"Oh you know me, Leif, I'd just deflate if I lost all my disdain. There'd be nothing left inside, just a husk." Taiga submitted to Leif's thumb smearing the blood on his lip into a streak of pink. He ran his red tongue over his teeth, trying to clean them of the taste of blood, and spat hollowly on the ground, but not in Leif's face, refusing to degrade Leif, who he'd always quite liked.<br/><br/>Taiga had been a lord's son for so long he'd almost forgotten he was human. The taste of blood in his mouth reminded him<i>.</i>Here he was, no longer the youngest son of Lord Hisoka of Whitehall. He'd poisoned his father two weeks ago, while he was away from the manor, and was now riding back from a lover's chateau to reach home for his father's deathbed.<br/><br/>Which meant, among other things, his brothers would be in charge of paying this ransom.<br/><br/>He felt a very real twinge of fear in his breast for that fact.<br/><br/>Taiga kept his face blank, the very expression that had won him so many games of cards, and didn't protest as he was dragged to his feet, and pushed onto the back of the man's horse.<br/><br/>The brief battle had exhausted him and he'd had a poor sleep last night, spending well into the morning wrapped in his lover's arms, 'mourning' the loss of his father.<br/><br/>Appearances had to be kept up, of course.<br/><br/>The ride to the bandit's camp was long and mildly humiliating, but Taiga could bear it. He took in the cave they'd fortified with an exacting eye, catching the glances of people he knew. This was bizarre, almost surreal. He half-listened to the talk around him, mostly cataloging defenses, attributes, the watch line, the numbers of hangers-on. It seemed the band had been thriving, and ordinarily he would be glad for it.<br/><br/>Would his ransom note make it home in time for his father to weigh in? Would his brothers even tell his dying father?<br/><br/>Taiga continued sizing the camp up. What would be would be. He may be able to persuade them he was worth keeping alive and could find alternative ways to pay. Taiga was resourceful, he may even be able to find those ways. There was no point crying over spilled milk.<br/><br/>He was pulled off the horse and brought into a tent, which he immediately pegged as Vidar's. He saw he was right instantly when the gruff man entered into the tent, scratching his salt-and-pepper beard. A few of his most trusted men came in behind him.<br/><br/>He cocked an eyebrow as Vidar welcomed him to his chambers, Taiga's sole reliable response with the gag in place.<br/><br/>He waited out his kidnapper's spiel, his eyes bright with dark humor, waiting for the gag to finally be removed from his mouth. When Vidar himself reached behind him to unknot it, he finally spat the foul-tasting cloth out in relief, working his stressed, bruised jaw. He licked dry lips and sat heavily and with far less studied grace than usual on a couch, twisting and stretching to work out the kinks in his back and neck from the binding, not to mention the long slog of the fight. There was blood spattering his face, and he was getting blood from his hands all over his couch. He didn't apologize. His ransom money would more than make up for it.<br/><br/>He put his foot up over a nearby oaken trunk and stretched to work out the kink in his spine, simultaneously working his jaw. "Your man has a good punch." He gave a slow, conniving grin. "Do be sure to tell them I fought impressively. Use the word cunning somewhere in the note, if only to heal my wounded pride."<br/><br/>"Vidar," he greeted him formally, with an impish smile that was a shade away from good-natured, not quite there—perhaps as close as Hisoka Taiga, the Tiger of Xishan, got. "Fate has brought us together again. You look handsome," he said, stretching out in the manner of a poet.<br/><br/>"Leif," Taiga called to the man, "I should think you were a knight in truth; I was quite flattered to see you in full regalia, just for me. You ride so well, as always. A shame we can't arrange a game of Polo."<br/><br/>"I would suggest keeping the fact that some of the men surrendered out of the note. They're all supposed to commit suicide. I would rather they didn't have to." But there was a shade of falsity in his voice that said something about Hisoka Taiga, Lord of Xishan being on the lookout for men with secrets he can leverage, favors he can extort. Taiga was quite well-known for it, in truth. Perhaps he felt loyalty to his men, but you never knew with Taiga. He layered ulterior motive upon ulterior motives: it was his modus operandi.<br/><br/>"If you insist on keeping my hands bound, may Leif wipe me down?" Taiga asked with an insinuating smile. "I would also kill someone for a smoke. Which are in my inner pocket," he mused, arching to allow someone to grab them for him, should he so desire, showing off his famous proclivities. The red flame of his tongue licked blood from his bow lips.<br/><br/>Taiga was beautiful, particularly fresh out of battle, with the contents of an archer's jugular sprayed up his own neck and face, and a bruised cheek suiting him better than any nobleman's makeup. He slung himself into a more comfortable position, graceful and long-limbed and dangerous. His hair was slicked back this morning, but now it was mussed into natural cowlicks, fetching curlicues that made him look younger, more human.<br/><br/>"Of course. I will not breathe a word of their surrender," Vidar said. "So far as the world is concerned they all died here." He paused. "Yet I confess I do not understand the custom of suicide for failure. Who runs away lives to fight another day, as we say in the North. So vital is the slaying of broken warriors that running down a fleeing man is part of knightly training. Though hardly chivalrous it is better than fighting the same men again every campaign season."<br/><br/>"In the south, suicide is a constant threat," Taiga said calmly, with an air that said what he really thought of<i>that</i>. "For you to hang me, for example, would be a sign of extreme degradation and your lack of respect for me. For you to provide me with a small vial of poison, or better, a knife to cut out my own stomach and a swordsman to save me too much suffering, and hack off my head after the third cut—much more honorable. If I dishonored my father too egregiously, he would have the right to ask it of me, as my liege lord. And big brother may yet demand it once he ascends. Technically I have the right to ask it of my men, too, though I haven't been given the provocation."<br/><br/>"We are so very masochistic," Taiga admitted. "It must run in our blood. I am one of the less stoic and more effusive of my brothers. Nobody believes me on that until they come to visit our citadel."<br/><br/>"I have no trouble imagining that. Stoicism is a virtue, after all," Vidar chuckled, unwillingly being drawn into Taiga's familiar presence and wordplay.<br/><br/>"I have virtues," Taiga mock protested. A cheshire smile found its way across his lazy face. "I've been told I have quite a talented tongue."