Ciylo and Evil awoke at the same moment; he with a blinding headache and her with Marca's name on her lips. He rolled over grunting and rubbed his chest out of habit as a very clear picture of a large, beautiful blue and black Zabrak female flashed in his mind. The surge of pain in his chest had him rolling off to the side of the bed and he wretched everything out of his stomach onto the floor. Millions of miles away, Evil had sat straight up from where she, Jarron and Bane had bedded down for the day. Jarron looked up at her, eyes wide, but not moving for Bane had chosen to lie on his chest. Evil placed her hand on his shoulder and Jarron knew the Warlord was coming and this day would not end well. She rubbed her chest again and felt ill but scooped her son off Jarrons chest and held him close, fearing this may be the last day she had with him. Jarron had had her the night before and their scents were no longer different and she was thankful Marca would be oblivious to it. Still the fear of the coming hours made her uneasy.
Ciylo finally stood and drug himself to the sink, hoping that for once maybe the Warlord would just forget him for the day and leave him behind, and splashed water on his face. He met his own eyes in the mirror as the pounding began on his door and in his head. He brazenly walked to the door, face still wet, body still naked and opening it, crossed his arms and leaned smugly on the frame. Thrace was less than amused and Agassiz merely frowned. They both were dressed and ready. Thrace started, "Come now Ciylo, Marca is..", but Ciylo stepped back and slammed the door in their faces before he could finish. This ended today. If he had to choke the life out of the Warlord himself he was finding out what had happened in the months before his arrival. And for whatever reason he would dress in his finest. He chose his tightest fitting black slacks that ran down into his black boots, his long sleeved black tunic that accentuated his thick shoulders and chest, black leather gloves and once his mask was in place, a dark gray and black hood and cowl to add to his sinister look. He clipped both his own sabre and Rage's to his belt and moved out of his quarters, his personal guard struggling to keep up as he strode to the Warlords receiving room.
Ciylo slipped in the door quietly, but immediately the Warlord glared at him in his blatent lateness and he silently fell to his knee and crossed his chest, head bowed. Marca continued to the rest of the disciples, "Only my apprentice and Agassiz shall accompany me on this mission. This is nothing but a retrieval and we shall be back before the day ends." Ciylo rolled his eyes behind his mask. Great. A personal outing with the two craziest people he knew.