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The Elezen boy below was pudgy and pale, and wore layered garments of colored fabrics that spoke of warmth and wealth, and Mags licked her lips. He'd strayed into the wrong place at the wrong time, and all she needed to do was be the first one to the target. She didn't see anyone else with him, and he was reading a heavy tome, but was too young to be a scholasticate scholar; he could barely be over her own age. Her hand brushed the pommel of the dagger she had strapped to her side with the only strip of leather she owned, ensuring she could pull it if she needed to scare him. She nimbly climbed across the scaffolding of yet another destroyed building, following him as he strode into a cart-only alleyway, an air of confidence about him that came only from privilege and ignorance.
She heard noises, then. Subtle, but telltale. She wasn't his only pursuer. Two bigger kids stepped out from the lower floor of the ruined building, one holding a board, and Mags knew them. The armed one was called Buck, whose mother and father had been eaten during a raid outside of Ishgard. The other was called Camlann; like Mags, he'd been born to the Brume, but unlike Mags, his parents kept thinking they'd get out some day. Mags watched them approach.
"Nice day for a stroll, innit?" Camlann piped up. Buck snickered. The boy looked up with disdain.
"It is, especially in solitude. Step aside." He spoke with authority, and that was the absolute dumbest thing she could have imagined him saying to these two thugs.
"Step aside, he says, look at this little lordling," Buck's face held contempt, "With all that finery, maybe you buy your precious 'solitude'?"
Mags slipped down beside them other two, hugging the shadows and praying she didn't make more noise than they were in their conversation.
The boy didn't appear scared. That was actually worrying for Mags. There was a possibility, however remote, that she'd misjudged him every bit as much as these two dolts. "My house does not give charity, nor do we reward the useless."
Mags mouth actually dropped, and she froze in place. Who in the *hells* was this brat?
Camlann and Buck weren't much for holding their temper. Camlann spoke first. "You want us to take what we need from you, is that it?"
Buck was already moving forward, mumbling obscenities and lifting the board for a strike. The boy's hand shot into his cloak.
Mags didn't think. She sprang forward, her tiny frame colliding with Buck, forcing his blow to go wide, missing the boy completely. Buck and Mags grappled, and when realization hit his eyes of who she was, he merely adopted a more sturdy stance, and threw her against the opposite wall, his hand on her throat. Fear flowed through her. It was a comfortable fear, one she knew well, one that pushed aside all thoughts of what should be, and settles on a single word: "Survive".
She raised her hand in an uppercut, jamming her dagger into Buck's throat.
As she started to realize what was around her again, she noticed that Camlann was on the ground, stiff as a board. The boy turned to her. "Paralytic agent. He'll live. Yours doesn't seem so lucky."
Her hand was slick with blood, and the other boy had fallen prone in front of her, partially leaning against her knees. He wasn't actually much bigger than her at all. He was a child. She stared at her hand.
"Octavel Sylvaine du Durendaire," the boy's voice was calm, and he had not even dropped his tome.
She said nothing. A man entered the alleyway, a spear on his back, "Octavel, what are you doing..." His voice trailed off as he took in the scene. "Who are you! Boy, get out of the shadows where I can see you. You'd better not have laid a hand on the young master, or--"
Mags pushed Buck's body off of her legs, and stepped over him. The boy--Octavel--spoke up. "This girl saved my life, Uncle, and House Sylvaine does not suffer a debt unpaid. See that she's cleaned up and rewarded for her trouble."
Mags wondered one more time, who the hell this boy was.
"Don't quote my father to me, Octavel." He huffed, but acquiesced. "We can't bring this mess in the carriage, you'll ride up front with me. Come on. We're late. Your name, girl? You have parents?"
"My parents are expecting me tonight." She responded haltingly, but she stood up straight. Truthfully, her parents wouldn't notice her absence for several days, but it was safer if people believed someone would come looking for you.
He simply nodded, and turned on his heel. "Come on then, miss, if you want the credit you're due." There was resignation in his voice, but no sneer.
She stood a moment in indecision. It was a gamble. Nobility were dangerous, any Brume dweller could tell you that. You took from them and disappeared, or you avoided them altogether.
A risk, but the word "rewarded" had escaped the boy's lips. "Margeaux," She finally answered, "Margeaux Myste." She followed him to the carriage.