PM to join Past Erased II - The 'Changing' of the Guard [Fallon]

[Zandelia]

33rd Spring, 514 AV - The Pig’s Foot Tavern


She was waiting for her mistress, Bitzer had been busy of late with organization and the leading of the Scars. For the most part Zandelia had left her to it, it was a task that she seemed to relish despite what she grumbled about in her free time. She missed her but did not begrudge her what she was doing, Zandelia was doing the same after a similar fashion. She had had little time for the Scars so far, mostly dispensing what advice she could at the opportune moments. She was building a network that much was true but it was being done in a way which furthered her own goals and that was something that she had yet to reveal to Bitzer. She wasn’t sure if she were doing the right thing but it was time for some truth. As such she had asked Bitzer to join her at the Pig’s Foot for a drink.

Before we move on to other items of business, I hope at least she told herself as she played with the stem of her wine cup – wooden of course. There were no luxuries in Sunberth.

Gone was the pipe smoke today, the fumes that would cloud her breath and taint her mouth for what she had in mind. Gone also were the warriors clothes and trinkets. Whilst she liked the sleek and semi-erotic look of her new Night Leather gear she knew that it would not be appropriate. Instead she had favoured her flaxen wear. The dress was a good piece of clothing all things considered, red and with a yellow pattern of interlocking geometric shapes that ran all across the front of the bodice and curled around to the laces at the back. It hugged her figure admirably and turned her curves into true ridges and troughs. The skirts were long but easily raised – a useful point for this night. Red slippers finished the faced and she liked it.

It’ll work. With no smallclothes on underneath it had better do, I am risking much in what I do tonight she told herself morosely as she downed her third cup of wine. She was drinking to hide her shame and bring upon herself a merry buzzing that would at least get her through the next few Bells.

“Selling one’s body is not the trick, the trick is getting away with it” she muttered, she had not meant to speak it aloud and it brought leering looks from the mercenaries around her. She grinned at them and watched as Merv shook his head and they settled down with groans.

It was not that she was protected so much as Merv didn’t want to see blood spilled in his tavern. He knew exactly what Zandelia were capable of and she found herself wondering if they men knew just how close they had come to death and how much they now owed the silent bar keeper. The waitress, for want of a better term, came and refilled her cup – there were no coins exchanged today. Merv still owed her a few silvers from the down payment she had given previously in the season. And so there she sat, legs crossed at the knee beneath her skirts and drinking wine – for all the world like a common strumpet. She had even managed to borrow some cosmetics from the girl working the bar – always one to try and pretty things she was.

Her lips were rouge and her eyes were well powdered to bring out the green in her one good eye. She still found it amusing how many men still found her attractive despite her dead eye. In her opinion there was a lot of desperation in the city. She caught them looking and blew them a small kiss and watched with interest as they roared and began tp punch each other with triumph.

h the rumours this will start I’m sure…petch it all. Even though I want them to abound to cover my tracks as Web it’s still damned annoying she told herself as she awaited Bitzer’s arrival.

She was Dasoma again, this night.

[Fallon]

Mistress, master, did it matter anymore?

It was the thought that played through Fallon’s mind frequently, that whisper in the back, the little nagging of insecurities. Was she insecure? She certainly felt it, but it was not something she could openly admit. To do so could serve as a weakness to exploit, and she was certain Zandelia would revel in such an opportunity. Never the less, such title made her skin writhe. Then again so did most titles, it was why she was most content with just being known as Bitzer. It described her best after all, something made up of bits and pieces – much like a mongrel dog.

Finger tips pressed against her brow, a long drawn out sigh escaping from her lips. And it was the same woman who would jump onto opportunities that had called her out. For a drink no less. Part of Fallon wanted to call it out as some ploy, a trap to lead her into a false sense of security and spill all multitude of secrets. On the other side of the coin, she felt that perhaps she wanted something – assistance, a favour? It mattered not really, they were both Scars, thus it was through such a tie that Fallon felt compelled to assist.

Of course, there was another reason – but admitting it would be the hard task. Fingers pushed back the hair, the digits running out the knots, whilst the other simply gathered what it could up. From there she simply did her best to tie it back, the strands slipping loose here and there, but for the most part it was away from the face. Petch, what was wrong with her? It was just a meeting, nothing else. A single drink.

There was no leather armour this time; she chose to leave it to one side. But still, her fingers picked and pulled at her layers, hands pressing down and then tucking in. First the vest, then the shirt, then the tunic. It was perhaps only then that she felt secure. Or at least less suggest on what she actually was. Pulling the sash around her waist, she felt the layers gather and hide what was beneath.

Am I running away from who I am? her features pinched for a tick, her hands pausing over the belt, Of course not. Don’t be silly. Now move, your Zandelia is waiting.

Blades clinked, the leather hood being tugged around her shoulders. No, she cared not how she looked. Even as she made the firm strides to the Pig’s foot – having chosen to leave Orving behind -, her brow creased into a line. What was wrong with her? There was nothing to worry about, just play it clean, and keep it simple. Put the Scars to one side for tonight.

The door clattered, her head turning and looking about the establishment, her eyes looking and searching. Past the mercenaries, the bar staff, and finally onto the woman. Before she made her way over however, she took a detour round to grab a drink – the aim to calm the nerves – and made her way quickly over. Fallon did not quite know where to look when she saw Zandelia – or more correctly, took her in properly. Her entire throat closed up, her shoulders rising up into her neck – much like a shy boy would to a girl. Even her hand sheepishly rose to scratch behind her ear, the tints of blink resting upon her cheeks. Just what was with that get up?

Sucking in the air, she stammered, her voice failing as she managed to release a squeak, ”You… uh… look nice? Special occasion?”

Her hand fumbled for a chair, the fingers knotting onto the back – Breathe, remember to breathe – as she pulled it out. Inclining her head she cracked a smile, ”So, m’lady, you uhh… I can’t do this. How’s it going? I mean… you could have told me to try and make myself look presentable. I mean, dress and all.” Fallon perched herself into the chair, the element of rigidness still clinging to her. Past events with them clicked themselves around, armour, leathers, threats of kisses and boats. Her cheeks tinted deeper shades, before she grabbed her drink and promptly downed it. Sucking in the air, she managed to give a nod, ”So uh… why?”

[Zandelia]

Zandelia’s brows raised at the entrance of the other woman, even through the haze that the wine had possessed her with it was obvious that Bitzer was made highly uncomfortable by the situation. She still had difficulty figuring Bitzer out, every time they met she seemed to shift and change. It was almost as if she were purposefully creating an alternate persona. Whilst Zandelia understood the use of such things it seemed stretching the practise a bit too far if you did it every meeting. She sipped her wine and wondered why Bitzer was acting the way that she was, peering at her over the rim as she drank. She took in the red cheeks, the tied back hair and the lack of armour – only simple but functional clothing. She palced the cup upon the table carefully, precisely, and looked into ites red depths for a while.

Does she actually ever show me her true self? Or is this her true self? Stammering and nervous? No…but then why? Could she….no. That’s just silly she dismissed the idea as quickly as it had appeared inside her skull.

“Bitzer, I’m so glad that you could join me,” she responded with in a thoughtful voice, “do I need a reason to want to spend time with you my dear?” she asked, looking the other woman in the eye for a flickering moment before returning her gaze to the wine once more.

“You look gorgeous as always, you do not need to dress up as I do Bitzer. Your beauty radiates from within, whereas mine requires additional effort. And I look like a harlot and you know it. Which is exactly what I hope to look like tonight!” she grinned as she finished the cup of wine and signalled for another to be poured.

They had a little more time before they would need to move and she brought the tips of her fingers together, looking at Bitzer over them and considering how best to approach the subject at hand. It would be difficult in truth, the other woman was wary of contact at the best of times and she was quite possessive of her too – after a fashion. She still remembered the way Bitzer had placed her hand upon her shoulder protectively after her…seduction…of the shop keeper in the Armoury. Her gaze looked the other woman up and down and found the garb to be to her liking – perfectly suited to what she had in mind she had to admit.

“I find myself needing to confess something to you that I had hoped not to do, but I have no choice” she began, clearing her throat as it stuck momentarily.

“I am…hunting…someone. I have already found where they are but cannot get to them. Not without help and a lot of luck. As such I have decided to win by attrition. Namely wiping out as many guards as possible, in small groups. I asked you here tonight so that I could meet you, see you and then ask you to help me kill them” she sighed, closing her eye and taking a deep breath.

“The special occasion is that I am celebrating the beginning of such a venture. The downside is that I will have to use my…assets…in ways that you will probably not like. If you say no then I understand but please, allow me to tell you why it is so important to me first” she continued between sips of her last cup of wine.

“The one I am hunting…he is my father,” she looked away and into nothingness, “he killed my mother and left me with nothing but a miserable life. I can finally strike him down, after years of trying to find him. He has returned to Sunberth. This will likely be my last opportunity. I-

“I need your help Bitzer” she all but whispered the last phrase.

It was strange, having to ask for another’s help. She was so used to been self-reliant. She had never felt the need to reveal her past to anyone either, not really. Revy knew now but no one else. Biter, however, seemed like an old friend or lover – one she could trust implicitly.

Even if she does like to play the role of chameleon she mused, watching the other woman carefully now.

She really was rather beautiful if one knew where to look.

[Fallon]

Fallon’s fingers fidgeted; a steady drum upon the table top serving as a release of the pent up nerves. It was hard to explain, this internal nagging turning and twisting beneath her very skin. Her cheeks puffed, the brow creasing into a line. Although the tint did not deepen, there was the long look towards Zandelia and then down to the cup she was drinking from. The first thought retreated down to the idea she was intoxicated; filled on the fumes of drink and left in a state of merriment. But then the question arose as to why exactly would she need to drink such a copious amount to allow such a state?

”So, how much of you is blood, and how much of you is wine?” Her hand reached over and covered the top of the cup. There was a long sucking in of the air, the fumes of the tavern instilling a sense of composure. Her eyes lifted to meet, the nerves being reined back, ”I fear I may have to carry you back if you continue such consumption. Anyway, shall we?” Her hand withdrew, a polite gesture to continue.

Leaning back in her chair, Fallon listened. The dull warmth of her own drink swirled throughout her, lightly smothering the senses with obscurity. There was no nodding, no turning of the head or frowns; just the neutral mask of thought and interest in the words being spoken. One arm had rested across her, the other hand rubbing at her chin. But the eyes did not lift, they continued to bore into her – deep, studying and searching for the reasoning behind it all.

What was the motive? Revenge of course, or at least that was the feeling she felt she was getting. It did not sound like it would be anything else. Although she would not put greed past the woman, or to take the opportunity to be cruel – it did not feel like the main drive behind it. No, it had to be revenge; for the torment, the pain, the years of running and suffering in the shadows. How quickly it turned people blind and obsessive. Even Fallon could not help but feel the nagging worry turn within, a silent prayer that Zandelia would not allow herself to be controlled by such a strong desire.

Fallon’s hand reached across again, the tips extending out to brush upon her lips to silence the woman in her words, ”Hush, no more. I understand.” There was a pause, the creasing of the brow as she weighed up the plea in her mind, ”I will not say no. I will help you. And it is by your wishes in this case I will stand by. But I must ask one question first.”

She was not comfortable with this, but then again she was not comfortable with the idea of Zandelia using those ‘assets’ of hers. Even her own skin prickled in annoyance, what for exactly she was not sure. Jealousy? Power hungry? Or just that one could allow themselves to be so frivolous?

Frowning, she took a moment to formulate the correct words. Teeth chewed upon her lip, her shoulders shrugging off the anticipation, ”Are you certain you want go down this path?” Her hands came together at this point, ”As a mercenary I would not question your wishes, but as a…” pausing she frowned. Unsure almost on what to refer to the woman as. Associate, friend, acquaintance? ”I must ask, do you really want to do this?” She held Zandelia’s gaze, the green-blue orbs meeting her own, ”Please. I beg of you. Do not allow yourself to become blinded and obsessed by this.”

Her eyes lowered. She had agreed to it now regardless, and thus she would stick to it. Unless of course the worst was to occur. Blinking, her finger traced the rim of her own cup, her brow creasing with careful thought, ”I guess we are moving tonight then?”

[Zandelia]

There it was again, the flashing of concern and the promise of something more without ever actually being referenced. Bitzer was confusing at the best of times but with wine coursing through her it was nigh on impossible to get a good read on the woman. She liked to touch her finger to Zandelia’s lips though, that much was damned certain and truth be told she found herself wishing for more at a deeper level. It was a lonely and shadowed world that she lived in, filled with hate and fear for the most part. Bitzer was the first she had met whom could really physically inhabit it with her. She merely pushed the thought back though, now was not the time to test more of her luck. Drunk as she was though she did kiss the finger slightly with a grin.

Something for shutting me up she mused to herself with amusement.

“Am I sure that I want to do this?” she asked the world rhetorically, looking at Bitzer as she pushed the wine aside in favour of thought, “no I am not. But I have no choice. I need to do it just as I need to breathe. Completing this task will bring vengeful justice…after a fashion”

“But I am not entirely a fool. I have killed one of two men who know my past, know me and know my methods. Killing this last one makes me a ghost. When I am a ghost only I know and then I can better help…both myself and you Bitzer. Especially you” she smiled at that, it was nice to know she could use herself for the betterment of another, even if it were by dubious means.

“I must try at least. If I fail this time then I will give up. At any rate I have you and the…group…to settle into if I am not successful” she considered aloud.

She sighed and looked at the woman, she had agreed all too quickly but she had seen the flicker of a frown at the mention of using herself. She had been given a taste already but this night would be different. She would see more than kisses she knew, would likely get a glimpse of Zandelia actually mounting someone. She had to play the game as it fell to her, as the cards were dealt and the dice faced. There was no other way and she was adaptable. Bitzer was too, she knew, but she hoped she was adaptable enough for this.

“Yes…we must move. And I will not drink any more wine oh mistress of mine. You are right, I have had enough for a while. Perhaps later after…” the words trailed off as her cheeks reddened and she stood, making her way to the door.

She shivered as the cold evening air caressed her skin, rifling her skirts and reminding her just why she mourned the lot of the prostitute in winter. At least it was spring now, though the grasp of the icy season had not yet fully been broken. She waited for Bitzer to join her before making the long walk towards Brega’s. She decided to fill the other woman I along the way.

“There are three guards spending their pay at Brega’s House this evening. They like to get drunk, rut as many times as possible and then pass out somewhere out of the way. I have followed them and watched the do it the past few nights. Their coin is all but spent I think but they will not get the chance of another pay day” she told Bitzer, trying to hide how uncomfortable she was with the idea of being a prostitute.

“My plan is simple. We get in, I will show you the targets by my…means. Then I will send them on their way. You can pose as the guard perhaps and drag them out. You can do what you like to them but any information you can get from them would be…appreciated. Interior layout of their employer’s home for instance” she stopped as they were nearing Brega’s now and she turned to place a hand upon Bitzer’s shoulder.

“I must warn you, you will likely see things you do not like. I must ask you not to stop me…whatever I do. You can beat me and chastise me as much as you like once we are finished but if they get a hint of what is happening we will learn nothing. Please” she asked quietly, looking into Bitzer’s eyes for a few moments for the acceptance, begrudgingly given or not, before whirling away. She knew she had repeated herself but she wanted Bitzer to understand - for two reasons. The first was professional, the second a bit more uncomfortably personal - that she was not a harlot and true affection for her meant more than rutting.

They were at the door to Brega’s now and the outside guards was all but asleep at his post, there was never that much trouble at the brothel. People came for enjoyment and not murder. The worst they ever had to do was drag one of the over-eager or poor patrons out and toss them to the dust. The pay was small enough for that same reason. She hefted ten miza’s in her hand from her pouch and placed them in the guards pal as she approached.

“Go and have a smoke somewhere out of the way. This one will do your job for you for a Bell. Nothing untoward will happen, you have my word”

“Eh? And who are ye then?”

“Dasoma Zanelli and I am paying you more than a nights wages. We just wants to talk to some people. That is all”

“Oh yeah? Well…could do with a break. Anything else ye can offer me to look the other way?”

“Me, for an evening. To be decided later. Now go”

“Sure miss Zanelli. Have fun ye hear” the guard chuckled as he left.

Zandelia shivered at how easily she sold herself for her desires.

“Ready?” she asked Bitzer, “I don’t know if you want to go in and take an unobtrusive position or you want me to bring them out here. What do you think works best?” she asked simply, her mind was too scattered for thought at that moment.

oocSorry I didn't give you much this post, it's more a linking into Brega's than anything else. Believe me, she'll have plenty to react to next one

[Fallon]

There was nothing to be said, only the light frown and pulling away of fingers. Her lip gave a twitch in reaction when the woman’s own kissed her fingers, straightening she withdrew and simply allowed herself to listen and watch. For that was what she did best. Zandelia’s words reached her, and whilst she could neither agree nor disagree with them, she still felt that nagging hollow claw at her innards. She could not help but feel the sting of her words, her brow pinched in response. The Scars was only a second priority to her, a piece of convenience to pass the time whilst she hunted down the targets she wanted to eliminate.

They made their move, a rise up from their seats and let themselves march towards the danger. How much she felt the call to be a coward, how much she felt the urge to turn and run. But she could not. It had to be done now. There was no way about it. Fallon did not think of the chill of the darkness, she did not register the numbing sense that it left upon her limbs as she walked. No, instead she sucked it in and let it chill that inner fire and bring out the layer of cold, hard efficiency needed for such work. She was a mercenary, she was once a squire, she had blood on her hands once before – this would be no different.

She made no noise as the woman continued, and instead set her hands to moving about her person. A knuckle wrapped upon each blade, a clink as she reminded herself where exactly they all were. Two tulwars and a kukri, the latter of which she hoped only to use if the need arose. And then there was projection, a silent killer if she ever saw one. She doubted any of those at the brothel would know it was magic, let alone the person who was using it. Eyes slid round to Zandelia, the warmth sapping from them as she steeled herself – focused that she would not allow her emotions to get in the way. She just had to treat it as a mission, and then she could get through it. For both of them.

Taking a pause, Fallon watched the woman deal with the guards, her eyes following after the guard. Eyes narrowed, thoughtful and calculating. For a flash there was a wicked grin, an idea playing upon her mind, before once more she tucked it away; No, focus on the task. Then think about framing the guard later.

Her hand rose and gave the woman a firm pat upon the shoulder, the dark orbs peering out from the pale features. Although nothing was said at first, it still carried meaning; a reassurance that everything would indeed be alright. It was the same thought she was presently feeding herself - with a healthy dose of pessimism on the side. Readying herself Fallon finally made a noise.
”I will take an unobtrusive position whilst you mark them out. I will follow accordingly” she spoke slowly, feeling a husky trill push against the back of her throat, ”And I will do what I do best. Just… trust me.”

The brothel was as it always was. It made Fallon felt uncomfortable. She felt the suffocating weight of the brothel fall upon her shoulders, the weight of the task making her heart heavy. There was no scowl of anger, no raise of voice or hand. Just disappointment and the nagging urge to part herself from such an activity. Fingers pulled at her collar, hoping almost that it would allow her to breathe easy – but to no avail.

It was something sickly however that pushed against the back of her mind. It made her fists clench, the intrusive presence of memory as it slid its way in. She felt it tightly grasp upon her nerves, potentially blinding if she did not gain control of them. And whilst she moved herself to some quiet position to watch carefully, she waited for the opportunity to strike.

[Zandelia]

“You know…I think I do” she responded to the words about trust after a brief moment of gazing upon the other woman before she whisked her way into the Brothel’s interior.

The change between the exterior of the brothel and the interior was marked and evoked a small frisson of memory for her – she had worked many places running missives for Tua over the years and Braga’s had always been one of her favourite venues to deliver to. It always seemed like a rundown shack form the outside, none would know it differently from any other building if it were not for the guards and the sounds of merriment filtering from within. The interior however was filled with gaudy monstrosities of tasteless decoration, numerous divans and couches and red drapes to give privacy even though the patrons were merely yards from each other. The sounds of whores moaning into the plush coverings throbbed through the throng and the haze of smoke.

Much like myself really, simple on the exterior and all too thoroughly complicated in the interior. Or at least…that’s what I tell myself she thought as her gaze scanned the room and she plastered a teasing sile upon her lips, a slight curl of the corners of her mouth and kept her lips slightly open and inviting.

She pulled her hair and ran her fingers through it, flicking them as she went to create a sense of volume and a wave patterning that suggested a tousled effect as if she had just been ravished up against a wall. She pulled her dress down too until her bust was all but pleading to burst out of the neckline in anticipation. She let her hips roll more than usual, her step light and feet all but one in front of the other exactly to emphasise her figure as she walked, looking through the haze searching for her targets. She had followed them, had them followed and noted their proclivities. They were the first three and by far the easier to entrap and locate. They were whore lovers and fancied themselves the best lovers in the city for their experience – though she had gathered they left much in the way to be desired for their bravado.

I can’t kill them in here, that is the most important fact. Inciting the wrath of the city over a few poor mercenaries would be counterproductive. I must separate them from the establishment. As soon as they cross the door the city can claim them for all anyone cares, but here they are safe and merry. Ah…there we are she paused in her walking and leant into the wall beside her, reaching her left arm up to cradle her head and arrange her hair to drape across her left eye to conceal the scar.

An erotic stance she took up, watching the three men as they drank upon a single couch, jesting with each other and slopping their whine upon the table. Tey were all of middling height and dressed in simple cotton clothing – that would be to her advantage as much as theirs for their own desires. She was patient and allowed the inevitable to happen. Without a whore to grope their drink soon expired and one of them were sent towards the bar to procure more – the black haired one, drawn up in a warrior’s tail and a scraggly beard upon his chin. He made his way to her and she was ready to intercept. She stepped into his path and snaked her hand to fall deftly upon his chest as she pressed herself into him. She looked up with a sultry look upon her face, her lips open and he would feel her breath upon his cheek.

“Looking for a good time eh?” he managed to speak down at her drunkenly after the incident had had time to process.

“Only from the best my dear, and I hear that you can…give…the best?” she pulled at his shirt slightly, fingers curling and scraping down his torso until the met the waist of his trousers.

“Oh really? Word gets around it seems”

“That’s not the only thing” she breathed suggestively, nuzzling into his neck and teasing her lips there a few times.

“You don’t say? Experienced?”

“My lips can do wonders so I am told my love” she pressed her hand down further to find his arousal was ardent indeed.

“Not the only thing I hope?” she shuddered as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, she smiled up at him, “how much to be wowed?”

“For you? Silver only, a handful for my pleasures”

“Cheap”

“It’s not every day a whore gets to feel a climax from a good master” she locked her lips to his as she continued her exploration below, massaging and kneading gently as he , moaned into her mouth, “and I like what I see. Care to jin me outside?”

“Outside..why?” he aske dher, suspicion rising.

“Wellt hat way I can let the whole city know it” she grinned.

“Hah! Alright, I’ve got a few chimes for ya”

“Oh good, follow me and I’ll use my lips where they are needed most” she slipped her hand around him and got a firm hold of his arse as they made their way to the door.

They passed Bitzer, performing her duties admirably and she tilted her head slightly as she shook out her hair – an indication to follow them unobtrusively. Around the corner she led him, out of sight and out of mind for a while. It wasn’t long until she all but rammed her against the wooden wall of the brothel’s exterior and pulled her dress down to expose her flesh to the cool air of the evening. She shivered naturally and it all but gave him a signal to begin, his tongue probing her mouth for hers and she joined the dance as one arm cradled the back of his head and the other scratched at the muscles of his back. She broke the kiss after a while and pulled at the ties of his trousers.

“Partake?” she asked and got a croaking moan in response.

She crouched, making sure his back was to the entrance of the alleyway as she began her ministrations and sought to imagine she were anywhere else and doing anything else. She could only hope that Bitzer was quick enough that she wasn’t finished with the vile act before she appeared.

[Fallon]

It was the smell of tobacco, the sickly sweet scent that caressed against her form. It was with gentle steps that she focused on keeping Zandelia in view, but staying back out the way enough to not allow the arising of suspicion. It was the emotions she struggled to rein back, the inner fire of personality. It regressed, dipping behind the wall of steel and blood for her own personal safety. Groans turned into echoes beneath the tepid mental waters. The rattle of coins grew muffled, with the raucous laughter growing muted.

But it was the beating heart and trembling fist that betrayed her.

Eyes drifted, tracing and following. They flickered only briefly to the exit, then around the sea of garish colours; searching desperately for an escape and a route to flee along should things go wrong. There was the inhale as a whore drifted past, teasing her wares to the mercenary with a wink. And it was only in response that the nauseous, suffocating sensation took over once more. And it was only by snapping her attention back to Zandelia that she managed to maintain some cool, even as the target was picked out.

A lump formed in Fallon’s throat. Rage, fury, a wrathful energy began to bubble beneath her skin. An instinctual driven nature clawing at her senses, the bitter taste of copper forming in her mouth. Protect, shield, separate. Part, eliminate, destroy. It was a fine pivot point between the two sides and quickly it would crash, merging into confusion and lacking control. But it was reasoning she had to hold onto, the ability to protect and do what was right.

She paused as they passed, a count to ten to bring herself under control and give them time to get ahead. She could not risk ruining Zandelia’s well thought out plan – even if it was of such a nature. Besides, they needed time to get outside to the merciless world of Sunberth and be taken by it; with Fallon being the one at the end of the blade. Shoulders brushed past, a gentle step around those in her way as she glided through. No sound escape, no warmth radiated, even as she dipped out into the crisp night air.

The head turned, the pupils sharpening as she watched them dip around the back of the brothel for ‘privacy’. Feet met the floor, a slow steady crunch of earth beneath her feet. The lip of the hood was grabbed and raised, dipping her features beneath a shadow the cold gaze of unfeeling staring out. Wood groaned, the hungry breaths of a man desperate in his cravings catching the breeze. And all the while, Bitzer the executioner made her way forward through the heavy air.

At the mouth of the alley she paused for a beat. The hand fell onto the tulwar, steel shivering as it was drawn out. Silently she crept, a bend of her form as she closed in upon the distracted man. The fingers on her left flexed, leather stretching in her sweating grasp. Closer now, the moaning masking the sound of her movements. The empty hand reached forward, her form ready and the steel poised to strike.

It was sharply that her hand reached up to his collar, a firm grasp taken hold and pulling him away with force. There was a delayed yelp of surprise, shock and horror that he was caught in the midst of his exposure to the world. But Fallon did not just stop at pulling the drunkard nor did she slow. Her sword arm came forward, the arm looping round so the pommel of the tulwar crunched against into his face and kept on pressing against him until he toppled to the ground. There was a crack has he hit the ground, a moment of a drunken stun upon his face, his eyes standing up in horror as Fallon stood above him.

Her boot pressed onto his chest, her full weight – little as it was – pressing onto his rib cage. The tulwar tip came round, the tip hovering above his throat and the left hand resting upon the top of the disk pommel. And whilst he began to understand what exactly was going wrong did she press the tip against his flesh in warning. One that even a drunk could understand. And then she spoke.

The voice came as a rumble, rough and husky, a bestial snarl sapped free of anything remotely good. Far from the dithering of accents, it grew dark, piercing as it tightened and that held back rages seeped through. The pitch dropped, the hiss of words falling free from her lips, ”How you feeling pig? Have you pissed your pants yet? Petching filth.” Her head leaned down at that point, her eyes meeting his and the hot breath pluming out into the air. Lips broke into a wolfish smile, the gnawing sensations pressing against the back of her ego, ”You’re going to answer the questions of the little lady, if you know what’s good for you. You understand me?”

Fallon did not turn to look back at Zandelia, she did not need to. Her eyes burned at the man, though whatever babbling noise he was making was being ignored, her mind was presently consumed on one thing and one thing only.

Make him pay.

”Answer the questions. And I’ll release my boot,” she gave a reminding press, ”Deal you piece of shyke?”

[Zandelia]

Zandelia was beginning to think that Bitzer was not going to arrive, that the other woman had decided to teach her a lesson in the most crude way as possible – not to mention the most vile to taste – as she plied her adopted trade as skilfully as she could. Her chosen target didn’t seem to hold any complaints though he was drunk enough not to notice her lack of abilities perhaps. Relief flooded her as the man was pulled from her personal space and her saviour struck at the opportune moment. She spat at the ground, wiping her chin free from the saliva that had accrued there and stood up as smoothly as she could, steadying herself briefly with an outstretched hand against the damp wood of the wall. She had thought it would be easy, a simple task but how wrong she had been,

Just how much of myself am I willing to sell? Everything? No…there are things that I will not sell. They cannot take the core of me from myself, none are close enough to do that. They can merely take my pride, what little of it is left she told herself as she spat out again and the scene played out in front of her as neatly as she had dared to hope.

The scene itself was vaguely unsettling, nebulously dangerous and spoke of a depth that she had not expected. Bitzer wasn’t just acting, she would have bet her remaining eye on that point of observation. She would be the first to admit that the other woman was still largely a mystery to her but she knew her well enough to recognize the unfamiliar etching of venom in the tone of voice. She knew the woman could be possessive but had not expected the virulence of her reactions, if they were even concerning her at all. The way she had pulled the tunic, the satisfied look at crunching the tulwar into the man’s face were all to the good but the words…they were a dark hint at a depth she had not explored. She could have kissed Biter for saving her but wondered if she were unleashing a monster from within.

No…no. Not now, for later. Calm the situation, induce some empathy and he will cave. He will…. she told herself as she stepped up next to Bitzer and placed her hand gently upon the forearm the tulwar was wielded with. She squeezed gently, her free hand touching the shoulder of the same arm and pressing down momentarily.

“Easy…easy,” her voice was soothing, a sweet honeyed tone of persuasion, “no need to violence just yet. Well, more of it. He’ll tell us everything, won’t you?” she looked down and smiled as their prey tried to indicate acceptance without daring to nod too much.

She crouched down, pulling her skirts so that they gathered across her thighs and didn’t drag into the dirt overly much – there was little she could do about the back of the hem but she was merely mortal and sighed at the cost of getting it cleaned internally. She did not speak as she pulled the already loose trousers down to his knees and flicked the shrivelled manhood with a finger which caused him to wince.

“Now, I am not going to have her open your throat. No, that would be pointless. But…you can still talk without ore pressing body parts can’t you? You follow my meaning?” she asked as she shifted Bitzer’s weapon down until the point was all too closely placed. She smiled again, a sweet and deadly smile.

“Now, you work for a man yes?”

“Yes!”

“Do you know his name?”

“No!”

“Oh dear, a useless pawn I think?” she looked up at Bitzer, “cut him a little please” she watched his face whiten and the scream came as she expected until she smashed her elbow into his forehead to forestall them.

“Now, how many guards? And please give me someting I can use so I can save you”

“T-Ten!” the man managed to force out after a half-dozen deep breaths.

“Gooood, that is good,” she stroked his forehead, “what’s your name?”

“What?!”

“Your name?”

“Gerald!”

“Now Gerald, I need to know how many guard at once can you tell e that?”

“Four, only ever four. Please! I’m just a guard!”

“For the wrong man,” she responded smoothly, “so four at once?” she sought confirmation as she looked into his eyes and sought out the lies. There was a flickering to his eyes as he responded next.

“Yes”

“You’re lying. And you give people a chance,” she sighed with feigned exasperation, “Bitzer. Remove his member please”

The screams came and this time she punched him so that he was unconscious, cracking into the throat to paralyze the vocal chords. He would bleed out soon enough she knew but she nodded to Bitzer as she slapped his face so that he regained consciousness as quickly as she was able to make him.

“Gerald, I can save you if you answer me truly. How many at once at the most?”

“Six!”

“Good. Bitzer” she finished as she stood up and stepped away, the death would come quickly.

“Are you okay?” she asked as death filled the alley and she turned to Bitzer, trying not to look too perturbed at her own actions over the last score of chimes.

[Fallon]

It was that simple touch that made her flinch. She had not quite caught what Zandelia had said at first, her head was still beneath the rushing waters of wildness; and it was only as she surfaced from those depths that the wolfish grin was peeled away. The breaths were growls, the adrenal pumping loudly and pulsing throughout, even as that cold, sickening chill seeped its way in. She pressed the steel tip against his exposed flesh when prompted. Her mind gave a spin, the interrogation dipping into mumbles. Too soon the finale would be reached, and too soon the blade tip would make a descend.

And all the while she was silent, doing her duty and serving as that extension. Would the knights ever have her do something like this? Probably, they were figure heads of justice, they purged the filth of the city and kept it clean – unbiased and without a second thought. Was this any different? Of course, the method was perhaps questionable, but it still had the same raw base. Right? Her foot lifted when Zandelia spoke once more, her throat letting out a whisper, ”As promised I lifted my boot. Now, return to the earth.”

Her eyes clenched shut, her chin tilting upwards as the left hand pressed against the pommel. There was no final scream, there was no final struggle. There was only a gurgling hiss and a whimper as the steel stabbed through. Her stomach knotted, the brutality of the situation wrestling with her mental mindset. She continued to press, force and weight pushing down. Beneath the man shuddered, twitching and then finally grew still. And it was only then that the mercenary begun the process of wriggling the blade free.

The question hit her however. There was a long pause, a stretch of chimes as she stared down to the blooded blade and the corpse below. Dirty steel grinded as it was slid away, her thoughts turning and rolling. Long deep breaths, a steady in and out as she focused herself. Calm, conceal and do not feel. She had to keep it out.

”Let me think,” Fallon finally turned her gaze up to the woman. The dark shadows marred her face, the venom may have eased off but the rough undertones still laced the words, ”I have a… someone who is impersonating a whore, I am in an environment that aggravates me internally, and I just killed a man. So, you tell me woman of intelligence, would you be alright?” Her arm was shaking; the air was being sharply sucked in as she suppressed that bubbling of emotions. She needed to maintain some cool, to desensitize herself from the situation. To allow herself to be consumed by such things was unsuitable. Her hands came up together, grasping and wringing the other before flicking off that mental dirt, ”Forget it. I should not allow myself to be clouded in such a manner.”

There was a second pause, her mind levelling out. The inner beast was hauled back in, the internal walls raised and the door locked. No, she could not let herself be blinded by it – too many risks. Her hand gave a point to the woman, ”For the second… I will wait outside. I need to seek some… composure alone,” she spoke slowly, fighting almost to return to her natural accent. The finger at that point moved, gesturing round to an alley across the way but in view of the brothel entrance, ”I will be wait there. This time, I will make sure you do not have to bow to… such acts.”

Withdrawing, she looked once more to Zandelia a series of blinks as the previous ferociousness was smothered. Her hand turned, gave a single pat upon her shoulder and withdrew, ”For the third, I have a plan but you must trust me, not stop me and follow my lead. Understand?” she sucked in the air, ”I will go get in position, but firstly… are you okay?”