<div class="floatleft">(https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/002/442/653/large/oscar-acosta-rivera-noir-elf.jpg?1461787851)</div>Ingram stood, following his two companions into the fray. An basket of bread sticks sat on a table, perfectly delicious and buttery and forgotten in the chaos. On a whim, he snatched it up as they passed. No use in letting<em>all</em>the food go to waste. He tucked the basket to his chest with one hand and picked up a roll with the other, staying within Arash and Kirion's wake as he stuffed one in his mouth.<br/><br/>As the others talked, he turned his eyes back to the king and Qaizel, trying to see what they did, to hear what they said, to discern just how fucked they all were. He looked at Qaizel, searching for signs of truthfulness or lack thereof. So, the improbably beautiful elf just happened to be at the center of the chaos. It didn't reflect well on him. But, of course, orchestrating a carefully-plotted act of treason against a city was an easy mistake to make. It really could happen to anyone.<br/><br/>Kirion addressed him, so he pulled his attention back to his immediate surroundings. He hurriedly swallowed and smiled. "Impertinence is perhaps the only thing that is always forgivable." He shoved the last of the bread stick into his mouth. "I can comfortably say that I'm the stealthy sort," he said, voice muffled. He passed the basket of bread sticks to Arath. "Hold these for me until I get back. And don't eat any. Those are mine."