the streets not to get his hopes up. Human beings were not generous creatures by nature. And though many in this town were well-off and in complete control of their lives, very few were willing to share their wealth with people who desperately needed it. His flat emerald eyes remained locked on the little ripples of the fountain water.

Seeing as he wasn't paying much attention to what was going on around him, he was visibly startled when the larger male started speaking. He had not noticed when the other man crouched down beside him. He jumped and his head snapped up, his eyes wide and resembling those of a startled fawn. The look of the other male immediately brought forth the term of 'Gypsy' in his mind. Though he had never come across an actual Gypsy before, he had a vague idea of how they dressed, and what they looked like. It was a mostly superficial idea, but it was all he had. Once he registered what Milan had asked of him, his lips pressed into a firm line.

Boy? Boy? Did he look like a child? He was tempted to snap at the man, but forced himself to keep his mouth shut. He was a beggar. This was a bard...a traveling bard, it seemed like. Even bards were many notches above common beggars, even though he hadn't been left out on the streets for very long. He would have to try to learn his place, if he didn't want to be hurt or struck down...

As the Gypsy continued to speak, the younger male listened closely, though he would no longer look at him. Suddenly, he felt a slight warmth and then cool metal pressing into one of his hands. He hesitantly turned his eyes in the man's direction again, catching that his name was Milan in the process.Milan had grabbed one of his hands and shoved a small pile of coins into it.

He could do nothing but stare at the small sum of money that had just been offered to him for a few moments before he raised his eyes again, looking both relieved and...unhappy? He cleared his throat--it was sore, most likely from some kind of sickness. Perhaps a bad cold, considering he appeared to have braved a few nights out in the rain. He scooped up some more water out of the fountain to drink with his free hand, bringing it up to his lips and sipping at the water quickly before most of it escaped through his fingers back into the fountain.

"...I am not a boy," was the first thing he said, and his voice was rather flat. His tone softened a bit when he spoke next. "...Thanks, though you really should keep it for yourself," he added, referring to the coins. "In my current condition, I'm not fit to do much of anything, let alone sing. I'm sick, I'm weak...I haven't eaten for days. And there are many others like me...I'm not that special."

He fell silent, and then he suddenly realized that he'd forgotten something. "Oh. My name..." He stopped short, his breath catching in his throat. ...It wasn't that uncommon of a name. As long as he didn't speak his last name, no one would recognize it... "My name is Viktor."

Milan had wanted to laugh when the young man looked up at him in surprise. It was unfitting, the look of startled shock on that almost elegant face. He was not feminine in any way, despite that long raven colored hair. This young man, to most, would appear a regular man, perhaps just above average in the ways of aesthetics. Milan noted, though, the markings that showed he was more than a common man down on his luck.

He did laugh, when he saw the flare of anger at being called 'boy' taking it as an insult. That alone was a symbol of their differences. In Milans upbringing, to be called 'boy' by and elder, no matter your age, was a term of endearment. He said nothing though, watching the mans grimace as he sipped at the water, obviously to help him try to find his voice.

"Beg pardon, then. I meant no offense." He replied softly, keeping his voice low and pleasant, so as to not further insult. "Money comes easily to me. I can make that back in a few moments, if I so chose. Don't think on it any further than a gift from a friend." He added, when he'd been told he should have kept the coin he'd given. The gypsy understood what it was to be destitute, and without. He didn't need to be told that this youth was sick, and weak. He could see that this odd person was wearing down. His eyes had a certain tensity about them, his mouth set firmly. And the subconscious swollow to soothe the ache in his throat... It was all too easy for Milan to read the signs.

"You need a warm bath, a hearty stew, and a good nights sleep out of the cold." He decided, a tone of decision in his deep voice. An eyebrow cocked at the last few words he spoke, before storing away this peculiar reaction to his memory. Why would one hesitate over their name? Standing up to his booted feet. Milan turned to face him, extending a broad hand. "I think you are special, Viktor. I want to help you. Come with me." That sculptured, exotic face looked determined, lacking any regret in this decision.

"I know of a decent hotel just nearby. We'll get a room, some food, and I will work my gypsy magic on you, to make you better. In return, you will sing for me, when you are well. It is a fair trade in my book, and I'll not except a refusal. If you do try to refuse, I'll simply carry you, and that would be terribly undignified." His full lips pulled into an almost dazzling smirk, his teeth surprisingly white against his deep tan. Standing there, it was almost obvious this man could not be completely human. His chest was twice as broad as the average man, his shoulders strong and wide. His hand span alone, offered so brazenly to Viktor, was enough that one would wonder how he managed to play his violin so skillfully. "Please." He added finally, a stray length of his cinnamon colored hair, part of his fringe, slipping to hang beside his face as it had come loose from his ponytail.

Viktor, upon hearing the insistent tone of Milan's voice, glanced down at the change piled in his hand a second time. After a moment of consideration he hesitantly pocketed the change, listening as the other continued to speak. It was difficult to see from a distance, but that beautiful face of his was marred by purplish bags under his eyes. He was paler than the average person, and his skin was somewhat cold and clammy to the touch. He was probably running a high fever on and off.

The man's offer seemed to shock Viktor. He sat there, looking dumbstruck. Days and days of reluctant and quiet begging had led to no fruition. No one would even bother to stop and offer him spare change or extra food for his troubles, not even if he took pains to fix them with his most endearing, pitiful look. At home, even the slightest sign that he would get angry or upset and start to bawl would send his parents and his family's servants scattering to get him what he wanted.

It was not so out in the streets. The people he had scorned and poked fun at for all his living years...he'd thought they were simply lazy, unintelligent louts who weren't even qualified for the most repugnant of jobs. He had wandered about the city and even tried to earn money by searching for a job. Without a single coin to his name and no work experience, he was immediately shut out.

Milan's threat to carry him made what little color was left in his face drain out. The thought of being carried around town like he was some weak, useless sack of potatoes sent chills down his spine. Though he had been out on the streets for a good three weeks or so, he was not about to swallow that much of his noble pride. He could stand on his own two feet...rather shakily, mind you, but he still could!

These thoughts drove Viktor and gave him a much-needed burst of energy. He extended his arm and unsurely laid his hand in Milan's, gripping it lightly. "All right, all right...just take me there," he muttered, staring at the ground. "I don't want to be carried...and in my state, I doubt I could outrun you." Embarrassment was flooding Viktor's features. A part of him felt bad for what he felt in his mind was taking advantage of a kind soul. Another part of him, his more noble and high-class part, was eager for relief after his many days of torture.

He didn't miss Milan's dazzling grin--his ultra-white teeth. In fact, he found himself staring for a little longer than he should have. He had reluctantly learned not to be so outright with his feelings. He had already gotten a few kicks and sessions of badmouthing from local peasants and nobles for speaking out of turn or back-talking. Being of noble blood, he was used to saying what he felt, and what he meant. It was a new experience for him.

Milan had known that his small, but completely legitimate threat, would do the trick. And if it wouldn't, he'd simply follow through on it, without a bad feeling in the mix. Surely enough, the pale man grew paler, and reached forward, slipping a soft hand into his own deeply calloused palm. He had the skin of a man who knew hard work. But it was not so thick that he could not feel how clammy this youths hand was. Pulling him carefully up to his feet, Milan frowned slowly, reaching his free hand out to press just under that slightly grimy black fringe. However long he'd been on the streets, Milan could tell the time had not treated Viktor well, and his body was vastly unused to being exposed to the elements and the illnesses of the common people.

"You don't have a very good resistance to illness, do you?" He mumbled softly, feeling the clammy, cold sweat that lightly coated his new 'friends' skin. "It's a good thing I found you when I did." Milan decided, verbally, nodding a bit before taking his hands back, turning to face Yulri. When he whistled lightly, the painted apaloosa plodded forward the few paces it took her to reach the two men. In a swift hoist, the gypsy man had lifted Viktor by the waist, onto the back of his mare. He didn't bother to wait, and see if the dark haired beggar had the strength to struggle up onto the tall mount. Yulri was a horse built and bread for a man of Milans stature and weight. Something that was not paltry, or to be scoffed at.

A quick once over ensured that he had everything fastened and secured, and that Viktor was stable in the saddle. Taking the reigns, Milan led on foot, the mare and it's rider, through the crowded streets, to the part of town that was heavy with taverns and inn's. It was no more than five minutes before his horse was hitched to a post outside of an establishment called [i]'Copper Faerie Inn'[i]. It looked to be the most reputable on the strip. "Here we go.... " He said, looking up to Viktor, holding out an expectant hand to help him down.

"I've stayed here the last three... Maybe four times I've come through for the summer festival. In my opinion, they've the best food in the city. And, we'll be able to get you in a hot bath, which is more than worth it. I'm eager to see how handsome you are without the grime, if you're so dashing as you are now." His compliments were far from flippant, and though it was odd for a man to speak to another man like he were complimenting a woman, from Milan the words were honest enough, and he spoke them as though they were natural to say.

This was an odd man.

Viktor's hand was not calloused or even rough. It was soft, smooth. It was, without question, the hand of someone who had never seen a hard day's work in all his life. And he hadn't. He was used to living a life of luxury--a life where he didn't even have to lift a finger to get anything and everything he wanted in all the world. Well...mostly everything, anyway.

He did not flinch away when Milan reached up and touched him, possibly to test his temperature. He knew that his temperature was off. He had been feeling super-hot and super-cold, off and on, for the past five days. His temperature never stopped fluctuating. He was feeling worse and worse as the days passed on. A simple cold could be turning into pneumonia, for all he knew. He'd only ever been sick once in his life, and it had been just a little cold.

"I don't, I suppose...I'm not used to being outside of the c--...I mean...I'm not used to being outside so much," Viktor mumbled, having quickly corrected himself. He'd been going to say 'outside of the castle.' But he didn't feel like revealing his identity just yet. Not when the offer of free food, lodging, and a hot bath was still in the air.

He wasn't startled by the mare approaching them. He was used to horses. He had ridden them many times since he was a boy--in the castle, there was a private stable he had used to ride horses in his spare time. On the other hand, he was shocked to suddenly feel hands on his waist, lifting him up with ease onto the horse. He was so surprised that he didn't move a muscle until he was securely on the horse--he flashed Milan a pouty sort of look, as if to say 'Well! You could have warned me...'

He shifted himself and sat on the horse with a rather regal bearing, despite his pathetic looks at the moment. He had clearly ridden a horse before in his lifetime--that much was certain. He even displayed some clear-cut skill when dismounting the horse, with Milan's assistance, of course.

"...Some food and a hot bath sound nice." Viktor was not thrown off by Milan's words. Not at all. The life of a noble, and a royal such as himself, consisted of much indulgence and carefree flirtation. It wasn't odd for males to flirt with other males, though it wasn't condoned if the King himself saw it. The current King, simply referred to as King Betelgeuse, was a wildly opinionated man with a known history of disliking things he considered immoral. Such behavior was one of his biggest pet peeves.

Milan had looked back over to Viktor after his comment about not being used to being outside. He smiled a little, and nodded. "It's not as easy as most people assume, is it? It's alright though. We'll take care of you." He assured, before continuing right back with the task at hand. Part of him hadn't been surprised to see the skill with which Viktor rode Yulri. The more and more Milan was about this man, the more he saw the subtle nuances that separated nobles from peasants. He'd been around nobles in all different cultures, he knew one when he saw one. He kept silent though. If a noble was taking up residence on the streets, living in the rough, something was wrong in his life, and Milan would not be the one to stir up bad emotions.

Quickly unpacking his few bags from Yulri, and taking his precious violin case, the horse was fastened to the hitching post out front for the time being. Once they were settled, he'd come back to take her into the hotel stable for the night.

Though Viktor was far from a 'small' man, Milan was still greater in figure than him, and anyone could look on and see as much. Especially from the close proximity the darker man kept to the other, his free hand supporting where it rested on his companions back as they headed, at Viktors pace, into the in. The first reaction they received from the young woman behind the counter was blank silence. They weren't quite the most common pair she'd ever seen.... Finally, when Milan gave his name, the lass exclaimed in surprise.

'Oh! Milan! I didn't hardly even recognize you! Has it already been a year? Your hair has gotten so long! Would you like your regular room? I think it's open." She'd gushed out, blushing. She could have been no older than 15.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Maya. How much you've grown up. Are you breaking those boys hearts yet? I remember not 3 years ago you were all a quiver over them making fun of you and your plait." He replied, eyes twinkling at the fond memories. There weren't many people he could share lasting memories with. "My usual room would be great, actually. Thanks. I'll also need a basin brought up, and filled for a bath as soon as possible, please." He added, depositing the amount of money it cost, for the room and bath, and then set more down as well. "For dinner, since I'd like to request it ahead of time. It can be brought up after the rush in the tavern has subsided." He added with a wink. The blushing girl quickly made the marks necessary to fill out his order, before handing him a key.

Taking it, he nudged Viktor gently, to warn him it was time to start moving again, guiding his new friend up the stairs slowly. His room would be the last one on the left, and the very end of the hall. It had the biggest bed in the whole in. Something he dearly needed, for his sheer size. A quick slip of his key into the lock had it open, and he ushered Viktor inside, making him sit on the bed before he unloaded his belongings with a sigh. He'd left the door open, inexplicably, but not 5 minutes after they'd got in, four burly men came in, toting a large basin of hot water, steam rising from it. One of the things he'd always loved about this Inn was how prompt they were. After greeting the men by name, he saw them out, and closed the door at last, locking it.

"Alright, in the bath you go, Viktor."

Viktor was not particularly fond of women. So, he didn't say a word to the young girl behind the counter--he allowed Milan to do all the talking. He had grown up around very noble women, most of whom were overly-needy, whiny, pompous, and stupid. And liked to flirt. A lot. He steered himself away from women whenever he could. He didn't know any peasant women, aside from the servants in the castle. And he was forbidden from talking to them...so, he had no clue that lower-class women might be different.

Viktor shied away from Milan's nudging at first before he realized that he was supposed to get moving. He had a bit of trouble getting up the stairs. He had been in mint physical condition when he'd first been kicked out of the castle. Now he was weak, tired, and sick. Scaling stairs was a strenuous activity for him.

Naturally, he didn't protest when the other man directed him to sit on the bed. He plopped down eagerly, catching his breath and stilling his shaking limbs, while Milan began to set up the room to his liking, unloading the belongings he had. His mouth was super-dry...he was craving a drink, even though he'd just had one not more than ten minutes ago. Viktor rubbed his arms absently, feeling cold.

He didn't look up when he heard approaching footsteps, but he did look up when he saw the basin of steaming water into the room. With a strange mix of puzzlement and wonder on his face, he watched on as the men set up the bath in the room. Had he never seen one prepared before...?

Viktor shifted uneasily once the door was closed and Milan requested that he step into the bath. One thing he had been adamant about back home was not allowing servants to dress him or even see him without some of his clothing on. He was fine going shirtless, and sometimes even fine with just being in his undergarments on a lazy day. But not being fully nude.

"...Erm...can you not look?" he asked, hopefully. There was a good chance that he wasn't going to hop into that bath if his little request was denied...and then he would have to be forced in.